fran groveling and michaela folding for 1 minute straight
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

@theartofmadeline
art blog(derogatory)

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
ojovivo
YOU ARE THE REASON
Jules of Nature

Product Placement

Origami Around
taylor price

roma★
wallacepolsom
Stranger Things

blake kathryn
Not today Justin

izzy's playlists!

titsay
Sweet Seals For You, Always
styofa doing anything

PR's Tumblrdome
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from United Kingdom
seen from New Zealand

seen from Germany

seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil

seen from Türkiye

seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
@kmmbl
fran groveling and michaela folding for 1 minute straight
#always by her side
The Art of Being Undone
Wrote a small fic of my babies; Francesca and Michaela. You can find it on A03 too - https://archiveofourown.org/works/82052431
It was an awful, a terrible feeling to not only be its witness but the recipient of Michaela's betrayal when Francesca, had not half-expected it.
Words possibly misspoken.
A vow, shattered into tiny, little pieces that left doubt and consequence in its wake.
Alas, Michaela Stirling never made such a vow in blood but there existed a certain expectancy within Francesca Stirling.
A trusting disposition that as Michaela said, so it would inevitably be. She had promised with a twinkling eye as night met sky; that if Francesca might like her to remain in a single, solitary place as they navigated this insurmountable loss, she would stay. She would remain, she would help and she would tend. This had been of welcome fruit to Francesca who eased her shoulders as a small smile formed against the curl of her lips. She would feel safe in her grief and in her own mind that a partnership would form with someone who could understand the depths of losing a man as gentle, as patient, as yielding as John. It was as though her beloved John who had ventured to the Beyond but left a piece of himself, a piece of his heart in Michaela Stirling that Francesca could abide in. 'What a gift,' she silently mused. 'What a gift you have left me, John Stirling.'
Therefore, it seemed inconceivable when Francesca had heard, through channels not forthcoming from Michaela herself, that she had departed like a thief trying to escape the night.
She did not and would not understand, despite desperately wanting to, why Michaela had promised with such clarity, such affirmation that she would stay. That she would oblige Francesca with her permanent presence and put down roots in the warm, London soil. That in her own bleary-eyed despair after losing John in a manner so unforeseen, she would not be forsaken.
Had she imagined it?
Had she forged conclusions in her grief, in her tiredness, with words that never came from Michaela's lips?
Francesca could not be certain because grief did something terrible to a person. The days folded in each other with haste and without forgiveness, the expectation that her life now would be defined by duty as Countess of Kilmartin until a new heir was sought. How terrible, how almost destabilising to know that the Ton's sympathies only extended for merely a week and a day when her world was quieter and full of less colour with John. A headache. An innoucous headache. She had suddenly lost the person who understand her soft nature and temperament. Francesca felt a loss of her own person and purchase. Michaela had cut a wound so deep that four years on, the wound still effusively bled. It did not take much, her mind could not escape the gravity of her betrayal and it existed in moments, in rooms that carried an indignant note; in empty parlours at Kilmartin, in the Grand Hall where portraits of John hung of a beautiful life cut short before it had the chance to bloom, in the gardens; lush, green and wide.
She had never been unkind and it was unkind to suggest (evenly quietly and to herself) but she hated Michaela.
Maybe hate was too strong and too divisive of a word but she held Michaela in disfavour that often felt at times too much to hold. In a bid of her own selfish choosing; Michaela had left her amidst the rubble and the ruin. A gift that now felt like something foreign in her hands.
Francesca had expected that they would trudge through the muddy waters together because Michaela knew John.
She knew what it was like to lose a presence of John's stead, who was both quiet but equally enormous.
A man that exuded patience where such a virtue was often begrudged. A man so gentle, so kind, he was Francesca's peace in the midst of the most troubling storms. A man so devoted to Francesca, to Kilmartin, to his family. A man that understood the fabric of Francesca's being and met her in the valley. Her truest friend, her partner in and through all things.
And Michaela had still departed, without leaving a note or sending her apologies in the manner that a considered person would.
How unfortunate that Francesca had thought she had forged an amiable friendship with Miss Stirling.
Michaela did write, albeit years later on the presumption that Francesca harboured no ill will, effusing about the places she had seen that were full of grandeur and promise. Francesca attempted to write, tried to share in her joys and be most amiable but the ink remained dry with blotches of tears spilled on every telegram she dared to send. She could not reconcile the Michaela who regaled her family as well as her own with stories about John to the same spirit who departed in the middle of the night.
Michaela wrote three hundred and two telegrams whilst Francesca could only bear to write one.
Her words, spilled in ink, were not of friendliness but rooted in duty. Civility. Responsibility.
... I have been informed by Mr Wraight, the steward who you must be most familiar that Kilmartin has now been bestowed with a new Countess. It is you. I shall not stand in the way of your affairs given your impending return but should you require my insight, I would not be hard pressed to give it.
- from Francesca Stirling to Michaela Stirling, now Countess of Kilmartin.
Night had finally met day as Francesca, full of an anxiety she could not quell, awoke from her bedchamber. Strength from God knows where had propelled her with a force she could not name to the expanse where John lay; four years earlier, like his absence had not wrecked every living thing within Francesca. One more night, she whispered to herself, as she walked into the Grand Hall to a spread of breakfast that was befitting of her appetite.
She had heard from Mr Wraight, after inquiring further, that Michaela would return to Kilmartin the day after tomorrow. That in turn would give her until dawn to make haste so that their paths would not and would never intersect again. She did not wish to so speak or be in the company of the new Countess given that she wasn't sure the depths of how curt her words may still be. Forgiveness was not a virtue she could exhibit when she had not known the reasons. Nonetheless, if she had, would she be amiable? Forgiving? Understanding?
Francesca, of her own mind, knew she could not.
There was no explanation that might suffice, no inflected tone could soften the descent or the blow. And the most virtuous thing would be to disappear, akin to the way Michaela did. Not that it might matter but Michaela had neither returned her telegram for reasons Francesca did not wish to concern herself. But her mind, devastatingly human, could not help but wonder. Maybe, the explanation was entirely innocuous in that her telegram might have been lost at sea or the latter, more troubling idea, Michaela did not need her input.
If the latter was indeed true, Francesca thought it wise despite the sensitivity of her own feelings. They would not need to circle around each other, practicing the art of civility when her words were still sharp and her mind had not forgotten.
Suddenly, the servant came ambling in full of an apprehension that did not match the hour. "My Lady." Breathless, his voice cracked.
"Are you quite well?" Francesca asked, with a soft turn of her head.
"The new Countess has arrived." He said with such precision that Francesca almost did not believe. She wanted to scream, into the air, into the abyss, but the moment did not allow for it. Mr Wraight had been positively certain that Michaela's arrival would not be in close quarters to Francesca's departure but something had gone amiss.
Either the blunder, almost unforgivable, was Mr Wraight or Michaela, the new Countess was closer than her telegrams suggested.
"Are you certain?" Francesca asked, slowly faltering but not wishing to show it.
"There can be no mistake, my Lady."
Francesca pressed and harried her food with her fork. Her appetite had been stolen, by the moment, by her grief. "Send for Mr Wraight, if you please, and have him meet with the Countess of Kilmartin in a parlour of her choosing. Kilmartin is now hers after all."
The servant took an anticipatory step forward, "My Lady?"
"Yes?"
"The Countess has requested an audience with you." The servant delivered with words that felt foreign, "Should you of course choose to oblige."
She had nothing of note to say to Michaela, so convening an audience, seemed futile.
"And of her reasons?" Francesca inquired. She thought of her beloved John and how without guilt and without shame, he would urge Francesca quieten her own complaints and listened to what Michaela had travelled, high and wide, to say. Peace was their shared language but in losing John, Francesca did not wish to be forgiving.
Ire flashed in her blood, disappointment was the taste saddled on her tongue and a flash of tears set in her eyes; remembering how her loss cruelly occurred in threes.
"She did not state except that she wishes to speak with you."
For a moment, Francesca paused, thinking about whether such an audience with Michaela would be of great need to her. This had been a moment, crystallised by time and Francesca, moved by her own mind left the Great Hall and walked through the corridors. She promised herself that she would not cry in the presence of the shadow who caused those tears, she would not beg Michaela for her reasons but she would hear. She would listen and then, she would go.
Michaela stood at the end of the corridor, hands frenzied in a fashion that Francesca
"Francesca." Michaela said with a curtsy, a familiarity she did not deserve.
"Countess of Kilmartin." Francesca, too curtsied, her heart pounding to the beat of a million drums. "Forgive us, we had not expected you to arrive so soon."
"There is no need for such formality. Friends, are we not?" Michaela arched her eyebrow in a playful glint but Francesca remained stoic, unmoved. For Michaela was playful at heart but the moment, charged with years of what was unsaid, did not invite geniality.
Francesca could not fathom the gall that Michaela seemed to speak with but she would not grant her the grace of searching within her heart for a reply. "I believe it fair for us to remain as we are. Do forgive me that I still remain here. I had planned to depart long before your arrival but I was unfortunately misinformed. My lady's maid and I will depart Kilmartin at dawn."
"Fran," Michaela stepped closer, untempered by the distance and reached for Francesca's hand who pulled away at once. Michaela looked forlorn, "I do not wish for you to go."
"And yet, I wish to leave."
"Kilmartin is enough for the two of us to inhabit. You need not leave." Michaela whispered and Francesca in her own fury and euqally in her own shame, could taste the notes of her breath.
"So I must repeat myself, I wish to leave." Francesca said sharply.
"Is anything the matter?" Michaela asked softly, wanting to assure Francesca that she did not need to make the arduous journey back to London.
"You need not concern yourself when, in your travels, you did not think of me." Francesca returned.
In a moment, Michaela understand the source of Francesca's ice. "Francesca, I wrote." Her voice was tight with defence and something softer beneath it. "In every place I had the grace to visit, I wrote to you. You did not write and I was left in a world full of your silence."
"And if you think that is the cause of my grievance, then you are mistaken."
"Then speak plainly, for it is you and I."
"I do not wish to speak plainly. I do not wish to talk of it." Francesca said, a tremor beneath her restraint, as though wind itself strained her breath.
"As you so wish." Michaela replied, no longer pressing the matter. She turned and passed Francesca, moving into the corridor.
Francesca watched, in despair and in fury. Michaela had returned, oblivious to what she had left in disrepair. She had selfishly met her own needs and Francesca was required to exist alongside her. Forget the days, the nights where her heart had been dislodged a second time. This time more savagely than the last.
A feeling so vast, so unnameable, rose within her that Francesca moved; stepping into Michaela’s path, her stillness suddenly charged with intent. It was enough to draw a quiet, unspoken fear into Michaela’s eyes.
"Francesca." Michaela breathed her name like a secret and a siren.
"I do not wish to speak of hate but," Francesca said, her gaze dropping to her hands as if they were no longer her own, "leaving in the manner which you did, I hated you."
"Do you still feel so?"
"I do not know what it is I feel, Michaela. My mind has been marred by grief, by your leaving," Francesca's eyes rose to meet Michaela's eyes which were desperate in its tone and quiet in its heartbreak. "But you remain silent as to why you left in such a manner."
"Francesca, I... do not know what I should say."
"I wish to know the truth, Michaela." Francesca repeated, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
"There is none, not one that could be explained in words most familiar to you." Michaela said, her eyes level with Francesca who almost felt reticent but her Bridgerton blood made her cutting and determined.
"You will not do me the disservice of leaving me in the midst of my grief, only to bury the truth of your departure. You will speak, Michaela." Francesca returned shortly.
"Francesca, you are not the only one who grieves John." Michaela replied gently, "He was my cousin. A friend so true, in life and in death."
"Be that as it may, you still left in the middle of the night without word and without apology."
"Francesca, sorry would not have abated you."
"And here you stand, full of defence, even now." Francesca returned coolly, her face flushed with red.
"I needed a moment... away from the grief that existed in every room, every parlour. It pressed upon me and I could not find my breath."
She laughed, but not in a way so genial but unmistakably full of bite that Michaela almost missed it. "You found my grief discomforting. My apologies that I was not so far removed from the feeling as you were."
"Francesca, your words are untrue-"
"Yet that is what your words still say."
“Michaela, it is not you that is wicked, but the act itself.” Francesca’s voice faltered, though her resolve did not. “Why must you torture me so? Who am I, that I do not deserve your truth?”
“You wish to know?”
“It is all I seek,” Francesca admitted softly.
"Francesca, I... did something most unforgivable. In the midst of mourning John; a man so virtuous, you captured my entire being. You haunt in my dreams when you ought not. My heart, darkened and undone, turns to you when it must not. It is a crime, this feeling. A guilt that tears me in two. You are my cousin's wife, his widow, and I..." She faltered, her breath unsteady. "It is reprehensible that such feeling should exist within me. I left as I did to preserve your virtue and what remained of mine. And yet I stand before you, no better in truth. Damn me for it.”
Words failed Francesca but all she could gather, "You love me?"
"I must retire to my room." Michaela evaded the colour in Francesca's eyes; "It might serve us both if we allow ourselves some distance."
This time, Francesca did not plead. And did not beg; but stood in the corridor after Michaela crossed to her threshold, heavy with a feeling she could not name.
so believe, believe in me #franchaela
francesca bridgerton: sorry my gigantic castle with three other people felt really overcrowded let me just move back in with my mother and my bajillion siblings and their spouses and their situationships and their kids and the dog and the
francesca you are so gay
Kinda want to write a Franchaela prompt. If anyone has any, lemme know!
“I stopped explaining myself when I realized people only understand from their level of perception.”
— Unknown
“The prettier the garden, the dirtier the hands of the gardener.”
— B. E. Barnes, Put in work.
may your next lover be the reason you’ve waited and endured for so long.
Glad to know that you ship georgia and joe! I was wondering why it took them so long to be together? especially georgia? At first, I thought it was unrequited and then there are times when we saw she in fact clearly feels something for him but why ignore it and hurt Joe at the same time?
thanks for the ask! i love these crazy kids and their ridiculous chemistry
as for why it took them so long to be together -- though they're not officially 'together' even by the end of s3, they've just Acknowledged that they want to be -- i think there's a handful of factors there
the first is their past; by about halfway through the first season, they already know who the other is and both have refused to acknowledge to the other that they know who they are. this could be in part to not look stupid/desperate (depending) if the other turns out to not remember/not hold it in as High Esteem as they do. this sort of self-protection from georgia specifically(protection for her feelings, not from others or for her kids) is a rarity, and we really only see it associated with Joe, which illustrates the depth of their connection and how seriously she takes it
the second is timing, pure and simple. with zion and paul in S1 (joe's aborted confession speaks to this), paul (not to mention cynthia) in S2 (quoth georgia, "i'm gettin married"), and the everything in s3, it's not like either one has had a ton of time to sit down and hash out a relationship. it's not til more than half of the way through S2 (in one of my favorite and the best joe/georgia scenes) that both acknowledge who the other is and that they're a Romantic Figure (or have been a Romantic Possibility) to the other.
the third and most interesting (for me, anyway) factor is georgia herself. when christmas blows up and she runs to joe (which is an INSANE thing to do, and he rightly brings it up in their discussion in S2) it's the most...line crossing? i'll say? thing she does in their relationship. it's the first time we actually get a sense of just how deep this runs for georgia because the woman who relies always on herself and rarely on ginny instead goes and seeks him out (the delivery from his actor of "you seek me out" lives rent free my gosh); while she says she just happened to see him as she drove by, it's p clear that that's georgia-code for "i was hoping you were here".
his cafe is a place of Safety for her -- notably it's the one place we see her slap gil's hand away without fearing repercussion, and where she actually connects a bit with her half-sister, and where there's always a drink and a listening ear for her. her bridal shower is there for heaven's sake. it's explicitly text.
but right. back to what i mean it's georgia herself preventing them from being together. in that christmas discussion when she "drops by", she asks him why he's there and not with family; he responds that his parents are in california and he'll see them and his sister at NYE. so far, so (mostly) normal, but then georgia says something that honestly took my breath away:
"i don't know much about you"
and i went HOLY EFF WE'RE ACKNOWLEDGING IT
(his "no, you don't" knocked me flat too. the layers to that man i swear)
because georgia, like all cons, thrives on information. the more she knows, the safer she is. add to that her constant craving for connection that causes her to get to know people and to ask them questions and learn about them, and you have a woman who likes to know things, and goes out of her way to do so. joe's from the town, she could have asked anyone about his family. she could have asked him -- he's Safe to her, so there's no danger there. it could have come up while her half-sister was in town. joe volunteers the information freely, so it's not like he's hiding it.
and so the reason georgia doesn't know is because georgia's breaking her rules and pattern with him. she's actively trying not to know about him. she does it so well that the average viewer forgets that we know Little about him as well. that we don't even get his surname until season 3 at the town hall meeting thing. not because she doesn't like or trust or want to know about joe, quite the opposite -- he's an 'indulgence' that she's just not allowing herself to have fully. Passing conversations, winks, food and wine and having her daughter work there -- she spends her time, for lack of a better word, microdosing on him, allowing herself a little but never enough to Formally Get Attached. she doesn't want to hurt him -- especially during the trial she takes Careful Steps to make sure he doesn't get hurt. but she doesn't also want to be without him
it doesn't work, of course. she needs him anyway. to once again mention joe's words, she seeks him out, especially by mid S2, because the small doses she's let herself have pre-Christmas just aren't enough anymore. even when he's angry with her at lawnfest, even when she feels jealous and a bit betrayed knowing he slept with cynthia (S2 was a joe/georgia feast, even with how few scenes they actually had Together), she keeps finding reasons to push them together, because at that point with all the Glitz and Glamour (such as it was) of her life swept away, joe is left standing where no one else is -- he chooses to be left standing -- but she goes to him again and again not because there's no one else, but because's he's the one she's been drawn to for 3 season and 15+ years.
she tries to keep herself away from him because she wants to be around him, because she wants to have him around her constantly. because the 'joke' is that they were always gonna be together, they were always gonna end up together, well before him punching gil and bringing food and her bolstering his business repeatedly and coming to him at christmas. before even making him cater the sophomore sleepover.
all the way back to a half a sandwich and a pair of sunglasses.
2x4 | 3x4
the level of crazy you have to be to meet a cute boy at a rest stop when you’re fifteen who gives you a pair of sunglasses and a glimpse of a kinder happier life so you keep those sunglasses for the next fifteen years and then after you murder your husband you move yourself and your two kids to his hometown (which you still remember) and start to haunt the farm to table coffee shop he owns AND THEN you seduce the mayor of that hometown right in front of him georgia miller you’ll always be famous to me
Honestly, it was always going to be Joe.
From the moment they met at 15, he gave Georgia something she’d never had kindness without expectations. She was lost, scared, alone… and he simply saw her. Not as a problem to fix, not as someone to use, but as a person. That moment stayed with her, quietly, like a light she carried in the dark.
Because Georgia has spent her whole life surviving performing, seducing, controlling. Love, for her, was a transaction, never safety. She became a master of illusion, pretending to be perfect so no one could see the chaos underneath. But with Joe, the game never worked. She didn’t want it to.
Joe sees through it all. And still he stays.
He doesn’t fear the mess. He doesn’t flinch at the truth. He accepts every part of her: the broken, the fierce, the soft she hides from the world. With him, she doesn’t have to be anyone else. She can be honest. She can be real. She can breathe.
And for someone who’s spent her whole life surviving, that kind of safety being fully seen and still loved was all she ever wanted.
It’s everything. It’s peace. It’s home.
With Joe, she’s finally found it.
I can’t even explain how happy I was seeing Joe and Georgia finally honour their feelings towards each other.
It was nice to see that Joe get that confirmation that Georgia’s line last season “there’s nothing that I don’t think of” be something tangible. Physical. A confession that what Ginny has with Marcus—“that safety” she has it with Joe. I’m so glad Georgia didn’t hide by that femme fatale persona that she shows with everyone. That kindness that Georgia was thinking about 15 years ago in a rest stop in Massachusetts is the same kindness that she is resting in, when everyone has shown their face.
I’m so glad that Georgia saw the depth of Joe’s investment. It is easy to say that you’ll be there but he was. That even when everyone had left and betrayed her, he was there. Offering to give her an alibi even if it meant he could have motive. Visiting her at the lowest and feeding her. Softly holding her to accountability when she was about to leave Ginny and Austin.
Ugh the writers didn’t let me down!!!!
Now all I need and want is married Joe and Georgia (a girl can dream). Or if not, baby dad Joe 🥺😍