#Bernadette Pleasant

[blackswaneuroparedux]

C'est fou comme les gens ont de moi cette image de femme sophistiquée, glaciale. C'est une telle erreur, c'est tellement mal me connaître.

- Catherine Deneuve on herself in Belle de Jour (1967)

In anticipation of a new film this summer by Catherine Deneuve called ‘Bernadette’ where she plays Bernadette Chirac, the wife of French Jacques Chirac, I’ve been re-watching some her back catalogue of films. She’s done over 64 films and at almost 80 years old she’s still going strong. And yet out of her many films I’ve always been drawn back to one film which has become a cult classic. Watching it and re-watching it and even gorging on books on its making, new intriguing details reveal themselves about this landmark French art house classic - Belle de Jour (1967).

I once had the privilege of having dinner with her - or rather sat around the same table - through a Parisian host and his lovely wife who had gathered an eclectic group of friends across generations together. I was too self-conscious to talk about her film career directly. I was on surer ground when we indulged in small talk where she was perfectly down to earth and very pleasant. I felt it would be rude to go all fan girl on her and pepper her with questions about Belle de Jour in particular as she’s known to be very ambivalent about her experience of the film - a film that really defined her in the eyes of many people.

But it didn’t mean she didn’t recognise its cultural importance though as she was quite happy to amuse us with a funny story about Belle de Jour. A newly restored 35mm version was funded by the fashion house Saint Laurent back in 2018. Deneuve always had a close relationship with Yves Saint Laurent and also the fashion house. She was the one to introduce Buñuel to Saint Laurent. So the fashion house had a glitzy premiere in New York. But they didn’t count on many of their guests being late. Most of the guests were stuck in the New York traffic and the rain. However Martin Scorsese was the only one to get out of cab and run like a mad man through the pelting rain and huge traffic. A true cinephile, he was so desperate to see the film restored to its former glory that he would go to any lengths to see it.

In Belle de Jour, Catherine Deneuve, whose limpid beauty is capable of sustaining any interpretation, is a perfect Severine and demonstrates a remarkable control in progressing, with enormous economy of gesture and movement, from frigidity to physical warmth as the bored housewife who indulges in part time sex work.

“I felt they showed more of me than they’d said they were going to,” Catherine Deneuve remarked to Pascal Bonitzer in 2004, about the making of Luis Buñuel’s 1967 Belle de jour. “There were moments when I felt totally used. I was very unhappy.”

The story of Séverine, a deeply disenchanted haute bourgeois Paris housewife who finds erotic liberation through byzantine psycho-sexual fantasies and part-time work at an upscale brothel, Belle de jour certainly made extreme demands of Deneuve: her character is flogged, raped, and pelted with muck, among other assaults. But despite her objections to the way she was treated and her difficulties with Buñuel, Deneuve’s performance in Belle de jour turned out to be one of her most iconic.

Deneuve, who had become a star only three years earlier, as the melancholy jeune fille in Jacques Demy’s 1964 all-sung musical The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, was just twenty-three when Belle de jour came out; notably, Buñuel’s film was released in France less than three months after Demy’s radiant, MGM-inspired musical The Young Girls of Rochefort, starring Deneuve and her real-life sister Françoise Dorléac.

But Belle de jour, more than any other film from the first decade of her career, defined what would become one of the actress’s most notorious personae: the exquisite blank slate lost in her own masochistic fantasies and onto whom all sorts of perversions could be projected. (Deneuve as deviant tabula rasa was first seen in Roman Polanski’s 1965 Repulsion, in which she plays a damaged beauty plummeting into psychosis; but Belle de jour doesn’t portray its heroine as mad, instead remaining deliberately ambiguous about the origins of her unconventional desires - and presaging the bizarre libertines she would later play in such films as Marco Ferreri’s Liza, 1972, and Tony Scott’s The Hunger, 1983.)

Buñuel was at a very different stage of his career from his young star, but Belle de jour represented a peak for him as well, the greatest - and most successful - film of his extremely rich late period. These works, bookended by 1964’s Diary of a Chambermaid and 1977’s That Obscure Object of Desire (his final film), were made mostly in France - where Buñuel had begun his filmmaking career with the incendiary, surrealist Un chien andalou (1929) - following the exiled Spanish director’s two decades in Mexico.

Many of these late projects were cowritten with Jean-Claude Carrière and focus intensely on sexual perversion (a theme that recurs throughout Buñuel’s work). Belle de jour certainly falls into that category, and also, typically, skewers the entitled classes. Yet it stands out as the director’s most intricate character study—but of a protagonist who resists definition; the heroine, frequently trussed up and mussed up, retains an odd, opaque dignity in her debauchery.

In that same interview with Bonitzer, Deneuve was judicious enough to distinguish her experience of making Belle de jour from the final product, calling it a “wonderful film.” But her first meetings with Buñuel hinted at the duress that was to follow. According to John Baxter’s 1994 biography, Buñuel, it took time for the director to “warm to” his star: “He felt, with some justice, that she had been foisted on him, first by the Hakims [Belle de jour’s producers], then by her lover of the time, François Truffaut.” After dining with Buñuel at his house, the book recounts, Deneuve “left with little more than an impression that he disliked actors in general and was reserving his decision about her. The only advice he offered was the advice he had always given actors: ‘Don’t do anything. And above all, don’t . . . perform.’”

Though Deneuve deferred to her director, she was no puppet; Belle de jour is as much hers as Buñuel’s. The filmmaker, famously resistant to “psychological” interpretations of his work, stuffs Belle de jour with his trademarks, confounding any attempt to parse meaning: the surrealist blurring of fantasy and reality, fetishism, sexual perversion, blasphemy.

But as Séverine, Deneuve, despite operating in the nebulous realm between dream and waking, imbues the film with irresistible and very real lust - and luster. Sporting the chicest Yves Saint Laurent finery, Deneuve revels in the peculiar desires of her character while always inviting our own. As Buñuel himself acknowledges in his 1984 autobiography, My Last Sigh (published a year after his death), Belle de jour “was my biggest commercial success, which I attribute more to the marvelous whores than to my direction.” (Per Baxter, after the filming of Belle de jour, he would finally admit of his star, “She’s really a very good actress.”) Deneuve’s gift was to update the world’s oldest profession for her still-expanding résumé.

The director had some modifying to do as well. Buñuel, who adapted Joseph Kessel’s 1928 novel with Carrière, assessed the source material dryly in My Last Sigh: “The novel is very melodramatic, but well constructed, and it offered me the chance to translate Séverine’s fantasies into pictorial images as well as to draw a serious portrait of a young female bourgeois masochist. I was also able to indulge myself in the faithful description of some interesting sexual perversions.”

He wastes no time in establishing those bizarre erotic proclivities. In Belle de jour’s opening scene, Séverine and her doting husband of one year, Pierre Serizy (Jean Sorel), a handsome, dutiful surgeon, are snuggled close in a horse-drawn carriage; he interrupts the tender moment with the lament “If only you weren’t so cold.” She pulls away, defensive. The sound of horse bells, which has been increasing in volume from the film’s first shot - and will indicate Séverine’s dreams or fantasies throughout - stops. Pierre orders his wife out of the cab; when she refuses, he and the two drivers remove her by force. She is gagged, bound to a tree, and whipped by the coachmen, who are then instructed by Pierre to rape her. When one begins to ravish her, Séverine appears to be in ecstasy.

This carnal reverie is soon interrupted by the Serizys at home, preparing for their usual chaste bedtime ritual. Pierre, in white pajamas, asks his pale-pink-nightie-clad wife, under the covers in a separate bed, what she’s thinking about: “I was thinking about you . . . and us. We were out for a ride in a carriage”—a scenario Pierre has heard before.

The fantasy clearly belongs to Séverine alone; she finds erotic thrills in her secret thoughts of debasement and humiliation, her florid imagination compensating for her sterile, sexless existence. Her most private desires will soon be realized at 11, cité Jean de Saumur, the address of the boutique bordello run by Madame Anaïs (Geneviève Page), given to Séverine by Pierre’s louche friend Husson (Michel Piccoli).

At Madame Anaïs’s, Séverine - now going by the nom de pute Belle de jour, a reference to her two-to-five shift (she insists on being home when Pierre returns from his workday at the hospital) - is horrified at first but proves to be a quick study. A burly Asian client scares off her two seasoned colleagues with his mysterious, buzzing lacquered box, but she is absolutely transfixed; after the john leaves, she, lying prone on the bed, lifts her head, her luxuriant mane of blonde hair disheveled, to reveal a woman still drunk on orgasmic pleasure.

The contents of the box are one of the film’s many mysteries (when asked what is inside, Buñuel would reply, “Whatever you want there to be”). Yet the greatest enigma is Séverine herself: why does she recoil from the slightest sexual advance from her husband yet lose herself, both in fantasy and in her new line of work, in elaborate masochistic tableaux? “Pierre, it’s your fault too. I can explain everything,” Séverine insists to her husband in the opening fantasy sequence, as she’s being forcibly removed from the landau. But of course, she can’t - and won’t.

As in Repulsion, there are flashbacks to possible childhood trauma in Belle de jour. In one, a man appears to touch a young Séverine inappropriately; in another, she stubbornly refuses the Blessed Sacrament. But unlike in Repulsion, whose final, prolonged shot of a menacing family photo is offered as the root of Carole’s pathology, these scenes in Buñuel’s film are almost non sequiturs, presented not as psychological explanation but as blips in a baroque sexual surrealism.

As Séverine’s reveries and job demands become stranger and more mysterious - in one daydream, she is pelted with thick black mud by Pierre and Husson, who call her “tramp” and “slut”; a ducal client solicits her in the bois de Boulogne to perform in a necrophilic rite - Deneuve retains her porcelain, celestial inscrutability, while simultaneously transforming into an earthbound debauchee, delighting in her own defilement. Madame Anaïs (whose early, shameless flirtation with Séverine - who eventually reciprocates - is the first of the many moments in Deneuve’s filmography that would cement her status as a lesbian icon) touts her new employee’s regal bearing to prospective customers: “[She’s] a little shy, perhaps, but a real aristocrat.”

Séverine’s coworkers, Charlotte (Françoise Fabian) and Mathilde (Maria Latour), are constantly remarking on the impeccable cut and style of her ensembles. Yet what this seemingly untouchable goddess craves most is the brutality of her latest john, the thug Marcel (Pierre Clémenti), a rough with metal teeth, a walking stick that doubles as a shiv, and fetishwear (shiny boots of leather with matching overcoat) that could have been dreamed up in an atelier overseen by Kenneth Anger and Pierre Cardin.

Séverine’s relationship with Marcel will lead to Pierre’s ruin - or does it? The ambiguous ending of Belle de jour suggests that everything that preceded it may have existed only in the heroine’s cracked dreamscape. Like the buzzing box, the film’s final scene is whatever you want it to be.

Yet one thing is certain: Deneuve transcends kink. And despite her misery during the Belle de jour shoot, she would return for even more bizarre treatment three years later in Buñuel’s Tristana, losing both her virtue and a leg.

Almost 55 years after it was made Belle de Jour continues to be a compelling film. It takes on greater curiosity for me as I live in Paris and there are Séverines aplenty that I come across. But the film also speaks to a non-French audience even today as it remains a shrewd commentary on the hypocrisy of social relations and sexual politics. Buñuel invites us to ponder the transgression of a socially respectable woman secretly being a prostitute in the afternoons, but I don’t think he bothered to pose the question why a socially respectable gentleman should be secretly visiting a prostitute in the afternoons - which happens more than one might think and that behaviour is normalised. Something to think about.

#deneuve #catherine deneuve #quote #french #film #movie #cinema #belle de jour #actress #luis bunuel #bunuel #film making #arts #culture #france #scorsese #personal #paris

[theroyalsims]

ANYA DAZZLES IN GREEN FOR FIRST ENGAGEMENT OF THE YEAR

HRH The Crown Princess visited the Lady Weatherhamm Women's College this morning where she was welcomed by the student body, the school administration, royal fans, and members of the press who camped outside the college's doors to catch a glimpse of the future Queen.

HRH's visit is in line with her work on gender equality and female empowerment. Upon her arrival, the Crown Princess was greeted by a familiar face: her old friend from uni, Dr. Bernadette Marburgh, who happens to be the current Dean of the College of Arts and Humanities, and a renowned lecturer on Gender Studies.

(Above: HRH was greeted by an old college buddy, Dr. Marburgh; HRH also received a lovely posy of pink and red roses, courtesy of a sweet young fan.)

Dr. Marburgh and The Crown Princess both attended the prestigious Université Royale de Rennaux, and although the former was two years ahead of HRH, they were both very active members of the university's cricket club and eventually became fast friends.

(Above: Anya at the auditorium - In her speech, HRH commended both the school and the students for their trailblazing work in the field of women's studies.)

Crown Princess Anya also delivered a quick speech to a packed auditorium, after which, HRH also toured the college and met some of the college's brilliant students.

The outing marks the first official royal engagement for HRH this year. For the visit, The Crown Princess wowed in a green coat dress that featured jewel-encrusted accents. HRH complemented the lovely frock with a pair of nude court shoes, and a matching clutch. Meanwhile, Anya chose to go easy on the jewellery department, and wore her grandmother's sapphire and diamond stud earrings. Finally, to finish off her look, HRH added some extra "oomph" via a green headpiece.

(Above: Gorgeous in Green: HRH wore a bespoke embellished green coat dress, which was perfect for the slightly sunny yet still quite chilly morning.)

HRH also obliged her waiting public (and the press) by going on a quick walkabout and stopping to pose for photos. The Crown Princess, who seemed to be in a very happy mood, was asked about her holidays, to which she replied:

"I had a very lovely time. I think I spent a whole day just watching old movies. My sister baked me my favourite cake, too! It was wonderful!"

(Above: Darling of the Press - HRH chatted with some lucky royal fans amid blinding lights, thanks to dozens of cameras aimed at The Crown Princess!)

As to which sister baked the cake, we're not exactly sure since both Ingrid and Eleanore are both aces at baking! Hopefully, it's E... it is, after all, a new year. Maybe it's time for the warring sisters to finally kiss and make up?

Either way, it's great to see HRH in such a pleasant mood! Here's to a wonderful new year, Your Royal Highness! LOVE the coat!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal story #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 fashion #mystory #anya

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! It's me again, back with the fourth chapter. Drop me a comment or message if you feel like it, seriously it would bring me pure joy, I love hearing from y'all!

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: 1940s sexism, Meal skipping, Sobel being mean for exactly NO reason, swearing……. Any more?

Made of Glass

Chapter four: STD’s at breakfast

Water droplets trickled down the side of her face, she watched in the clouded mirror in front of her as one slid and fell towards the floor. Bernadette let the tap run into the sink a moment longer before shutting off the flow. Giving a heavy sigh, she reached for a paper towel to dry the excess moisture off her face and hands.

Bernadette wasn't stupid, she knew how most of the men felt about her being there. She had come to terms with the fact that some of them might never truly accept her. She knew it would be more than difficult joining the military as a woman and convincing a bunch of men to respect her. She knew it would take a ton of physical effort as well as mental, she expected it to be hard and she was confident she could push through and prove every man wrong.

But she still had feelings, she was only human after all. The constant jabs and looks she got weren't that bad on occasion, she could even handle her pig-headed CO at times. It was the thought that this mistreatment was never ending that got her, she couldn't see the end of it and she began to feel as if it would last forever.

Birdie remembered how her oldest brother had written her letters detailing his training and how the COs were harshest at the beginning to weed out anyone who might not belong there.

So she understood why she was being treated this way, as a women she was deemed weak. The men would've preferred her at home, in the kitchen, hospital or working behind a desk.

She had to remind herself that the special women's program she was apart of was the beginning of change. A new era, one where men and women could be on the same level, have the same jobs, the same responsibilities, the same respect.

One last look at her own reflection and she was ready to take on the day. Ready for her company men to ignore her, ready for her CO to screech at her and push her harder than anyone else.

However, Birdie was running on fumes. She'd need at least a cup of coffee to be able to function, considering her lack of sleep, skipped dinner and her massive workout the previous day.

06:00- The mess was open.

Birdie trudged toward the hall, following the smell of warm food that usually repulsed her, she stood in line and waited to fill her belly.

But alas, the day had other plans for her.

Sobel swung the door open and his eyes locked onto the women. His heavy boots sounded rhythmically across the wooden floor and came to a stop next to her.

“Private Coldwell.” Smugness oozed off of him, Birdie kept finding herself having to resist the urge to roll her eyes in his presence.

“Yes, sir?”

“I trust you had a pleasant night?” His tone carried mischief.

“Yes, sir.” While her tone was flat.

“Not tired, are you?” He just wouldn't let that go, would he?

“No, sir.”

“Then, what are you doing?” Silence. Had she heard him right? Could he not see what she was doing or was there more to the question? Had she forgotten something? Was she breaking an unknown rule? Thoughts rushed to the forefront of her mind, but nothing stuck out.

“Sir?” Her head tilted, a quirk of hers that showed confusion.

“I asked: What. Are. You doing. Private?”

“I'm- I'm standing in the breakfast line, sir?” Her befuddlement clearly showing on her face and in her voice.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Private, but doesn't consuming food give you energy?” It wasn't really a question but she answered anyway.

“Yes, sir.”

“And didn't you yourself just say you're 'not tired'?”

Ah, now she understood where he was going with this.

“Yes, sir.” She admitted defeat, holding in her sigh.

“Then don't you think you should leave this army issued food for the men who actually need it?” He leered, the implication was clear, he had seemingly banned her from eating breakfast.

“Yes, sir.” Her stomach panged, the smell of watery porridge and crisping toast wafted toward her nostrils giving her the urge to leave the hall to escape it. As if reading her inner thoughts, Sobel revealed a piece of white chalk from the pocket of his trousers. He made a show of stepping into the center of the room, holding the chalk above his head.

“This.” His voice raised, addressing all the occupants of the mess hall, “Is Private Coldwell's circle.” Sobel crouched down and drew a chalk circle around himself before straightening up.

“Private Coldwell will stand in this circle. She will not sit, lean or crouch while she is in her circle. No man is to approach Private Coldwell’s circle for any reason. She will not leave this circle for the entirety of the breakfast half hour.” He took dramatic steps around the room as he spoke, making eye contact with a different man at each word he spat out.

“If any of you men see Private Coldwell breaking the rules of her circle, you will report to me immediately, clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Dozens of baritone voices sounded off creating a deep melody.

Birdie willed the ground to tear open and swallow her whole when Sobel looked at her expectantly. His eyes flicked down to the white circle on the wooden floor and her body responded for her, stepping into the circle and staring blankly in front of her.

“I want all of Easy in their PT, lining up at the obstacle course at 06:45 exactly.” Sobel called as he marched to the exit.

“Yes, sir!” The room chorused.

Bernadette felt a thousand eyes on her, she really tried not to notice them but that was easier said than done. She felt a cloud of heat crawl up her neck, once again Sobel had managed to embarrass her publicly and she could do nothing about it.

A clatter broke her out of her personal pity party.

Toye sat at the end of the table she stood in front of, he’d ungracefully slapped his breakfast tray down on the table top and swung his body into the seat.

Birdie found herself watching him, amused. He seemed to be the only man who didn’t avoid her (not counting Sobel who screamed in her face whenever he pleased).

The table filled up, seat by seat and Birdie wondered where she should aim her focus. She didn’t want to outright stare at the men while they ate, but she could not tear her eyes from the meal they shovelled into their mouths.

“You’re not gonna faint, are you?” Toye’s gravely voice asked, laced with a tinge of concern yet he didn’t take his eyes off his food, feigning indifference.

“No, sir.” The women smiled, touched by his ever growing soft spot for her.

“You gonna faint on the obstacle course?” Joe raised his eyebrow to look at her, letting her know if she said 'no' he probably wouldn’t believe her.

“I sure hope not.” The grin on her face was evident in her voice. She noticed some of the surrounding men eyeing them up, gaze flickering between the two as if to try and understand what had caused the casual conversation.

“She’s hasn’t even finished the obstacle course yet.” A faceless man called out in a quiet lull, laughs ensued and Birdie clenched her jaw.

“No, technically, I have not.” She huffed, rolling her eyes, “but I will.” Her whiskey brown irises gleamed with determination.

“You jump too late.” Toye mumbled, breaking her from her thoughts of concurring the eight foot wall.

“Huh?” A slight tilt of her head.

“The wall. You should jump earlier, lead with your right foot and push up.” Joe spoke directly to her now, turned fully to face her, breakfast forgotten.

“That extra push will get you up there. Just try it.”

“Well… okay. I will.” Birdie was back in her head, plotting the logistics of jump kicking a eight foot wall and Joe was back to scraping the food off his plate.

“Ya know,” the man sat next to Toye spoke up, his thick Philly accent drawled, “Maybe you didn’t finish the course, but shit- you did good… I mean, for a broad.” The backhanded compliment was well meant, but Birdie still couldn’t help her eyes narrowing at his audacity.

Birdie heard the men speak to each other everyday, she’d heard the stupid nicknames they gave each other and she knew this man had a unluckily one. She would recognise that harsh accent anywhere, even though she’d never spoken directly to the man.

“Oh well thank you. That means so much coming from you, Chlamydia.” The southerner watched his face freeze he heard her version of his horrible tag. His brow furrowed and he halted the movement of his hands, as if the cogs in his mind were whirling double time.

Joe Toye subtly smirked, looking up at her to silently show her he understood her joke (unlike Bill who was still processing) and approved of her jab at his friend.

“You- what? Did you just- That’s not my name, sweetheart.” He stuttered a bit but finally settled on correcting her gently as if she were a five year old child.

“No, I’m like 90% sure it is.” She feigned a thoughtful look, finger posing on her chin. “Yeah, I’ve definitely heard people call you that.” She could barely hold back a smile, trying to play it off as being friendly or ditsy.

“No, no it’s Gonorrhoea!”

“Oh shit! You got Gonorrhoea too? A bad name AND an STD? Why; that’s some shit luck.” Bernadette couldn’t deliver the line with a straight face and ended up giggling her way through it. Toye was grinning down at his food and a few of the surrounding men who hear the whole thing chuckled at the Philadelphians expense. He finally caught on that she was messing with him and smiled along with his friends, rolling his eyes when he heard the men using his newest nickname; 'Bill Chlamydia.'

“That better not stick, lady!” He warned her, amused. Birdie laughed and shook her head, she kinda hoped it would.

“It’s Birdie.” She thrust her outstretched hand at him, he shook it immediately, smiling widely at the young woman. In his eyes she had earned her way into his good books with that smart mouth of hers.

“Guarnere. Bill Guarnere.” Bill enunciated the name s l o w l y for her.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Birdie rolled her eyes playfully at his antics.

Guarnere kept throwing one liners at her like he was testing her humour and how much she could take. Everyone was surprised when she hit him with a witty response each time and didn’t bat an eye when he flung names and cusses around. At one point Toye and Birdie teamed up to make fun of Ol’ Gonorrhoea and his supposed STD’s. A list which was growing by the second.

“Yous a southern broad, Birdie? Ya sound like a fuckin hayseed?”

“You from Philly, Syphilis? I can’t understand a thang you say!”

The men who sat with Joe and Bill had also introduced themselves to Bernadette; Frank Perconte, Floyd Talbert, Donald Hoobler and George Luz to name a few. The men had begun joking around with her once Bill paved the way. It was as if the boundary had been broken and now they were allowed to be friends with her.

06:30 rolled around and the mess hall emptied, including Birdie who could finally leave her circle of hell. Easy now had fifteen minutes to change into their PT gear and be at the obstacle course unless they wanted Sobel to tear them a new one.

Birdie pulled away from the group of men she was working on befriending and caught Bill’s eye.

“Ten minutes, little lady! Or Sobel’ll send ya up Currahee!” He bellowed at her.

“Got it! See ya in ten, Herpes!” A chorus a belly laughs filled the air. Birdie heard a few echoes of ‘Herpes!’, ‘Bill Herpes!’, ‘He’s got Herpes now too!’ Bernadette gave a quick glance over her shoulder, Bill was scowling playfully and telling everyone around him to ‘Shaddup.’ Adding, ‘I don’t got no Herpes!’ As they disappeared to their barracks.

A/N: I think I'm the funniest person in the world and nothing will change that, thank you and goodnight x

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter five

#band of brothers #hbo war #next autopsy #easy company #ww2 #band of brothers fanfic #first fanfic #fem oc #oc #chapter four #made of glass #made of glass chapter four #not edited we die like men #joe toye #bill guarnere

[bridgertonbabe]

Alright, who calls William a dumb whore?

Seriously, Bernadette drops that on him and runs away?

Bernadette was still coming to terms with the news herself, having taken a test that morning and processing what she should do. She knew she should have cancelled the date as soon as she found out but she went on it anyway, hoping it might provide some sort of distraction from such life-changing news. Instead she spent the entire evening weighing everything up in her mind and not being fully present with the perfectly pleasant guy she had been set up with. At the end of the date she apologised that as nice as he was, she simply had too much on her plate and now wasn't the best time for her to be dating. All she wanted was to go home, figure out exactly what she wanted for her future and prepare herself to tell William. Except, as soon as she stepped through the door he was already there waiting for her, demanding to know what she was playing at going on a date with someone else and getting irate with her because of it; and so she ended up blurting out she was pregnant.

William fell silent instantaneously, his eyes wide with shock as he processed the news.

"I'm going to keep it." Bernadette announced, much to her own surprise.

And yet deep down she acknowledged that she was always going to keep the baby. As much as she was sensibly weighing up her options and taking everything into careful consideration, in her heart she knew what she was going to do.

"I never thought this would happen for me." she confessed. "I always wanted to have children when I was little, but then for the longest time I didn't think I could ever get anyone to be remotely attracted to me enough for it to ever happen; and I can't throw what might be my only chance of motherhood away." she explained in heartfelt earnest. "And I'm sorry if that's not what you want, but it's my choice at the end of the day-"

She hadn't anticipated William to kiss her then, his hands cradling her face as his lips tenderly pressed against hers before he drew back, his eyes gazing into hers.

"Marry me." he breathed.

It took a few seconds to process what he had just uttered but once her brain had caught up Bernadette suddenly jumped back and stared at him incredulously.

"What?!" she exclaimed - and then much to her ever growing shock he got down on one knee. "What are you doing, William?!"

"I'm asking you to-"

"No!" she cried out and his face dropped instantly. "No, William, this isn't a joke!"

"I know it's not a joke!" he fought back. "You're-"

"Having your baby, I know! But that doesn't mean you have to do this!" she gestured wildly between them. "I don't want you to do this just because you feel guilty or out of pity or you feel obligated!"

"That's not why I'm doing this!"

"Well why else would you ask me to marry you?!"

"Because I love you!"

Bernadette stared at him with fully rounded eyes, momentarily breathless from his profession before she shook her head at him.

"No. No, you might love me as a friend but you aren't in love with me-"

"Of course I'm in love with you!" he spluttered. "Why do you think I lost my mind over you dating that old man?! Over the date you went on tonight?! Why do you think I've spent the best part of the last few months sleeping in your bed?!"

"Because you always want my attention?" she pointed out, refusing to accept William's declaration of love to be anything other than him confusing his love for her attention with actual romantic love. "Because you can't stand the thought of me giving attention to anyone else but you?"

"Yeah; because I'm in love with you!" he insisted. "It's your attention I crave more than anyone else's, Dette! I've been so stupid for the longest time to never realise just how much you mean to me, just how deeply I love you, how much I need you in my life and by my side always!"

"But you can have anyone." her voice shook, her eyes welling up with tears because while he was saying everything she had ever dreamed of hearing from him, she still couldn't accept that after all this time William loved her back; it just didn't make any sense to her. "Why would you want me more than anyone else?"

"Because there's nobody else like you." he said, his voice softening gently as he observed how emotional she was getting. "You're beautiful, you're gorgeous, you're stunning, you're sexy, you're so so pretty, you're bright, you're funny, you're intelligent, you're driven, you're accomplished, you're kind, you're honest, you're sweet, you're adorable; you're my best friend. You're everything that's right with the world and you're everything that I could ever want."

Bernadette could do nothing to stop her tears from spilling following William's declaration of love. It all felt so surreal for him to be revering her in such a way, never having expected for this to actually happen outside of her fantasies.

"I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out, and for that I can only apologise; but I love you here and now and I vow to love you for the rest of our lives, if you'll give me the chance to make you as happy as you make me." he pleaded, his eyes also wet with tears and his voice on the verge of breaking from the sheer emotion and sincerity of his words.

At that point Bernadette finally accepted that the love William was expressing was genuine, having never once seen him like this in all the years she had known him. She had never heard him pour his heart out the way he just had and she fully welcomed the love he at long last reciprocated for her by bending down and kissing him.

He kissed her back, holding her as close to him as he could, his tears mixing with hers as their faces pressed together.

"I love you." she finally uttered aloud to him after fifteen long yearning-filled years. "I love you so much."

William's eyes shone with adoration and a blissfully happy smile pulled on his face before he resumed kissing her, rising up from kneeling to embrace her properly before she hauled him into the bedroom. After celebrating the long-awaited for reciprocation of their love, William echoed his previous proposal.

"So will you marry me?" he uttered as he held her against him, his hand lazily running up and down her back.

"No."

William pulled back, his eyes searching hers as he waited for a reason to be rejected.

"Not without a ring." she smirked; after all if she was going to be proposed to, she should be proposed to properly.

William exhaled a snort of relief before nodding his head agreeably.

"You're right. And as soon as I do; will you accept?"

"Mhm, guess you'll have to wait and see." she teased him with a toying little smile.

Her coy response prompted a burst of laughter out of her soon-to-be fiance before he pulled her in for a kiss, chuckling against her lips as he repeated again and again just how much he loved her in between kisses.

#asks #and don't worry i'll be writing the rest of the fam's reactions in due course #harry potter au #benophie babies #william bridgerton #william x bernadette

[marzipanandminutiae]

I’m sorry to do this to you but I can’t be the only one who suffers through this quote unquote “informative article”, look up the “ The Real Reason Why Victorian Women Wore Crotch-less Panties” article on Medium, it’s awful

Oh god

just going on record with the answer "so they could use the toilet while fully dressed, though before about the 1820s, most western women simply didn't wear any sort of bifurcated lower body undergarment" before I read this, but here we go

(brief reading interlude, punctuated by "what the everloving fuck?" and fortifying sips of tea latte)

okay, so the writer seems to think of this as like...a feminist thing somehow? the article is very "they were SOOOOO oppressed by their clothes, but their vajayjays [yes, she actually says "vajayjay," and hear me when I respond: I honestly would rather people call it a cunt than that. no joke] were Out! SLAY QUEEN!"

instead of like

you have to pee sometime. you're wearing layers of skirts. it is hard to pull drawers down when they're under a well-fitted corset. nothing inherently Feminist or Un-Feminist about it- it's just an adaptation people made

oh, sorry. a "bone-crushing corset,' according to the writer. must have been a typo there

I could go on and on about the details of this nightmare article: from the proud assertion that, nowadays, women in our Thoroughly Democratized society all wear leggings and fast fashion (back then they all wore bodices, petticoats, skirts, corsets, etc.- and today, people make actual videos about "how to look rich," so how's that cut and dried progression from More to Less Democratized Fashion working out for you?) to the continued hammering-home of the idea that Victorian clothing was always uncomfortable, all the time, period, to the assertion that most Victorian women free-bled into their clothes while menstruating (?!)

but like. Bernadette Banner just made a really gorgeous house robe, and I've been wanting a better robe/housedress for a while now, and I have so much lovely fabric in my stash, and it kind of feels like a sign, and I'm working on a Halloween oneshot fic on top of that, so...

I think I'm going to go Have A Pleasant Day instead, this time. that certainly was a satisfying bit of righteous fury, though!

#ask #anon #history #dress history #fashion history #I love my Lucille robe but it really is a garment obviously designed more for aesthetics than practicality #which is fine! #Doylist reason: it's a film costume. Watsonian reason (in my opinion): it's her Sexy Lingerie #I don't think she ever leaves the attic any less than fully dressed #but I like changing into loungewear after work or for a day at home so. yeah. #menstruation mention

[sweetmariabear]

Earth-11 Additional Characters

Alright, so I made these while tired. Some more characters I would love to see, and maybe become a team lol.

Alright, starting off with my girl Zara Zatara (Zachary Zatara). She’s obviously Zatara’s young cousin. Zara is more or less self taught with her magic because her powers developed later, but Zatara did teach her for a while. She’s pretty powerful in her own right, and gets bored whenever Zatara talks about Klarienne (also rolls her eyes and does that talking hand thing). Also, a massive beauty queen who is always on point with her makeup and clothes.

Connie Kent (Conner Kent). She’s a vibe and chill. Has an awesome jacket that she almost always wears, Laurel stole it once to wear at a Teen Justice meeting, Connie was upset at her. She and Laurel have massive sibling energy and Connie would do anything for Laurel. Feels conflicted about her origin as clone, and whether or not she’s more heroic than the other half of her biological mother. (Not me wanting to make her and Zara a couple, idk why they just feel like chaotic girlfriends who cuddle).

Tia Drake (Tim Drake). She’s just like her male counterpart ngl. Tia is really good with technology and enjoys online gaming secretly. She and Talia get on each other’s nerves every so often. Is dating her girlfriend Bernadette Dowd, they are couple goals (they give Troy and Raven competition for that title). Her outfit is more like the Red Robin costume.

Jamie Reyes (Jaime Reyes). A total best friend for the people she cares about. Is always taking charge and doing whatever she can to help out. She and the scarab are complicated, sleeping is not pleasant. Jamie is always conflicted in what she wants to do with her life outside of heroics (maybe become a dentist idk, obscure reference for those who know).

For the people who interact with this post, let me know which characters you want to see next. Sleepy right now as I post, lol.

#dccomics #zachary zatara #zatara #blue beetle #jaime reyes #tim drake #earth 11 #conner kent #kon el #red robin #let me hyperfixate in peace

[theimpossiblescheme]

For Coricopat, their humans’ house really was haunted.  Even if not by the kinds of ghosts they could reach out to and speak with.  Even if they knew how to speak to a human’s remains they way they could a cat’s.  They took it on faith every time Mr. Lewis held his precious books.

His mother, an old woman named Bernadette (“Bernie” to her friends and family) lived in an old translation of The Odyssey.  It was a rather clunky translation, struggling to make the ancient poetry flow so well in English as it had in Greek, and some passages sounded a little too much like the labor of some old professor’s pen than something Munkustrap could weave on a stormy night.  But it was a first edition, still bearing a smudged autograph from that same professor even if the spine was crumbling and the pages smelled like butter and hand oil.  Apparently Bernie had still cried when Odysseus reunited with Telemachus after twenty years away, and Cori couldn’t deny that the tiny, loopy-lettered annotations around the description of Calypso’s island made them ache for some long-past life.  Mr. Lewis could apparently vividly remember the way Bernie would read certain pages, and his voice would take on new inflections, new pauses to really let the suspense of the escapes from Polyphemus or the Underworld sink in.  And Cori could feel the same presence in the creaking of the old rocking chair, the highest shelves in the larder, and the way Ms. Grenaway would complain about her knees on cold nights in the garden–almost like a second voice echoing her pains.

Gwen–the famous Gwen, the artist Gwen, the Gwen he’d married–lived in a water-damaged copy of Anne of Green Gables.  She’d dropped it in the bath one afternoon and then immediately vaulted into the sitting room and held it open in front of the fire to dry, not even bothering to throw on a towel first.  Her skin was very red and her hair a frizzy mess by the time Mr. Lewis found her, but she’d blushed (almost as red as her widower’s cheeks when he told the story) and confessed that she couldn’t bear to let the book be destroyed.  It was a children’s book, she admitted, far too simple fare for a grown woman like herself… but she couldn’t help it.  She loved it.  That was always the way Mr. Lewis ended his telling–”she loved it.”  Always in the same tone of voice, a soft and almost palpable ache in his voice, like a twinging shoulder before a rainstorm.  He would read in that same tone of voice, too, even the pages were the letters swam from the bathwater, looking off into the middle distance as he recited them from memory.  And Cori fancied they could hear her voice, too, in the crackling of the radio, the gentle rattle of the old pipes, and the whistling wind by the window that also made them feel grateful to live in a world with Octobers.

Their daughter Lizzie lived in a dog-eared second edition of The Wind in the Willows.  Or rather, she would have.  She could have, if she’d been born.  Gwen so wanted a baby, and Mr. Lewis would have been thrilled to give her one, but it was not to be.  Cori only had to tell one would-be mother that it would never be safe, and they hoped never to do so again.  They imagined the crying would be very similar to that night in the healers’ den as they and Jenny tried to ease her pain.  Still, it never stopped the humans from imagining their little girl.  To hear Mr. Lewis tell it, she would have been the spitting image of her mother, dark-haired and dark-eyed with an eye for beauty and the prettiest laugh a baby could have.  The only concession he’d make for himself was that maybe she’d be short, ignoring the possibility that he could pass on his long delicate hands, his soft and pleasant face, or the way his voice could pierce through you like no human Cori had ever met.  They never settled on what her name would be short for, but everything else about her seemed so clear.  Mr. Lewis read from the book that would have been her birthday present with the same patience and animation that he would for any child, even coming up with distinct voices for every character and playfully confessing that Grahame should have written another book for the hard-done-by weasels.  And the more he described her, the more Cori could feel the possibilities in the birdsong in the trees, the buzzing of visiting honeybees, and the ever-present purrs and laughter each night around the hearth.

“One day, I suppose all these will have to go to you,” Mr. Lewis said one evening, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he stroked Cori’s fur.  “Promise me you’ll take good care of them when I’m gone, eh?”  Cori hated to admit that they couldn’t read, but perhaps they could ask Asparagus to teach them.  They had to give these spirits the home they deserved, after all.

#I had to write a companion piece for Tanto's--it just kind of fell out of me and I'm rather proud of where it ended up. <3 #tw: infertility #cats the musical #coricopat

[online-course-vip]

Bernadette Pleasant – Somatic Dance for Emotional Alchemy

Bernadette Pleasant – Somatic Dance for Emotional Alchemy Description Of Somatic Dance for Emotional Alchemy Embody healing somatic movements as a powerful and easy way to release constricted emotions, calm your nervous system, and step more confidently into your authentic Self. What if you could just let go… and open to the wisdom and guidance of your emotions? Many of us are too emotionally on…

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[abandntravels]

Blog 2022 - Bernadette is abandoning Nick for 3 weeks.

Jenny and B’s trip to Wareham 13 August to 14 August.

Having decided one Friday night via a text conversation with Mum that we should head to the UK and do the family thing and booking the tickets that Sunday. Suddenly the trip day was upon us. Out of practice on the holiday front sadly the bag didn’t pack itself and may actually be a little on the lite side but as someone said, have passport and visa can travel (that person wasn’t Nick).

While NZ is under the grips of a very wet and windy winter, the UK has been under the grip of a very dry autumn and at least two heat waves, it is hard to pack for summer when you need at least three merino layers to keep warm. And of course said heat wave moves on as soon as we arrive (not quite).

Any way following last minute packing on Saturday 13 August, it was finally time to get to Welly airport and start the journey, the beginning of hurry up and then wait. Used my e vouchers to get into Koru lounge in Auckland. Made for a very pleasant waiting. But was a reminder that this will be my first international trip sober, having given up alcohol 20 months ago this will be another new part of the journey.

Flight from Auckland to Singapore delayed by 45minutes, our first experience and hanging around in a large group of masked people. People where mostly very good with mask wearing which was awesome, having avoided the plague so far I really don’t want to catch it on holiday. The flight was uneventful, just like it should be in a flying tin can. I even got some sleep, as did Mum (thought I should mention her again just in case you thought I had lost her).

Singapore airport efficient, hot and busy. Only two hours between flights due to delay in leaving Auckland, but that was still enough time to walk rather take the travelaters. An unsuccessful attempt to keep my feet a normal size.

The 13hrs hours from Singapore to London, went quickly in parts and dragged in others. Lots of sore neck sleeping, but at least my eyes didn’t feel like they has been sandblasted when we arrived in London although my feet were very fat.

Had a window seat for this leg, which actually made it feel like I had extra space because at least on one side you weren’t worried about falling asleep on your neighbours shoulder.

Baggage claim, passport control and finding relatives waiting for us at arrivals was all a breeze.

Jill and Grandad were waiting, which is just so lovely to see them, I swear Grandad never ages and Jill looks amazing. A stop at the services on the way back for our first cup of English breakfast tea in England and then we were in Wareham. It’s hot, with no breeze, but it was definitely time for bed after a cuppa and a few biscuits.

[lboogie1906]

Bernadette Mary Allen (born June 5, 1956) is a Foreign Service Officer and Ambassador. She is the former U.S. Ambassador to Niger. She was born in DC and raised in Seat Pleasant, Maryland. She earned a BA in French Civilization and Linguistics at Central College. She studied abroad for a year, earning a Certificate in French Civilization from the Sorbonne. She completed a MA in Human Resources Management from George Washington University while handling her regular duties at the Department of State. She speaks French and Mandarin Chinese. She was commissioned into the US Diplomatic Service. President George W. Bush nominated her to serve as Ambassador to the Republic of Niger. She was confirmed by the Senate and sworn in as Ambassador. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence https://www.instagram.com/p/CebKruorQ8-8xHSLYpzSd4A5BIW82xSG54U0lA0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[bachisbach]

Soma journey 4 - Embodied Reconnection Week and other sources

It came as a slight surprise to me, but the amount of information I find on embodiment online - free conferences, free podcasts, discussions, masterclasses - is simply massive. It's very exciting, but sometimes it might also feel a bit overwhelming, because I want to try EVERYTHING. My fomo is a real thing and when I think back about my days of working in a stressful full time job, living in a big city, going out almost every night and all the drinking, I can only thank my naive and resilient body for being able to carry all of that each day with very few pauses. Probably if you're a parent or someone handling many jobs etc, you're laughing at me now, but I'm weak, OK!

In short the below was me:

Today, I still try to do as much as possible but for better reasons than FOMO. I've also become more careful in measuring and respecting my time and have learnt to appreciate my 'rest' time. After all, embodiment teaches me to listen to my body and what it needs and when. I am slowly starting to understand and experience that lesson.

Sooooo I want to mention a few conferences/summits which have really helped me over the past year and kept me busy in a good way:

-Embodied Psychology Summit - here I heard from such amazing people as Michela Boehm, Dr Scott Lyons, Stephen W. Porges, Myra Avedon and others. I had never heard of polyvagal theory (by Porges) and never even thought of studying trauma, so it was a great intro. Also I picked up very interesting facts about our body development, and tips how to connect to myself more. Also had amazing spiritual experiences listening and practising animism and ancestral medicine with Daniel Foor , and took one of the most purely blissful/full of happiness dance classes ever with Bernadette Pleasant. I want to be like her when I 'grow up', can I please.

-Embodied Social Justice Summit- hear I heard from the amazing Camille Barton and Nkem Ndefo, amongst others. It's also organised by the same people as Embodied Psychology Summit, the Embody Lab. They also now have training for Embodied Social Justice, which I'm definitely considering once I have a bit more knowledge in general.

-The Wilds Beyond Climate Justice - not exactly an embodiment festival, but here I learnt from amazing people like Bayo Akomolafe, Alnoor Ladha, who influenced me to seek more and open the doors to the body world by thinking about how we got to where we are now, justice wise. The gathering's 'aim is to open up a space for different kinds of activities, actions, and conversations that lie beyond the dominant Western framework of climate activism and justice.' I was also 'stuck' in Malaysia at the time, so learning to think beyond Western framework was very timely for me.

-Embodied Reconnection Week - organised by Embodiment Unlimited, this event was happening whole of last week, with live sessions everyday available on facebook and zoom, mainly led by the founder Mark Walsh. I really enjoyed the experience of hearing from a single organisation which has developed their own way of working and their own methods, influenced by a range of other teachers. So you can say it was a marketing strategy for them, a way to attract people to join their courses, but the amount of useful information Mark and his colleagues shared was actually invaluable, at least for me, a newbie. So I guess, ethical marketing is kind of possible - never thought I'd write this. In short, this week I learnt quite a few simple ways how to center and why it is important. They also touched upon social centering/regulating with others and how to influence others. Most of those tips and practices, for example asking for consent, can be applied to any subject. My main takeaway was the obvious (but not consciously to me, at least) fact, that you need to teach by showing. The teacher needs to feel centered and know how to self-regulate, before they can reach out to a client.

Massive thanks to all the above organisers and teachers I had the opportunity to hear from and I can't wait to learn more.

#embodiment #soma #bayo akomolafe #alnoor ladha #markwalsh #nkem ndefo #camillebarton #bernadette pleasant #michela boehm #scott lyons #stephen porges #myra avedon #daniel foor #internalisedcapitalism #embodied reconnection

[incorrectspquotes]

Valkyrie: We need to ask you some questions about Bernadette Maguire.

Kenny: Oh, has Bernadette done something illegal?

Skulduggery: No, she’s dead, which is perfectly legal.

#skulduggery pleasant #skulduggery #valkyrie cain #kenny dunne #bernadette maguire #source: bones

[spiderandthesims]

1880s Names

A

Boys

Abel, Abraham, Adam, Addison, Adelbert, Alexander, Alfred, Aloysius, Alphonse, Ambrose, Amos, Anderson, Andrew, Angus, Anthony, Anton, Archibald, Art, Arthur, Aubrey, August, Augustine, Augustus, Avery

Girls

Ada, Adelaide, Adele, Adeline, Agatha, Agnes, Alice, Alma, Almeda, Alta, Anastasia, Angeline, Anna, Annabelle, Anne, Arizona, Augusta, Augustine, Aurelia, Aurora

B

Boys

Barney, Benjamin, Bennett, Bernard, Bishop, Bradford

Girls

Beatrice, Bernadette, Bess, Bessie, Beulah, Birdie

C

Boys

Carlton, Carson, Casper, Cassius, Cecil, Charles, Chauncey, Chester, Christian, Christopher, Clarence, Claude, Clement, Clifford, Coleman, Conrad, Cornelius, Curtis

Girls

Camille, Caroline, Catherine, Cecilia, Celestia, Celestine, Celia, Charity, Charlotte, Christine, Claire, Clara, Clarice, Claudia, Clementine, Conception, Constance, Corda, Cordelia, Cornelia

D

Boys

Dallas, Daniel, Darius, David, Dennis, Dewitt, Dorsey, Douglas, Dudley, Dwight

Girls

Daisy, Delia, Della, Delphia, Docia, Dollie, Dolly, Dolores, Dora, Dorcas, Doris, Dorothy, Dove, Dovie, Drucilla

E

Boys

Early, Edmond, Edward, Edwin, Eldridge, Eli, Elias, Elijah, Elliott, Ellis, Ellsworth, Elmer, Elton, Elwood, Emerson, Emery, Emil, Emmett, Enoch, Ephraim, Erasmus, Erastus ,Eric, Ernest, Ervin, Erwin, Eugene, Everett, Ezra

Girls

Edith, Edmonia, Effie, Elaine, Elda, Eldora, Eleanor, Elise, Eliza, Elizabeth, Ella, Elma, Elnora, Eloise, Elsa, Elsie, Emily, Emma, Emmaline, Era, Erma, Erna, Ernestine, Essie, Esta, Estella, Estelle, Esther, Ethel, Ethelyn, Etta, Eudora, Eugenia, Eula, Eulalia, Eunice, Euphemia

F

Boys

Felix, Ferdinand, Francis, Franklin, Frederick, Fredrick

Girls

Fanny, Fay, Felicia, Fern, Fidelia, Flora, Florence, Florida, Francis

G

Boys

Gabriel, Garrett, General, George, Gideon, Giles, Golden, Gregory

Girls

Geneva, Genevieve, Georgia, Georgie, Goldie, Grace, Gwendolyn

H

Boys

Harmon, Harold, Harris, Harrison, Henry, Hollis, Homer, Horace, Howard, Howard, Howell, Hugo

Girls

Harriett, Hattie, Henrietta, Hester, Honora, Hope, Hortense

I

Boys

Irving

Girls

Imogene, Indiana, Iona, Iris, Isadora

J

Boys

Jack, Jackson, Jacob, James, Jasper, Jeremiah, John, Jonathan, Joseph, Josiah, Judson, Jules, Julian, Junius

Girls

Jane, Josephine, Judith, Julia, Julie, Juliet, June

K

Boys

Kenneth

Girls

Kathleen

L

Boys

Lawrence, Lawson, Leander, Leonard, Lewis, Lionel, Logan, Lucien, Lucius, Luther, Lyman

Girls

Lacy, Lillian, Lilly, Louise, Lucia, Lucille, Lucinda, Lucretia, Lucy

M

Boys

Major, Malcolm, Marcus, Marshall, Martin, Mason, Mathias, Matthew, Maurice, Maxwell, Michael, Miles, Milo, Milton, Monroe, Morgan, Mortimer

Girls

Mabel, Madeline, Magnolia, Marie, Mary, Matilda, Maude, May, Melinda, Mildred, Millicent, Millie, Minerva, Minnie, Miriam, Missouri, Mollie, Mona

N

Boys

Nathan, Nathaniel, Neil, Nelson, Newton, Nicholas, Noah, Noel, Norman, Norris

Girls

Netta, Nettie, Nevada, Nona, Nora, Norah, Norma

O

Boys

Oliver, Oren, Orson, Otis, Otto, Owen

Girls

Odelia, Odessa, Ola, Olive, Ona, Opal, Ophelia, Ora, Orpha, Ottilie

P

Boys

Patrick, Percival, Percy, Peter, Phillip, Pierce, Pleasant

Girls

Pansy, Parthenia, Patience, Pearl, Penelope, Permelia, Philomena, Phoebe, Polly, Priscilla, Prudence

Q

Boys

Quincy

R

Boys

Raymond, Richard, Richmond, Robert, Rodney, Roger, Ross

Girls

Rita, Rosalie, Rose, Rowena, Ruby, Ruth

S

Boys

Samuel, Seymore, Sidney, Silas, Simon, Solomon, Stanley, Stephan, Sterling, Stewart, Sylvester

Girls

Samantha, Sophronia

T

Boys

Thaddeus, Theodore, Thomas, Thorton, Tillman, Timothy, Tobias, Truman

Girls

Tennessee, Thelma, Theodora, Theodosia, Theresa, Tillie

U

Boys

Ulysses

Girls

Una

V

Boys

Valentine, Vernon, Victor, Vincent, Virgil

Girls

Vera, Verona, Vesta, Victoria, Viola, Violet, Virginia, Vivian

W

Boys

Walker, Wallace, Walter, Warren, Watson, Webster, Wesley, Wilber, Wilbert, Wilbur, Wiley, Wilfred, Willam, Willard, William, Wilson, Winfield

Girls

Wilda, Wilhelmina, Wilma, Winifred, Winnifred, Winona

Z

Girls

Zella, Zora

#1880s #baby names #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #This is part one of a series of posts #if you have trouble naming sims especially for the decade and historical challenges feel free to use this as a resource #i went thru the top 1000 names of the 1880s in the ssa name census and picked the ones i liked and hated the least lol #txt

[popsunner]

The (Incomplete) List of Queer Movies With Actual Happy Endings

Disclaimer- I am a white lesbian, so while I have seen and enjoyed all of these movies, I do not have capital knowledge on what is and isn’t problematic or inaccurate

Gods Own Country (mlm)

A young farmer numbs his frustrations with drinking and casual sex until a Romanian migrant worker sets him on a new path.

Laurence Anyways (trans mtf, wlw)

In the '90s, Laurence tells his girlfriend, Fred, that he wants to become a woman; they confront the prejudices of their friends, ignore the council of their families and brave the phobias of the society they offend.

Were The World Mine (mlm)

A gay teen (Tanner Cohen) uses a love potion to turn close-minded townspeople into homosexuals, including the handsome jock with whom he is secretly in love.

The Birdcage (mlm)

In this remake of the classic French farce "La Cage aux Folles," engaged couple Val Goldman (Dan Futterman) and Barbara Keeley (Calista Flockhart) shakily introduce their future in-laws. Val's father, Armand (Robin Williams), a gay Miami drag club owner, pretends to be straight and attempts to hide his relationship with Albert (Nathan Lane), his life partner and the club's flamboyant star attraction, so as to please Barbara's father, controversial Republican Sen. Kevin Keeley (Gene Hackman).

Kiss Me (wlw)

A young woman engaged to be married finds herself in an affair with her soon-to-be stepmother's lesbian daughter.

Handsome Devil (mlm)

Two opposites, a loner and the top athlete become friends at a rugby-obsessed boarding school, and the authorities test their friendship.

Pride (mixed)

Realising that they share common foes in Margaret Thatcher, the police and the conservative press, London-based gay and lesbian activists lend their support to striking miners in 1984 Wales.

Boy Meets Girl (trans mtf)

Ricky, a 21-year-old transgender young woman living in Virginia, dreams of becoming a designer in New York.

Moonlight (mlm, poc)

A look at three defining chapters in the life of Chiron, a young black man growing up in Miami. His epic journey to manhood is guided by the kindness, support and love of the community that helps raise him.

The Handmaiden (wlw, poc)

With help from an orphaned pickpocket (Kim Tae-ri), a Korean con man (Ha Jung-woo) devises an elaborate plot to seduce and bilk a Japanese woman (Kim Min-hee) out of her inheritance.

North Sea Texas (mlm)

A teenager searching for love finds it in the boy next door.

To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (poc)

Three drag queens travel cross-country until their car breaks down, leaving them stranded in a small town.

Saving Face (wlw, poc)

Wil (Michelle Krusiec) is a lesbian, but she not dare tell her widowed mother, Hwei-lan (Joan Chen), or her very traditional grandparents. She's shocked, however, to find out she's not the only one in her family with romantic secrets when she learns that her 48-year-old mother is pregnant. Unwilling to reveal who the father is, Hwei-lan is kicked out of her parents' home and must move in with Wil, which puts a strain on Wil's budding relationship with openly gay Vivian (Lynn Chen).

4th Man Out (mlm)

After celebrating his 24th birthday, a mechanic (Evan Todd) decides to tell his three buddies (Parker Young, Chord Overstreet) that he is gay.

The Danish Girl (trans mtf, wlw)

With support from his loving wife Gerda (Alicia Vikander), artist Einar Wegener (Eddie Redmayne) prepares to undergo one of the first sex-change operations.

The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert (trans mtf)

When drag queen Anthony (Hugo Weaving) agrees to take his act on the road, he invites fellow cross-dresser Adam (Guy Pearce) and transsexual Bernadette (Terence Stamp) to come along. In their colorful bus, named Priscilla, the three performers travel across the Australian desert performing for enthusiastic crowds and homophobic locals. But when the other two performers learn the truth about why Anthony took the job, it threatens their act and their friendship.

Romeos (trans ftm, mlm)

Lucas, a transgendered woman becoming a man, is stuck in a female residential hall.

52 Tuesdays (trans ftm)

A teenage girl's road to adulthood and independence is accelerated when her mum says he wants to become a man, and limits their time together to Tuesday afternoons.

Esteros (mlm, poc)

Matias and Jeronimo's friendship takes a new turn during the holiday before starting high school, when they both experience their sexual awakening.

The Half of It (wlw, poc)

A shy, introverted student helps the school jock woo a girl whom, secretly, they both want.

Pariah (wlw, poc)

Teenage Alike (Adepero Oduye) lives in Brooklyn's Fort Greene neighborhood with her parents (Charles Parnell, Kim Wayans) and younger sister (Sahra Mellesse). A lesbian, Alike quietly embraces her identity and is looking for her first lover, but she wonders how much she can truly confide in her family, especially with her parents' marriage already strained. When Alike's mother presses her to befriend a colleague's daughter (Aasha Davis), Alike finds the gal to be a pleasant companion.

Big Eden (mlm)

Henry Hart (Arye Gross) is a young gay artist living in New York City. When his grandfather has a stroke, Henry puts his career on hold and returns home to the small town of Big Eden, Montana, to care for him. While there, Henry hopes to strike up a romance with Dean Stewart (Tim DeKay), his high-school best friend for whom he still has feelings. But he's surprised when he finds that Pike (Eric Schweig), a quiet Native American who owns the local general store, may have a crush on him.

[marzipanandminutiae]

thoughts on bernadette banner?

I want to be her when I grow up. 

She is a year younger than me and I still want to be her when I grow up.

#ask #anon #bernadette banner #one of my New York costumer friends kind of knows her? #they're like. pleasant acquaintances #not friends per se but still #they have exchanged multiple emails and seen each other at events #I'm wildly jealous of my friend #Anonymous

[jomiddlemarch]

Love catches you unawares

Nurse Lee had been the one to see to Mrs. Alina Morozova in the antenatal clinic but through a series of events nearly as befuddling as Sister Monica Joan reciting Milton while Sister Evangelina wrestled with the autoclave, it was Sister Bernadette who’d been sent to call round at the Morozovas’ flat to make sure it was adequate for the upcoming delivery and to see how Mrs. Morozova was faring. “She’s quite a little thing” was how Nurse Lee had described her but her petite stature wasn’t what struck Sister Bernadette when the door to the small flat was opened by the young woman with ink-stains all over her cuffs.

It was most peculiar, given the darkness of Mrs. Morozova’s hair and eyes, her drab maternity smock, that all Sister Bernadette could think of was sunshine.

“Hello there, I’m Sister Bernadette, one of the midwives from the antenatal clinic at Nonnatus House and I’ve popped round to see that everything is ready for baby to come,” Sister Bernadette said, offering a friendly smile meant to reassure a new patient.

“Do come in, only I’m afraid the place is at sixes and sevens, I was right in the middle of a translation,” Mrs. Morozova said. “Sasha, Mr. Morozova that is, always says to let the housekeeping go if there’s paying work to get done and he never fusses about helping out with the washing and ironing.”

“I do hope you’re not working too hard,” Sister Bernadette said, walking into the flat that held more books that she’d ever seen outside a bookshop or library. There were crammed bookshelves all along one wall but stacks also teetered near the worn chesterfield and volumes filled the mantle over the gas fire, the table Mrs. Morozova must have been working at nearly covered in open books around a typewriter. It could have been dusty, but it wasn’t, only filled with a pleasant scent of ink and lemon polish and the faint chypre of old and new books mixed together.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Morozova said. “My husband wouldn’t think of it—it’s a wonder I even stir from the sofa with how well he looks after me. I hope you’ll have a cup of tea, it’ll be the first I’ve made for myself today. He always brings me a cup while I’m still in bed, like I’m a fine lady.”

“He sounds like he dotes on you and quite right,” Sister Bernadette said. Mrs. Morozova had a slight accent, one she couldn’t place, and other than the books, the flat was sparsely furnished, the tiny kitchen in an alcove off the sitting room, the narrow bedroom visible through an open door barely holding the brass double bed. They were new to Poplar and she couldn’t help wondering where they’d lived before and why they’d come to the neighborhood.

“He does too much, but there’s only the two of us to help each other. I was orphaned as a baby and his mother died in the war, his father when he was a little boy,” Mrs. Morozova said.

“The Blitz?”

“No, we weren’t in England. Sasha was in the Resistance in France, he’d been away studying in Paris when the Germans invaded,” Mrs. Morozova said. “We were born in the same village. We’re the only ones left.”

“Oh my,” Sister Bernadette said. For all that over a decade had passed, the war was still so very present in so many lives.

“We found each other in a refugee camp,” Mrs. Morozova went on, almost dreamy with her recollection. “I didn’t recognize him at first, he’d been fighting so long and in such terrible conditions, but d’you know what he said when he saw me?”

Sister Bernadette shook her head.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” Mrs. Morozova answered. “I knew, then and there, Sister Bernadette, that no matter what, we’d find a way to be together, and now we’ve finally got our own place here and Sasha has a good job writing for a newspaper and soon, we’ll have the baby. We’ll be a proper family.”

“It sounds like the Lord has brought you to a place of joy and succor,” Sister Bernadette offered.

“Oh, I don’t believe in God,” said the tall, bearded man in the doorway, presumably Sasha Morozova, if Mrs. Morozova’s sudden, sweet smile was to be relied upon. He was very neatly dressed, though his clothes were clearly second-hand and much mended, a handsome man until you looked at his dark eyes where there were still shadows. “Alinochka, you didn’t tell them? The nuns won’t want to deliver an atheist’s child. We’re sorry to waste your time with the house-call, Sister.”

“Nonnatus House serves Poplar, not parishioners,” Sister Bernadette said firmly. Sasha Morozova regarded her with a dubious expression. “It doesn’t matter a whit if you don’t believe in God, Mr. Morozova. The midwives of Nonnatus House will be honored to care for your wife and baby. And whether or not you believe in God, He believes in you.”

“That’s settled, then, isn’t it?” his wife said, resting her hand on the prominent curve of her belly.

“Not quite, milaya,” he said. “Neither you nor Sister Bernadette has a cup of tea, but that’s easily managed.”

“And perhaps some biscuits?” Mrs. Morozova said, all hopeful innocence. Her husband walked over, laid his hand over hers briefly and then grazed her cheek with his thumb, a tender caress he seemed not to mind Sister Bernadette being witness to.

“Most certainly some biscuits,” he replied, warm and amused and very fond. “I assume you are allowed to indulge in our hospitality, Sister? That the offer won’t make me your villain?”

“Not at all,” Sister Bernadette said. “I’m quite partial to Jaffa cakes if you’ve any.”

“You’re in luck then, those are my favorite,” he said.

#shadow and bone #call the midwife #crossover fic #fluff #darklina #sister bernadette #alina x aleksander in 1950s East End #vesperass-anuna #wanted some fluffy fic #what's sweeter than Jaffa cakes? #tw:pregnancy