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harmonysanreads · 9 months

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@harmonysanreads how are you in this fine morning darling💖💖💖💖 the quest in star rail was so fun and epic!! I can't what in store for us in fontaine djddjssjaa.

Also I have several brainrots for the pass days while cleaning the house and organizing my dads file cabinets. Like this I do ballet and just imagine Neuvillette always coming to the theater recitals to watch us dance, also fun bit that we are fontaine's prima ballerina a well known sweetheart of fontaine!! Where all nobles fight and spend lots just to see us dance or invite us to parties to dance!

Just imagine that ballet darling finished her solo in his private booth which is directly in the center that can see everything in the stage just staring at us face stoic but a dark desire in his eyes as he claps calmly. Yan Neuvillette giving her boquets in her dressing room and praising her in front of the people.

But!!!

Ballet dancer darling underneath her sweetness and kidnes prim and proper lifestyle, she enjoys the common things in life like "oh I love the menu today! But can I eat some street foods from liyue or inazuma!" Or "Wow! I love to listen to more rock n roll music!" She's just so humble and can mingle with people lower to her status. But despite her kindness Yan neuvillette sees this as rebellion like you can't expect you to mingle with people with no class...they will influence you and you will developed thier bad habbits.

Yan Neuvillette being ballet dancer darling secret admirer/ courting them, but Ballet dancer darling is just intimidated by him and indulged him due to the fact he gives them gifts, goes to thier shows and is good friend of the family plus his power in fontaine ballet dancer darling just going through it. But if you asked them they'll rathee go undercover and watch lyney and lynette magic shows, hanging out with Charlotte or freminet heck going down to the lower class and perform for them teaching some who wants to learn to dance.

Anything than being in a room full of suffocating rich people who adheres to proper etiquette than being true to your interests because they are not "a proper becoming of a young lady/man" just Ballet dancer reader who wants to experience the common people life than neuvillette formal dates and lessons

KEEP UP WITH THE AMAZING AND WONDERFUL SPECTACULAR WORK 💖💖💖💖💗💗💗💝💝

Wish us luck because fontaine will going to drain my wallet and I'm pulling for blade and dragon dan heng djdndd

Hiii Coco!!

For Yandere!Neuvillette, I don't think he'll outright see your interest in the common lifestyle as rebellion. Initially, he'd be somewhat confused as such interest is not something he usually sees from someone of the upper class. But as he recognizes it to be humility and compassion, he's charmed furthermore. He might even use this knowledge in his courting and news flash! The Chief Justice of Fontaine is interested in charity and is donating millions of mora to the lower class? Furina is thoroughly amused and her teasings just worsen. Oh well, if he succeeds in wooing you then enduring it all will be worth it. Neuvillette tries and he really gives it his all to win your heart ‘conventionally’.

If you think you can just dodge all his advances by being polite while hoping he eventually loses interest — you're so wrong. In fact, Neuvillette will notice your discomfort regarding him very early and at first, he tries to be more approachable, amicable and charming ; if you may. He's aware of his disposition, therefore, he doesn't really blame you for being intimidated by him. If all of this effort proves to be in vain, no worries ; Neuvillette knows the exact strings to pull to get an artist compliant. Reputation takes time to build but a measly moment to be destroyed, some good ol' coercion should do and in your most vulnerable state, who else will be willing to help you?

The instance where I see him being blatantly controlling is, if your whole involvement with the common folk and lifestyle threaten your ballerina image. I presume ballerinas have a very strict diet to keep their figures, in that case, do you really think indulgences such as oily, fatty street food will be allowed by Neuvillette? The Judge has caught wind of you skipping practice to mingle with the peasants? Well guess who's going to sit there and supervise your practice session til the last second? It's not like you get any encouragement to question his involvement, however valid your complaints are. No one wants to get on Neuvillette's bad side and I suggest you don't, too.

[ next : ballerina darling falling for a commoner ]

#phew finally found this ask #cocosakuya15 #neuvillette brainrot #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette x female reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader

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diablademon · 4 months

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I did a list of how long time there were between Charlotte siblings births.

This was made with the idea that Big Mom gave birth each and every year from she was 18 to 60 and never skipped a year. But keep in mind that she apparently gave birth 43 times in 42 years. So there was one year she gave birth two times.

First of Cracker and his sisters are only 5 months younger than Opera and his brothers. I read that children only have a chance of surving being premature birth if its been over 6 months. Because its at 6 months lungs and other organs are fully developed. But this is a show where a woman was pregnant for 22 months so everything goes in this world I guess.

Brûlée and Broyé have two different birthdays, twins being born on different dates arent that uncomman, but Broyé would have been born 9 months after Brûlée, 28 days before Nusstorte. Sounds more like Broyé would be apart of a Quadruplets with Nusstorte and his brothes than a twin of Brûlée. Most likely just a mistake on Odas part.

Perospero: March 14th 19 months

Compote: October 15th 12 months

Katakuri, Daifuku, Oven: November 25th 12 months

Mondée, Amande, Hachée, Effilée: December 10th 9 months

Opera, Counter Cadenza, Cabaletta, Gala: September 29th 5 months

Cracker, Custard, Angel: February 28th -

Zuccotto: - -

Brûlée, Broyé: March 6th and December 26th 10 months or 28 days

Nusstorte, Basskarte, Dosmarche: January 23rd 23 months

Noisette: December 15th 12 months

Moscato, Mash, Cornstarch - December 16th -

Compo, Laurin: - -

Mont-d'Or: April 23rd 20 months

Mozart, Marnier: - December 20th -

High-fat, Tablet: - -

Smoothie, Citron, Cinnamon - October 16th -

Saint-Marc, Basans: - -

Melise: - -

Dacquoise: - _

Galette, Poire: October 19th 12 months

Snack, Bavarois: October 29th 9 months

Prim, Paraline: July 22nd -

Kanten, Kato, Montb: - -

Chiboust: - -

Chiffon, Lola: January 27th 22 months

Mobile, Marble, Myukuru, Maple: November 17th -

Brownie: - -

Joconde: - -

Raisin: March 23rd -

Panna: - -

Mascarpone, Joscarpone: February 27th 19 months

Yuen: October 15th 13 months

Newichi, Newji, Newsan, Newshi, Newgo, Nutmeg, Akimeg, Allmeg, Harumeg, Fuyumeg: December 2nd -

Nougat: - -

Pudding: June 25th 7 months

Flampe: February 11th 20 months

Anglais: October 19th -

Wafers: - -

Wiro: - -

De-Chat: - -

Normande:- -

Doice, Dragée: Ferbruary 21st 14 months

Anana: April 17th

526 months total from start of being pregnant with perospero (Added 9 months to before his birth) to her giving birth to Anana. ~381 of those months she was pregnant (total of 31.75 years spent pregnant) and ~145 months (~12 years) between that being not pregnant. 72% of her prime was spent being pregnant. (46% of her entire life)

Other facts: -When Big mom was 24(?) she joined Rocks Pirates. same year she gave birth to Zuccoto. -Rocks got defeated when Big Mom was 30, the year Mont-d'Or was born. -At 35 Year old Big Mom created her own pirate crew, the year when Melise was born. And as it seems her children become officers in her crew when they turn 15 means Perospero, Compote, Katakuri, Daifuku and Oven all joind the crew as officers at the same time.

I find Big Moms pirates to be very interesting and I want to know more how the development happend. When did tottoland become a candy fantasy land? Did she have to wait untill her children ate devil fruits for that to happen? Or did Streusen turn things into food? Did she leave Rocks pirate to give birth or gave birth at the ship and then left back to tottoland to leave her newborns there? Katakuri and his brothers was apparently born on a ship, but such infomation isnt mentiond for Perospero or Compote. Katakuris flashback showed him and his sibling to grow up in a city, so Big Mom didnt keep them with her.

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dckweed · 21 days

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TORMENTED TRAGEDY, benedict bridgerton

summary: in which ruth archibald participated in her first social season in two years, re-introduced to high society after a years long retreat to a rest home after having had a horrid break down during her first season. she expects the whispers and sideways glances, the purely evident lack of suitors (what man wants a crazy wife?), however she doesn’t expect to find companionship in that of Benedict Bridgerton, and least if all the affect she so unknowingly craved.

warnings: brief mentions of abuse & attempted suicide. depression is going to be a heavy theme throughout the series so if you're uncomfortable, please do not read any further. cold and uncaring maternal figure, crazy twin brother who helps his sister be happy by sneaking off with her favorite bridgerton brother, loving father figure, its brigerton so ofc she's gonna be featured in whistledown and most likely bullied by the ton...eventual smut

series masterlist here. if you would like to be tagged in future parts, please comment on the separate taglist post!

i. seasons greetings

The sun rose over the blackened iron gates of the Archibald family’s city home, a grand structure (much too large for their family of five) situated on it’s own city block merely four streets over from the royal palace, and with it, Ruth Archibald woke to the sights of here own bedroom for the first time in two years.

The walls were still the peachy pink color of her girlhood, her room still decorated with that of the last things she’d touched, a book on the table next to her bed, her hairbrush and jewelry and in the corner, that god forsaken baby blue dress..She stared at the ceiling, unmoving from her bed despite the early morning light filtering in from behind the drapes. She felt like a stranger to herself in these four walls..Ruth had left a crumbling mess of a distraught girl, and had come home an entirely different person.

Two years in a glorified mental facility could do that to a person, though deep down, she had always quite felt like this, like she was just going through the motions and painting a bright smile on her face while doing what was expected of her, and there was always so much expected of her.

The Marquess and Marchioness were of one of the highest rankings, The Marquess, Lord Archibald serving as advisor to King George and Queen Charlotte. His children were expected to be intelligent and beautiful, sociable. They were expected to be prim and proper, to be knowledgeable in politics as well as being proper hostesses, fine horsemen and cordially impeccable. They were expected to be the most popular of the Ton’s high society, the most desirable for courtships and the perfect marriage for even someone as high ranking as a prince.

All of which, Ruth had been. Perfectly perfect in every aspect..though it seemed never perfect enough for her mother.

Marchioness Archibald was not an easy woman to please, the three of her children had learned that together, growing up competing for the womans cold affections their entire lives. It seemed that Ruth had finally won them two years ago when she had landed herself the fancy of a soon to be Duke, someone she had known her entire life..The boy was handsome, her mother had said, his father worked closely with the king and queen, he had troves of money..they would make a fine match, she had said.

Ruth couldn’t do it.

The soon to be Duke was not a kind nor caring man, something that Ruth had known growing up. Her brother had protested (having gone to eton and oxford with the man), her father had seemed angered by the arrangement that had happened behind his back. Ruth had tried to tell him no, but her other had already betrothed them, making the plans with his father,.the family would be receiving an ungodly amount in the form of her dowry.

Ruth tried.

She smiled politely, she wore her most flattering dresses, she spoke kindly and intelligently. She did everything she had been taught to, Cecil seemed to have responded well, though he spoke hardly in a cold tone not unlike her mothers. Her mother, though, had seemed quite pleased with her for once and Ruth basked in it, feeling the warm tickles of her conditional love.

The girl had managed to keep up with it, her upcoming nuptials the talk of the ton. She kept up the smile, the ruse of love drunk bliss, had done all that was expected of her by society, and most importantly, her mother. She thrived under the pressure, until she couldn’t.

It had happened on the eve of their wedding, the two families had been rehearsing how the next day was supposed to go, where each person would stand at the ceremony, what the couple would say as their vows..

Ruth couldn’t quite meet Cecil’s eyes as she repeated the vows after the priest. Something about the man she was set to marry the next afternoon seemed extra foreboding, his entire body looked rigid, tense, and his voice was cold and empty when he spoke his words. Short and to the point, as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Honestly, Ruth couldn’t blame him, she herself would rather have been anywhere besides there.

The rehearsal came and went easily enough, and the entire party went back to the Archibald manor, where the grooms family was joining the Archibalds for a friendly, but formal supper.

Ruth had taken to her room nearly immediately, having politely mingled with her mother and father in law to be for a few minutes before feigning exhaustion and retiring herself upstairs, where se paced tirelessly, attempting to calm her nerves as she thought about the wedding, how in mere hours she would belong no longer to her own self but to a man that she had been afraid of when they were younger.

It had terrified her how unhappy she already was.

Ruth knew not how long she paced for, but a soft knock at her door brings her out of her reverie. At her approval the door opens and her lady’s maid Esther appears.

“Yes, Esther?” Ruth asks, feigning a smile as she looks her young maid in the face. The girl was a shy thing, her face flushing at being put on the spot by her mistress. Ruth envied her something awful.

“Your betrothed has asked me to come fetch you, Miss..your families are sitting down for supper and noticed your absence.” The girl can’t even meet her eyes, staring down at Ruth’s bare feet poking from under her skirts. “He seemed most irritated, Miss..”

Ruth sniffs, turning towards her window. “Kindly inform my betrothed and his family that I will not be joining them for supper, I am unwell. I bid them good evening..” She says, voice stiff. “And then please help me prepare for bed..” There was noway she was going to get the stays of her dress or untie her corset without help..her mother had been insisting on her wearing them as tightly as possible the past few weeks.

Esther rushes out, leaving Ruth alone to her thoughts once more. The girl, resumes her pacing, mind reeling about her impending nuptial. She so desperately did not wish to marry this man, but she saw no way out without facing her mothers wrath or ruining their family reputation, unless her father put his foot down of course..

An idea formulated as she paced, her mind working on what to say to her father that would make him give final say on the matter. The Marquess had always been soft on his daughters, so really, she knew it would be easy.

A short moment later a sharp knock sounds on her door, thinking it her maid she’s quick to allow entry, not even bothering to glance. “I should like a hot bath prepared, Esther” Ruth says, opening her wardrobe to find herself a nightgown.

“Well, i’ll be sure to let her know on my way out.” His vold voice sent her body rigid, a chill creeping along her spine. Ruth turns slowly to face him, offering a soft smile. His face was blank, eyes dark and empty. Slowly he walks towards her, as if stalking prey, until he comes to a stop merely inches from her. “Your young maid said you were unwell and had taken to bed, i thought i would do the husbandly thing and coem check on my bride to be..” His lips purse as he stares down at her, his hand raising to caress her cheek. Ruth felt no emotion behind what should have been a loving touch, and instead her nervousness increased. “Though it seems to be unnecessary, you appear quite well.”

Ruth wondered where Esther was, they weren’t yet married and she knew they still require a chaperone. “My apologies, your grace,” She says, hoping the smile she wore would help her matter. “I am feeling unwell, nervous about tomorrow I suppose..I was hoping to prepare for bed early so I could be well rested.”

Cecil purses his lips, removing his hand from her face. A feeling of relief flow through Ruth, though it is only for a moment as her cheek is met with an open handed blow, skin stinging as her head is flung to the side. The metallic taste of blood hits her tongue as tears fill her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Ruth looks to the man that she was meant to wed, eyes widened in fear as she presses a delicate hand to her smarting cheek. “I do not tolerate liars, darling. “ His voice is cool, uncaring that he had just struck his bride as if she were a man. “I will tell our families that you are unwell and wsh to not be bothered.” He caresses her cheek once more, almost affectionately this time, before turning on his heel and marching out.

A sob wracked her body as the door slammed shut, crumpling to the floor in front of her wardrobe. Esther had nearly fainted at the sight of her, but had stood by her mistress through the night as she lay in bed weeping. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning when Esther had gone to fetch something for the girls aching head that she had done it. Ruth wasn’t entirely sure what possessed her to take the ornate silver letter opener to her arm, but she had done it. Panicked by the sight of her own blood, the girl had collapsed to the ground, a heap of sobs.

Her mother had shipped her off to the rest home quicker than she could eat breakfast. Hadn’t come to visit her but one time within two years, to tell her with contempt that it was time to come home and marry. That was how she wound up back here, with these memories plaguing her..

A sharp knock at her door moves her mind from the past and into the present as the heavy door swings open, a tuft of graying hair peaking around the edge.

“Papa?” Ruth asks, sitting up in her bed, worried that something may be wrong. The man sighs and steps into the room, he had not entered it since the morning of the almost tragedy.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright, my dear..” The older man speaks, placing a warm and loving hand to his daughters cheek as he takes a seat at the edge of her bed, near her pillows. “I know that your Mama didn’t give you much choice in coming home, I begged her to at least move your room, or for god sake get the damn dress out of here..” His jaw ticked as he stared at the scrap of fabric as if he had wished to burn it on the spot.

Ruth places a hand on her fathers arm, giving a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be okay, Papa..” Her voice was soft as she spoke, as was the smile that her fathers face bore. “I’m sorry to make you worry, but I promise, it won’t happen again..”

A large hand covers her own along with a squeeze as he looks down at the smaller form of his youngest child, eyes watery. “I know my daring, I won’t allow it.” Another squeeze, an unspoken promise to do better. To protect her better. “What have you got there?”

And thus began a quiet morning of reading the novel Sense and Sensibility to her father, a fond memory of him reading to her in her youth crossing her mind. When she finally heads down for breakfast with her family, she notices her Mother and older Sister reading little leaflets, the words ‘Seasons Greetings’ emblazoned across the heading.

“Mama, when may i see the dress for tonights ball?” She asks, sitting down across from her twin brother, who tosses a melon ball in her direction as she’s being served. She rolls her eyes, returning the warm smile he offers her. She had missed her twin brother something awful. He had been her best friend growing up, always getting up to no good with each other.

Maybe being home isn’t such a bad thing, she thought.

taglist: @cherrylovers-world @little-boats-on-a-lake @imgondeletedis

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton romance #luke newton #bridgerton

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wri0thesley · 6 months

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fontaine nat is a struggling writer; they would very much like to be out there writing detective novels or romance novels or some such thing . . . unfortunately, it's harder to get started doing that than one would think, and they are currently employed at the very lowest rung of the steambird. and due to being on that very lowest rung:

they are incredibly badly paid

they have charge of the things nobody else wants - which means at this exact moment in time, they write a column on domestic chores. the proper way to clean one's kettle, the most popular new vacuum gadget on the market.

in fact, if it were not for charlotte - their one friend - they would probably not stick it out. unfortunately, charlotte can do nothing about the mora they are paid - living in fontaine city, overground and in the heart of things, is expensive, and their steambird salary does not cut it . . . and as such, they've found work elsewhere.

so whilst by day they may be prim and proper, struggling and nervous - by night, they are no such thing. unfortunately, fontaine is the city of laws and rules and regulations - venues that sell alcohol sell licenses, risque performances ought to be reviewed, money laundering (naturally!) is nothing to be scoffed at, and as for the things that they're not aware of - under the table sales of sinthe come to mind - well, let's just say that if said establishment was raided, things would not come out well.

the duke of meropide - the administrator of fontaine's most infamous prison - prefers to keep to himself. it's extremely unlikely that one would recognise him out and about, unless they are forced to aristocratic functions regularly--

and, too, unless you in your day job you work for the steambird and are friends with a deeply intrepid investigative journalist who would love to get the scoop on duke wriothesley. if that WAS your day job, when you went out onstage to do your night job, all ready to flirt with the audience and flutter your eyelashes--

well! you MIGHT have a moment of panic!

#nat.txt #self ship postin #wrionat #natwrio?#which is better #anyway i was thinking about the moulin rouge and cabarets and such and i am unable to not make myself a performer sorry!!!#genshin impact posting

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ereardon · 6 months

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Golden Hour || Ch. 4 [Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol

Chapter summary: Bob's former fiancé moves back to town; Bradley finally gets Olive to go on a date with him

WC: 3.3K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

You were sitting on a stool at Breakers picking at their breakfast of champions — grits, eggs fried in butter, a biscuit soaked in gravy, a doctor’s nightmare — when Phoenix’s head snapped up.

“Charlotte,” she said, eyes wide. Something in her voice made you look up. A beautiful woman, late twenties or early thirties, stepped through the doorway. She had blonde hair in soft waves, perfect white teeth, legs that went on for miles beneath her short dress. But somehow it came off much more prim and proper than the skirt you were wearing, and you crossed your legs self consciously.

“Natasha,” she said and you bristled. Who was this girl and why was she calling Phoenix Natasha?

“Back home visiting your mom?” Phoenix asked, refilling the coffee machine and then turning around, placing both hands on the slightly sticky bar top.

Charlotte shook her head. “No. I’m home for good.”

You watched Phoenix’s mouth turn into a fine line. There was a density in the air that hadn’t been there a moment before. She caught your eye and then added, “Charlotte, this is Dr. Olive James. She’s taking over Dr. Robert’s patients.”

Charlotte smiled. It was frigid and tense. Fuck, she was stunning. But she had the aura of someone who would cut you down immediately if you stood between her and winning. You knew her type well.

You were her. In another life. The life that ended a month ago on a perfectly sunny day in New York. Not that you had been able to see the sunlight from inside the frigid OR as Peter confessed.

You held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Charlotte stepped forward, sticking one thin, pale hand in yours. It was limp. “You too.”

“So you grew up here?” you asked, taking a sip of coffee.

She looked at Phoenix. “Yeah. Something like that. Listen, I should probably head out. I’m meeting Mrs. Flannery at nine.” Charlotte looked you up and down. “Nice to meet you, Olive. Nat, I’ll see you around.”

She was gone in a moment, just a cloud of Byredo perfume left in her wake. You turned to Phoenix. “Who was that?”

“That was Charlotte,” she said. “Local pageant queen. Complete nightmare. And Bob Floyd’s ex-fiancé.”

***

You had thought you were getting somewhere with Bob. After the way the two of you had left things at his father’s house. But the moment you stepped in the office there was a chill. Literally and figuratively. Molly sat at the front desk shivering in a cardigan.

“Dr. James,” she said, teeth chattering. “Mr. Flannery is in your office. Unscheduled appointment. Oh and the HVAC guy is coming this afternoon. Something’s wrong with the air conditioning!”

“I can tell,” you muttered, swinging open the heavy wood door to your office and smiling. “Mr. Flannery, I’m Dr. James. How can I help you today?”

He looked up. “It’s my throat. Feels all scratchy. Like I can’t swallow.”

“If you can sit up on this table over here, sir, I can help you out.” You maneuvered Mr. Flannery onto the paper-covered examination bed and pulled on a pair of gloves. “Open wide for me.” Swollen, red tonsils with white spots and an inflamed throat. You nodded, sitting back. “Sorry to say you have strep throat.”

He closed his mouth. “Well fuck.”

You laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ll write you a prescription for azithromycin. It’s a five-day course, make sure you take it about an hour before having any food. And even if you feel better, take the full course or it could come back and that would be a worse case.”

“Is it contagious?” he asked.

“Very.”

“So I should send my wife in for treatment?” Mr. Flannery asked.

“That would be a good precaution,” you said, writing down the prescription and ripping it off the pad. “Here you go. Take this to Molly up front and she’ll get everything squared away.”

He nodded, standing up. “Thanks Doc.”

“Oh, Mr. Flannery?” He turned. “What does your wife do?”

“Why do you ask, Doctor?”

“I, um, I knew someone had a meeting with her this morning. Was just curious. Still trying to keep everyone in town straight.” You flashed him what was hopefully a convincing smile.

He nodded. “She’s a real estate agent. Are you looking?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll have her come by and give you a card,” he said. “And for a check up.”

“Feel better.”

He closed the door behind him and you leaned back. Charlotte was looking for a house. That was serious. You had met the woman for all of three minutes and somehow were annoyed by her presence and the fact that she was in Willow to stay.

Three patients later, you thought your limbs might fall off. “Molly,” you cried, tossing open the door to your office. “It’s freezing, when is the HVAC guy coming?”

“Dr. James.” Bob’s voice was hard. You spotted the empty desk, as well as the sparse waiting room, just one older woman on the phone in the corner. “My office. Please.”

You rolled your eyes, following Bob into his office. He looked toasty in a pair of slacks and a button down, sleeves still rolled up enough to show off his firm forearms. Meanwhile you shivered in a short skirt and sleeveless top. “It’s cold as fuck,” you moaned.

Bob had his back to you, not even bothering to respond as he moved across the room, opening an old wooden cabinet that you assumed held medical supplies, emerging a minute later with a lab coat and a sweater. The sweater was a vintage cable knit, navy blue and slightly frayed at the collar and cuffs. He held them out. “Here.”

You took them wordlessly. Was Bob Floyd being nice to you? “Um, thank you,” you replied, putting the lab coat down and sliding on the sweater. It was slightly long, ending just above the hem of your skirt, and much too wide, but you sighed in relief as the warmth enveloped your body. Bob picked up the lab coat, holding it out and you pivoted slightly, placing one arm in and then the other. The jacket brushed against your knees and you hugged your arms close.

He nodded. “Molly’s at lunch but when she’s back I’ll have her call Ed again about the A/C.”

“Human popsicle,” you replied and to your surprise Bob’s lips twitched upward. You grinned. “Well, um, thanks again.”

“No problem.”

He seemed in no rush to have you leave, one hand propped against the wall casually. “I met Charlotte today,” you said. It spilled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Bob’s face went pale. An almost ashen color. Similar to watching someone hemorrhage blood after a birth. You regretted it the moment the words left your lips, but you just kept word vomiting into the abyss.

“She’s pretty. Cold. Not quite a human popsicle, we might freeze here and it’ll be like the Day After Tomorrow without Dennis Quaid to rescue us cold. Just, distant.”

“Charlotte is cold,” Bob said. His response was crisp. Calm. He would make an excellent surgeon. Collected and even tempered. You wondered briefly if he had ever thought of a specialty outside of general medicine.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s fine.” He pushed off of the arm that had been leaning against the wall, running one hand through his hair. “I’m guessing Phoenix told you about our history.”

“That she was your fiancé,” you replied. “That’s all.”

“That’s all,” he repeated. “Yeah, that’s about all there is.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“When she left,” Bob said. “Five years ago.”

“Wow.” Five years was a lifetime. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry she’s back,” he replied. “Charlotte is a tornado. Everywhere, all at once. Destruction and chaos and excitement. And then gone in an instant. She loves to leave piles of shit in her wake.” It was the first time you had heard so many sentences come out of Bob’s mouth. And with such vitriol.

“Maybe it was time Willow had some excitement.”

Bob looked at you. There was something different in his gaze but you couldn’t place it. “Dr. James,” he said, silky voice grazing your skin gently. “We’ve only just started to adjust to having you here. That was exciting enough.”

“I’m not that bad,” you protested.

Bob shook his head. “Sure, Olive.”

There it was again. Your name on his tongue. There was something so sexy about the reserved way he said it. You smiled, stepping closer to the door. If possible, it was colder when you tugged it open. From next to his desk, Bob smirked. You grabbed the chart next to your door and turned toward the waiting room. “Mrs. Okane?”

***

When Bradley showed up at the end of your shift, you didn’t even think twice. It had been almost a week since he had been in the clinic. That was five times longer than he had gone without walking through the front doors the week before.

You smirked when he popped his head into your office. “Dr. James?”

“Mr. Bradshaw.” You put your hands on your desk and stood up. “What is it this time? Let me guess. Yellow fever.”

“See, Doc, I think it’s more serious than that.” He ambled through the doorway, wearing a suit. That alone took your breath away. No one as handsome as Bradley Bradshaw should be allowed to wear a suit, it was practically a crime how good he looked. He would have to try himself in a court of law for that. “I think I have stress cardiomyopathy.”

You laughed, head tipped back. “A broken heart? Really Bradshaw?”

“But you’re lucky,” Bradley said, stepping closer. “I’m a master at Googling and WebMD and I think I found a cure.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You go on a date with me. Tonight.”

You let out a sigh. “Bradley.”

“I know, I know, you’re not here to date,” he said. “But one dinner? Doctors have to eat, too. Have to practice what you preach, right?”

“You’re wearing me down, Bradshaw.”

“That’s the point.” He flashed a brilliant smile which turned into a frown. One of Bradley’s hands came out, fingering the pocket of your lab coat. “Is this Bob’s jacket?”

You hadn’t even realized that it was embroidered with his name. You had been seeing patients in it all day as Dr. Floyd. The fact that some of the patients may have thought that made you his wife made you blush. “Um, yeah. The AC was broken and it was freezing, so I borrowed something from him.”

Bradley nodded but the relief didn’t reach his eyes.

Against your better judgment, you reached out, taking Bradley’s hand in yours. His face warmed instantly. “OK. Dinner.”

“I’m guessing not Breakers.”

“You know what I would love?”

“A salt bagel from H&H?”

“Well yes. And the crispy tuna from Koi on Bryant Park and dim sum from Flushing.” Bradley laughed. “But no. I just want a good, healthy meal. Something that isn’t drowned in butter and doesn’t have five different types of pig products on it. And a glass of wine that isn’t from a box.” You shuddered.

“I can make that happen, Doc.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Red or white?”

“Surprise me.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, dropping your hand. “Oh and Doc? Do me a favor. Lose Floyd’s coat. Makes you look like his.”

“And that bothers you?” you called out as Bradley walked through the doorway.

He turned back. “Yeah, Liv, it does. I’d like to pretend that on tonight’s date you’re all mine. Even if I’m still winning you over.”

***

What the hell does one wear on a date in Willow, Georgia?

All of your jeans were designer and too tight for the occasion. A dress felt too fancy. You kicked a slinky black Reformation dress into the corner of the room in frustration, standing in the middle of the chaos wearing a La Perla lingerie set and a pair of Jimmy Choos. Maybe you should just answer the door wearing that. Bradley might have a heart attack. It would go hand-in-hand with his fictional cardiomyopathy, you thought.

Finally you picked up a black silky tank top and a short matching skirt, tugging them on just as there was a knock on the door. “Coming!” you shouted, grabbing your purse, a YSL Manhattan that was, no shocker, better suited in Manhattan than Willow, and spritzing a dose of Maison Margiela perfume on before rushing for the door. “Hi,” you said, letting out a quick sigh.

Bradley had on a pair of jeans and a tight polo that showed off his muscular arms and broad chest. He grinned. “You look amazing.”

You slipped the purse onto your shoulder. “It’s nice to have an excuse to dress up again.”

“Willow fashion scene isn’t cutting it for you?”

“The dress barn isn’t exactly my vibe,” you replied, locking the door. Bradley chuckled. “What?”

“That,” he said, pointing to the door handle. “You locking the door. No one locks their doors around here. It’s Willow.” He placed an emphasis on Willow.

“That’s insane.”

He shrugged. “Again, that’s Willow. Here, watch your step.” Bradley held out his arm, guiding you down the steps toward his truck.

“So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, Doc,” he replied, pulling the truck into reverse.

Bradley’s surprise was dinner on his wraparound porch. He lived in a charming house one block from the town center, white with blue shutters and pots of mums outside the front door. He had set up a table and candles on one side of the house and even from outside you could smell something delicious. “What is that?” you asked, sniffing the air like a Doberman.

He smiled. “Well you said healthy, but this is the South. So it’s chicken and dumplings. But I promise I made a salad.”

“Smells divine.”

“Want to come inside and grab some wine while I check on dinner?”

“Sure.” The inside of Bradley’s house was just as charming as the outside. A crisp white linen sofa facing a marble top coffee table, a six-person dining room set and a small kitchen with a little kitchen island. Down the hall you spotted an olive green mudroom with built-in shelves. “Your house is gorgeous.”

“My mother decorated,” he replied, stepping up to the stove and pulling off a lid from the pot, the smell of rich chicken and veggies hitting your nose. “I let her because it was that or death.”

“God, I feel that,” you replied. “My mother is the same.”

“Probably why I went to New York,” he added. “Cut the umbilical cord.”

“Do you miss it?”

“All the time.” Bradley put the lid back on the dutch oven and reached up in the cabinet for two wine glasses. “Red or white?”

“Red.”

He produced a bottle of pinot noir from a wine cabinet and set it on the counter. “What do you miss the most?”

“Everything,” you replied automatically. “The sounds. It’s too quiet here to sleep at night.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Bradley swirled a knife around the seam of the bottle, loosening the cover over the cork. “I miss the food.”

“Obviously. And the nightlife. And the Met. Saturdays in Central Park and then walking over to Bloomingdales. Taking the Metro North on weekends up the Hudson. Christmas on Fifth Ave. Getting blackout drunk in the West Village and running into celebrities.”

Bradley chuckled. “You might have had more fun than I did.”

“Maybe,” you replied, taking a sip of wine. “In medical school for sure. But residency? God, I was lucky if I was able to shower and order takeout before falling asleep.”

“You know what I wonder?” Bradley asked.

“Hmm?”

“Did we ever meet in the city? How could we have spent all those years within the same twenty mile radius and never met?”

“Chance, Bradley,” you said. “It’s not like I was hanging out at Columbia Law.”

“I like to think we were in the same place at the same time before, but didn’t meet until now.”

“Oh yeah? And why is that?”

He smiled. “Because that’s a better love story, Doc. Two people, fated to meet. It’s every Hallmark movie rolled into one.”

“So I’m the big city girl who leaves her fiancé and goes to the small town and falls in love with the local baker or farmer or pumpkin stand owner?”

“Exactly.” He grinned.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Yeah. Except I didn’t leave him. He left me. And I didn’t leave. I ran. They’re different.”

“You’re here now,” Bradley whispered. “Maybe that’s the fate part.”

“So what you’re telling me,” you said, leaning in closer, hip brushing against the kitchen island, dangerously close to where Bradley was standing, “is that you’re a hopeless romantic at heart.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

After dinner, which was excellent and you confirmed was cooked entirely by Bradley, he cut thick slices of local peach pie and carried them out to where you sat on the porch. You shivered and Bradley found a blanket, laying it gingerly over your shoulders. You smiled up at him as he took a seat across the small table from you. The candles were melting down into their holders. You looked around. “This is a cute street. Feel like I’ve been here before.”

Bradley hooked one thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Bob’s house.” He pointed to the house directly next door. You grimaced. That’s where you recognized it from, the day you had shown up to yell at him only to realize he had the flu.

How was it possible that the only two men you spoke to in the entire town lived next to each other?

“Olive.” Your name was sweet on his tongue. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How long do you plan on staying in Willow?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

He leaned back and shook his head. “Just wondering how bad my cardiomyopathy is going to be. If I should make an appointment at Atlanta General for next month or sometime next year.” It was October but the leaves were still firmly stuck on the trees.

“Bradley,” you whispered. “Trust me when I say, you don’t want me.”

“Patently false.”

You shook your head. “Trust me. You’re better off. Find a nice girl, like Phoenix. Someone who belongs here.”

“That’s the thing,” he replied. “I don’t exactly belong here anymore either.”

“So why stay?”

“Problem is that I don’t belong anywhere. Not here, not New York. I’m not entirely dedicated to a single place.”

“Maybe it’s somewhere else,” you countered. “Somewhere you haven’t been yet.”

“I know what I’m missing, Olive, and it’s not a house or a job or a favorite restaurant.”

“Then what is it?”

“A partner,” he said and your breath caught in your throat. “When you find that one person you can’t live without, you can live anywhere. Because it’s not about being tied to a place. It’s being tied to another person.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can’t,” he said softly. “Not until I find her.”

“Maybe she’s back in New York,” you replied. “Or Atlanta. Or San Diego.”

“Or maybe, she’s sitting in front of me pretending to eat a piece of peach pie.”

“Oh, Bradley.” At that moment, a light flickered on in Bob’s house. You turned just as Bob approached the window of his living room, one hand on each side of the drapes. Your eyes caught his for a moment.

And then he pulled the drapes together, shutting you out.

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newtonsheffield · 1 year

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I have recently had an idea running around my head where Kate meets Anthony just after she’s found out she’s pregnant with Charlotte. And Anthony’s just like 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ I love babies.

Listen Molly, if you feel so inclined I would love to know more about this IMMEDIATELY 👀🫠🙏🏻

Okay, okay, here’s how it works out I think.

Kate’s a lawyer, Anthony works on the floor below her, in accounting and they met by chance in the lift. And he was really sweet and cute, but yeah… she’s eight weeks pregnant so… she’s definitely not pursuing that.

But they keep kind of meeting, again and again until eventually Anthony asks her out.

“I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to get a drink with me after work tonight?”

And Kate’s heart sinks, because ordinarily, yes, she would like to go out with Anthony. He’s handsome and funny in a very prim way and he’s kind. But she’s… not really looking for anything, she’s scared enough as it is, and he’s not going to be interested in raising someone else’s baby, surely.

“Anthony, I would love to go out with you, but I can’t.”

His face fell, “oh, no, that’s totally fine. I’m really sorry I misinterpreted anything, I just… I think you’re great and I thought maybe there was something there.”

“It’s- it’s really not that, I do like you, I think you’re great it’s just- My life is insane right now.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed, “oh. I… My life is also… crazy, I can… work around pretty much anything.”

And it just came out, “Anthony, I’m pregnant.”

And the entire lobby went silent as Anthony gaped at her.

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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ordinorultor-if · 27 days

Text

Some Physical Descriptions, pt.2

Hilda/Hilmar Hardrada

Imagine a stereotypical viking. Now give them an ice saw and cover them in scars. That's H. Built like a brick-shithouse with height to match, H is imposing in spite of their friendly nature. The fact that they have a penchant for wearing furs, thus adding volume to their silhouette, compounds this.

H's torso and arms are crisscrossed by all sorts of cut and stab scars, but their most noticeable scar is a graze wound on the right side of their head, which prevents their golden hair from growing there. Their scars aren't the only man-made mark on their body, however - they, and both of their younger siblings, have a kraken tattooed over their heart, in memory of their mother.

From what they say (and what a half-Ostrowegian MC can remember), H mostly takes after their father.

It's not a perfect match, but a good way to imagine H is Eivor from AC Valhalla. Best part is there's male and female variants for both characters, lol.

Dagrun/Dagobert Hardrada

D looks about like you'd imagine a mage to - thin and lanky, a penchant for dark-colored hooded robes, pale-skinned, and long haired, with their jet-black hair reaching all the way to their waist. When engaging in combat, they, like H, make use of chainmail and padded leather, though unlike H, D also makes use of a breastplate.

Despite their lack of room organization, D makes certain their person is immaculate. Many times has their elder sibling tried to catch them with even a speck of dirt on them, and many times have they failed.

Since D lacks both the frontline combat style and... adventurous... lifestyle of their older sibling, they are mostly mark-free, with two major exceptions: their lower-right arm, which is almost entirely scar tissue, and the space over their heart, which, just like both of their older siblings, is tattooed with a kraken in memory of their mother.

Much like how H claims to mostly take after their father in terms of looks, D (allegedly) mostly takes after their mother.

Charlotte/Charles de Alençon

C is basically Wolverine the shortest of the cast, but they're still fierce - they're even the second-most muscled RO, after H.

C is a more martial focused person due to their circumstances, and they have the looks to match. Much like B, they wear leather armor even at home (and change into plate when preparing for battle), and they keep their hair relatively short, only growing it slightly down their back (a little past their armpits, if I had to give an exact spot). Charles also declines to grow much facial hair (which he gets teased about, if B is also male.)

Despite the constant need to defend their territory, C actually has relatively few battle scars. In fact, their most notable scar is actually of medical origin, the result of a surgery performed as a young child to try and prevent improper bone growth in their left arm.

Florence/Ferdinand Anglouême

F is... the way I'd describe them is 'average but pretty'. Despite this, F is the one who probably cares the most about appearances. Much like D, they're never seen with a single speck of dirt on their body, and this extends to their outfit. F actually wears rather fine clothes, befitting their status as a duke/duchess.

Ferdinand is one of the two ROs to have facial hair. Unlike Hilmar's beard, however, Ferdinand's mustache is rather well contained, and he takes great care to make sure it's prim and proper. If you want an idea of what Ferdinand looks like, Aaron Taylor-Johnson in Anna Karenina isn't the worst illustration, different hair color aside...

F has several scars on their body, with several concentrated where their neck meets their left shoulder, underneath their right armpit, and around their groin. They also have a handful on their nose and some other extremities. These scars are the result of plague, which infected both them and their father, claiming the latter's life.

#interactive fiction #ordinor ultor if #f angoulême #h hardrada #c de alençon #d hardrada

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reluctantjoe · 5 months

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Mathew Baynton on life after Ghosts

Shilpa Ganatra interviews Mathew Baynton, who explains why it’s time to end the BBC One sitcom and how new voices are improving TV comedy

“What have we done?” bemoans the decapitated head of Sir Humphrey Bone, after the nation’s favourite spectres make a defining decision in the final episode of Ghosts, which goes out as a Christmas special on BBC One. “We did the right thing,” Julian Fawcett, the trouserless MP ghost, says confidently.

The exchange nicely reflects the sentiment of the show’s creators, the Them There collective, in deciding to exorcise the BBC supernatural sitcom after five series – despite notching up several RTS nominations and maintaining an audience of around 4 million throughout its run.

The Christmas special was co-written by Them There’s Mathew Baynton, who also plays the romantic poet Thomas Thorne in the series.

“From an artistic point of view, I’ve never been in any doubt that ending Ghosts now was the right thing to do and the right time to do it,” he tells Television. “From a personal point of view, we feel a sense of loss that we’re not going to be getting together in that place at the same time of year, every year. But nothing can go on for ever.”

“That sadness tells you it was the right thing. If we carried on for another five seasons and we were all bored of it, bored of each other, and it wasn’t as good as it used to be, we wouldn’t miss it afterwards.”

The series follows in the tradition of British domestic sitcoms, centring on a young couple, Alison and Mike (Charlotte Ritchie and Kiell Smith-Bynoe). They inherit Button House, a country manor haunted by a disparate crew of spirits from across the ages, played by the Them There collective: Baynton, Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond, plus Lolly Adefope.

The show is a logical leap from the troupe’s first multi-award-winning TV creation, Horrible Histories, which re-enacted the curiosities of yesteryear in comedic skits. Horrible Histories’ success made it “shockingly easy” to get Ghosts commissioned – the only bump in the road was discussions between the group and the BBC about the pilot.

Recalls Baynton: “They wanted to do a pilot that would go out with other pilots. We wanted to do one to figure out the idea and road test the special effects, but we didn’t want it to be aired, because then there would be a pressure to not change it.”

The compromise was to make a 10-minute taster pilot that wasn’t for broadcast. This taster tried out their initial idea of having a house full of different ghosts and playing multiple characters (as with Horrible Histories and Them There’s Sky One series, Yonderland). But the result proved this set-up didn’t create the character friction necessary to sustain a sitcom, so the band stuck to the small group of ghosts we know today, from a prim and proper Edwardian matriarch to a caveman.

As Ghosts meets its end – on British TV at least, as the US adaptation is still going strong and about to enter its third season – Baynton, who turns in a high-octane performance as Fickelgruber in the film Wonka, is turning his attention to the other strings in his bow.

At the end of January he’ll step into the role of Bottom in a new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by the Royal Shakespeare Company.

He’s also writing a comedy film (details are being kept under wraps) and will show off his more serious acting side in the upcoming BBC Three series A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, a crime thriller based on the bestselling novel.

As a student, Baynton initially studied directing, earning a first-class degree at the Rose Bruford drama school in south-east London. After being drawn towards comedy, he attended Philippe Gaulier’s famously idiosyncratic clown school in Paris. “We used to say half of the fee is like a ticket just to watch him, because he’s hilarious. He plays the persona of a curmudgeonly, philosophical, French sort of half-wizard,” he recalls, adding: “Philippe’s got an incredible ability to help you learn what the audience sees in you.”

“If people tried to act up an idiot character, he’d say, ‘Don’t pretend to be more of an idiot than God already made you. He did a good enough job’. You don’t need to exaggerate it or pretend to look stupid. What you need to be is honest about the thing about yourself that people find funny, and then access that and allow people to laugh at it.”

This advice helped Baynton climb his first rungs in TV comedy to play Deano in Gavin & Stacey, a work colleague of Smithy (James Corden). He would go on to co-create and write the RTS award-winning The Wrong Mans with Corden, the co-author of Gavin & Stacey. By the time Ghosts began, he had worked in TV comedy – featuring in Peep Show, Spy and The Armstrong and Miller Show, among others – for more than a decade.

“You’ll hear people saying, ‘Comedy was best when I was young’. I always think, ‘Well, you’re just not paying attention, then’. There will always be great stuff and if it doesn’t speak to you, it’s probably because it’s for people younger than you.”

While being a dad of two has limited the amount of competitor benchmarking he’s doing, he’s impressed with the greater breadth of voices in contemporary TV comedies.

“Bridget Christie’s The Change springs to mind, with menopausal women as the central characters, and the specificity of the location of the Forest of Dean. You couldn’t say that’s like any sitcom that’s come before,” he says. “We Are Lady Parts is another one, so is Stath Lets Flats.”

“I don’t know why I’m only naming Channel 4 shows, seeing as the BBC has been so good to me…”

Making comedy inclusive is no constraint to a writer, Baynton believes: “I’ve read the odd interview where people have said that creators are self-censoring to the point where they can’t be as instinctively funny. And some people see comedy’s function as being able to say the unsayable.”

“I can only speak for myself, but I know that my best work comes from writing and rewriting. What emerges is always something cleverer than I am, because in life you only get a first draft when you’re having a conversation. It’s not a bad thing to realise that a joke could maybe hurt someone, and it sounds like a better idea that I should rewrite if my intention could be misconstrued.”

As the curtain falls on Ghosts, commissioners are clamouring to find out what’s next for the Them There collective. Happily, they still have the same personnel and are mulling over their next project.

“We’re mindful that we can’t just do a modern sitcom where we’re wearing jeans and T-shirts. It just isn’t our tone,” says Baynton. “When we look for ideas, we’re thinking, what’s the playground that we can put ourselves in? Where we can do something with a heightened silliness, where potentially we play more than one character, and where there is a costume element to it.”

With this tried and tested formula as the base, their continued success seems assured. The legacy of Ghosts is preserved, too, persisting in the corridors of Button House and, indeed, TV history.

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justforbooks · 5 months

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The actor Brigit Forsyth, who has died aged 83, made her name as Thelma in the BBC television series Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads? One critic described Thelma as so prim that she could turn the lifting of a lace curtain into an art form.

Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais’s creation, which ran from 1973 to 1974, was the sequel to the popular 1960s sitcom The Likely Lads, which starred Rodney Bewes and James Bolam as Bob Ferris and Terry Collier, two single north-east England factory workers who share a flat and the same interests – women, drink and football.

Thelma Chambers was brought in as a girlfriend for the upwardly mobile Bob, now in the white-collar class with a house, car and annual holiday on the Costa Brava, scoffed at by Terry, who clings on to his working-class roots. Thelma and Bob were married halfway through the two series of the show.

“Up until then, I had done a lot of drama on telly,” said Forsyth. “If I wasn’t being murdered, I was murdering somebody or I was a disturbed art teacher. I was playing quite a lot of deranged people, so comedy was a nice change.”

She created laughs again with the sitcom Sharon and Elsie (1984-85), in which she co-starred as the middle-class Elsie Beecroft alongside Janette Beverley as the more down-to-earth Sharon Wilkes, two employees in a greetings card manufacturing company.

But Forsyth’s own favourite television part was Francine Pratt in Playing the Field (1998-2002), the on- and off-pitch women’s football drama created by Kay Mellor. Her character, who hates the game, is married to the Castlefield Blues’ sponsor, played by Ricky Tomlinson, and keeps him happy in return for designer clothes and other luxuries.

“I have never played awful glamour before,” she said. “I had a blond wig, six-inch heels, makeup and my bosom hitched up high.”

Forsyth was born in Malton, North Yorkshire, to Scottish parents, Anne (nee Forsyth), an artist, and Frank Connell, an architect and town planner, and brought up in Edinburgh. She was mesmerised by Stanley Baxter’s performances as a pantomime dame at the city’s King’s theatre and, aged 18, landed her own first lead role, as Sarat Carn, on her way to the gallows, in Charlotte Hastings’s play Bonaventure with the Makars amateur drama group.

But when she left St George’s school, Edinburgh, her parents insisted she learn a skill, so she trained as a secretary. After a couple of jobs, she headed for London and Rada (1958-60), where she won the Emile Littler prize.

She began her professional career back in Edinburgh with the Gateway theatre company (1960-61) before moving on to the Theatre Royal, Lincoln (1961-62) and the Arthur Brough Players in Folkestone (1962). With other actors already named Brigit McConnell and Bridget O’Connell, she changed her professional name to Forsyth on her return to Lincoln in 1962.

At the Edinburgh festival three years later, she played one of the witches in a headline-making production of Macbeth. “That show caused an absolute uproar because they wanted the witches to have the bodies of young girls and the faces of old women, and they wanted us to have our top half naked,” Forsyth recalled. “But the Earl of Harewood, who was running the EIF at the time, said ‘No’. So they put nipple caps on us, which looked absolutely disgusting – and they used to drop off each night. It was absolutely hysterical.”

Later, in the West End, Forsyth played Annie in The Norman Conquests (Globe, now Gielgud, and Apollo theatres, 1974-76) and Dusa in the feminist play Dusa, Fish, Stas and Vi (Mayfair theatre, 1976-77). She put her TV breakthrough down to cutting her hair short. “It proved a tremendously lucky omen,” she said.

That break came with Adam Smith (1972), in which she played the younger daughter of the title character, a Scottish minister (Andrew Keir). The director, Brian Mills, then worked with Forsyth on the psychological thriller Holly (1972), when she took the part of a young art teacher kidnapped by a mentally unstable student. Forsyth and Mills married in 1976.

Television roles kept on coming. She was Veronica, one of the product-promotion team, in The Glamour Girls (1980-82), Harriet in the inter-generational sitcom Tom, Dick and Harriet (1982-83), and Helen Yeldham, a hotelier, in the 1989 series of Boon.

There were also appearances in soap opera: as GP Judith Vincent in The Practice (1985-86); Babs Fanshawe, Ken Barlow’s escort agency date who dies of a heart attack, in a 1998 Coronation Street episode; Delphine LaClair, a sales rep for a French company interested in buying Rodney Blackstock’s vineyards, for two short runs in Emmerdale (2005 and 2006); Cressida, mother of the millionaire Nate Tenbury-Newent, in Hollyoaks in 2013; and three roles in Doctors between 2000 and 2012.

Forsyth also played the miserable Madge, who frustrates her sister Mavis’s attempts at a relationship with Granville, in the sitcom sequel Still Open All Hours (2013-19).

A cellist from the age of nine, Forsyth starred as the real-life virtuoso Beatrice Harrison in a 2004 tour of The Cello and the Nightingale. Also on tour, she was a remarkably believable Queen Elizabeth II in A Question of Attribution (2000) and played Marie in Calendar Girls (2008). “I’m Mrs Frosty-Knickers, the one who doesn’t approve of it all.”

In 2017, she played a terminally ill musician in the stage comedy Killing Time, written by her daughter, Zoe Mills, who acted alongside her. At the time, Forsyth revealed that her maternal grandfather, a GP in Yorkshire, had helped dying patients to end their lives. Declaring herself a supporter of euthanasia, she said: “He bumped off probably loads of people with doses of morphine.”

In 1999, Forsyth separated from her husband, but they remained friends until his death in 2006. She is survived by their children, Ben and Zoe.

🔔 Brigit Forsyth (Brigit Dorothea Connell), actor, born 28 July 1940; died 1 December 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Brigit Forsyth #in memoriam

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oneprompt · 2 years

Note

Heyaaa, how are you? 😊

I saw these prompt and hell yes. Could I get number 13 with Vinsmoke Niji please?

I'm glad you're back. I missed you 😊

authors note : hello ..! i hope you are as well , sweets <3 you’re being far too sweet , its making me blush ...! please enjoy <3

Niji Vinsmoke x Gn! Reader : “ You can be louder then that. “

<3 <3 <3

NSFW

<3 <3 <3

Note : reader is described as afab. + in this the reader is a Charlotte and Niji was the one with the arranged marriage instead of Sanji. ( It makes up for good hate sex )

“Oh, someone’s awfully quiet now,” Nij’s hands were tangled in your prim locks, pulling at the beautiful handiwork done by your maid. “Where’d all that pride go, huh?”

He was making a mockery of your highly status, pulling you apart at the seams. With each and every thrust delivered into your cunt, you felt your dignity crumble.

How could your mother have misjudged this prince..? He wasn’t stupid enough to lay his guard down just because of your vanity... No, quite the contrary. Niji had caught you red handed, more then immediately finding the candy jackets that you possessed. And frankly, what person cannot connect two and two together? It was more then apparent what was going on. And Niji would be damned to have some brainless pawn think so lowly of him. How could you ever think you’d outsmart him, how could you overpower him with your flimsy plan?

Perhaps his lovely fiance needed some guidance on how to treat their husband.Wouldn’t you agree?

You dug your face into the duvet as your fiance pounded into your tight hole, his large cock making your lower body ache. Your teeth held the sheets in your mouth, sandwiching your cries into the bed. You’d rather die then let anybody know how good your enemy was making you feel, let alone the fact you were even sleeping with him in the first place. You did all you could to hide your moans, keeping yourself plastered within the sanctuary of the blankets.

“You can be louder then that, im your fiance... It’s natural to do this sort of thing,” Niji yanked hard at your hair, cranking your head backwards to expose your vocals. “Let everyone know how much of a cock sleeve you are for your prince..” He groaned, voice wavering the slightest bit as he continuously abused your pussy, ass bouncing against him with every thrust he took inward.

“I-i’m not... anything of the sort..!” You mewled, harsh gasps breaking free from your throat at each and every moment. “...Hah..!”

“Do i- gh! Need to put you in your place, my darling?” The pet name oozed with venom, holding nothing that resembled a speck of fondness. Niji was purely taunting you, throwing his false affections in your face. You weren’t his darling, you were his bitch.

You squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the torture within you to continue but it didn’t, your cunt now empty. The sudden relief felt numb, making your body feel incomplete without being full of his girth. How long had this been, now...? Minutes, hours? You had no clue, anymore...

You fluttered your eyes open, eyelashes prickled with tears. Was he finally tired of you? Perfect... Now you could report to mama and have this pervert-.

You peered upward, face to face with Niji’s dick. It was glistening from your own fluids, his precum gushing along his shaft. Each and every vein pulsed, his cock twitching the more you stared at it. You knew it was big with how much space it took up within you but seeing it up so close... It was definitely bigger then you thought.

“Stay there,” Niji stated firmly, his hand returning to your head. He held your head just as tight as he held his shaft. “I’m gonna gussy you up for the ceremony, kay?” He cracked a grin at you, his hand jerking along his cock. “I can’t have you enjoying yourself too much.”

You watched Niji’s hand, eyes barely capable of keeping up with his unrealistic speed. God, he really was lasting a bit too long... That’s the science of Germa 66, i suppose...

“Y/n,” Niji wheezed out, “open your stupid mouth.” He scowled, aiming for the plains of your lips. You hesitated greatly before opening your mouth, only having a slight bit of it open for him to shoot his shot on. God, you needed more improvement then he thought. You couldn’t even follow orders right... What a useless fiance.

With a sudden snap of hips, Niji released. His seed splattered upon your face, masking away your helpless expression. How pretty you looked in white, cum running down your cheeks, cascading downwards.

“Tsk, you didn’t even get any of it in your mouth. How dumb are you?” Niji squeezed your cheeks, holding your jaw in one of his large hands. “You aren’t supposed to wear white until the wedding. Couldn’t they have given me a better fiance?”

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