One thing I definitely hope they keep in the remaining seasons of Bridgerton is the occasional focus on the “regular” people. The servants and such. Because Francesca forging bonds with the staff of Kilmartin house while deep in her grief could be such a grounding plot point. The Scottish staff so completely unbothered by Francesca’s relationship with Michaeala because of it “yes we have two Countesses what of it? Go mind your own fucking business.”.. idk it would just be fun.
In another episode of "I’m so bad at remembering to check my Asks" and THEN "Sorry, this ended up turning into an entire short fic/drabble(?) that sat in my drafts..."
But yes, Anon! I absolutely agree. In my headcanon, Francesca and Michaela have both watched lords be needlessly rude to servants and do not find power or dignity in acting that way, so their staff go hard for their Countesses.
I’d love to see a Scottish-working-class code-switch too, where the maids and footmen, who sort of reel in their accents out of propriety, just let it rip at the local tavern.
Sooooo... I wrote a thing!
Please know that I don't know how to write Scottish English, so just use your imagination. Apologies to any Scots. Also, since there is no clear differentiation between two Countesses of the same region from what I could find, I have decided to use Lady Michaela and Lady Francesca, but together as the Countesses of Kilmartin. Idk, I do what I want (hides the 16 open tabs about things I didn't even include in this, e.g. regency era mail).
Anyway, this is dedicated to Anon for the ask and @daskum for often receiving these half-baked ideas I write.
//
As the newest addition to the staff, hired only two weeks ago, Lydia looks down the long table in the tavern to take in the scene of her fellow maids and footmen outside the context of Kilmartin. They are proving to be the characters she suspected, and she finds herself smiling amusedly at their antics, aided by the ale and mead they've all consumed.
Though Kilmartin is expansive, as to be expected for an Earl's estate, it is maintained with only the minimum required number of servants. There are a little over a half-dozen maids and footmen, a head groundskeeper, and Mrs. Beaumont, the housekeeper since the first Lord Stirling was Earl of Kilmartin. According to Mrs. Beaumont, the Countesses prefer the small staff since they are easy enough to tend to, whether in Scotland or London, and it allows them to pay their staff handsomely compared to other servants' meager wages.
When Lydia briefly worried if the others would resent her for affecting their pay, Mrs. Beaumont assured her that was of no concern.
"Lady Michaela had all but insisted we hire another maid, reassuring us our allowances would remain the same."
Lydia learned that when Lady Michaela first inherited her peerage, she sent a letter to her mother and Mrs. Beaumont in Kilmartin, asking them to oversee immediate renovations: The new Countess of Kilmartin would not be returning to Kilmartin for some time, so she wished to expand the servants quarters, giving every servant their own room and a shared space for them to gather in the colder months. In her absence, she entrusted the estate to her aunt and mother, the Dowager Countess of Kilmartin and Mrs. Helen Stirling, maintaining communications over larger decisions via letter.
The Countess also advised them that Lady Francesca, also Countess of Kilmartin, would still occupy the quarters reserved for the Earl and Countess, and the rooms should remain tended to, even in her absence.
Then, just some months ago, Lady Michaela hired temporary staff to reopen and refurbish several disused parts of Kilmartin for larger quarters for her aunt and mother. In addition to that, she also revived the guest rooms and designed the conversion of one of those rooms into a nursery.
"Lady Francesca has a large family with many nieces and nephews, and Lady Michaela wishes to always have rooms ready to host so that they may spend as much time with them as possible. Although hosting children in Kilmartin can be demanding, it does wonders for the spirit," Mrs. Beaumont explained.
"Mr. Benedict Bridgerton's son, Charles, is a menace," Footman Frederick added as he entered the kitchen with Footman Paul, "He demanded I be his Footman and take him all about Bridgerton House. I was his footman and horse and carriage! But luckily Mrs. Sophie is generous with tips."
"Well, she was one of us," said Footman Paul. "Imagine a Bridgerton loving a servant so much, they find a way to marry... Perhaps Miss Hyacinth—AH! Ow!"
Mrs. Beaumont swatted his shoulder with a nearby wooden spoon. "Miss Hyacinth is a woman of status, also with taste, Paul," Mrs. Beaumont warned with a scolding, motherly tone, "She will marry for love, but that love is reserved for well-bred men of the ton. Women do not have such luxury to consider a servant as Mr. Benedict."
"The laws are changing though! Look at the Countess—" Miss Tabitha said as she walked past to start preparing tea, but she silenced herself when Mrs. Beaumont raised the spoon again.
Tabitha mostly assists Michaela's mother and aunt with Mrs. Beaumont, and once Mrs. Beaumont has overseen Lydia for another month, the Countesses will be her and Miss Mary's primary responsibility. Tabitha and Mary assure Lydia almost daily that the Countesses are kind and forgiving, so there is no reason to worry. "They can be quite... independent..." Mary had added with a small giggle, earning her a light elbow to the ribs from Tabitha.
They are indeed independent in many ways, often only requesting the minimum from staff. Because there are no men other than footmen or visiting Bridgertons, Lydia has noticed how unique her position is and finds it hospitable. She cannot help but worry there is some secret that will reveal itself, proving this is all too good to be true.
But Lydia only keeps learning things about the Countesses that proves they are more honorable than any other nobility would ever admit. From what Mrs. Beaumont has said, with fondness, Miss Michaela Stirling, in her youth, was a source of stress for her mother and aunt, but the young—at the time, Viscount—John Stirling always seemed to know how to balance the family, kept everyone at peace.
Then there had been the mourning period after Lord Kilmartin's unexpected death, when Lady Michaela had traveled about the globe for two years and Lady Francesca stayed with her family most of the year. The staff kept the room ready regardless, as Lady Michaela had requested.
The spring before Lady Michaela's return to London, upon word that Mr. Beaumont, Lord Kilmartin's butler, had been injured while tending to the garden on the estate, Lady Michaela replied by mail with a signed retirement pension. Once she returned to Kilmartin with Lady Francesca in her company at the end of that season, the first decision made by Lady Francesca, Countess of Kilmartin, was to have a modest home built on the outskirts of the estate, for when Mrs. Beaumont would join her husband in retirement.
Such generosities are unheard of amongst other royal families, but even in the first two weeks of her time at Kilmartin, Lydia has learned that the Countesses and Stirlings make such gifts commonplace—that is, after all, why they are all at the neighboring village's tavern this evening. After dinner was served, Lady Francesca politely dismissed the staff and said their service would not be needed until the next afternoon.
Paul knocks his mug into Mary's and Lydia's, his eyes glossy and smile crooked. "Has Mrs. Beaumont been giving you a hard time?"
Mary laughs, "Just a bit more than her usual, but it shall pass once Lydia has learned the particularities and takes over with the Countesses."
"Is there still much to learn?" Lydia asks, a tad nervous for the mead-inspired, loose-lipped truth.
Mary's cheeks are tinged pink as she faces Lydia to give her full attention, putting on an exaggeratedly serious expression, "Lady Francesca is specific but not unkind. Do not mistake her short phrasings to be indicative of her feelings toward you," Mary explains before sipping her mead.
"All of us could arrange Kilmartin to her liking with our eyes closed at this point," Paul says in reassurance. "It will become familiar to you quickly."
"It is easy enough to look after Lady Francesca, so long as you do not misplace a jigsaw and affect the Countesses' games on Thursdays," Mary says with a laugh. "If you forget something specific pertaining to Lady Francesca's preferences, you may ask us. If you must, and she is not too preoccupied, Lady Michaela can also tell you—she knows Lady Francesca best, after all."
Lydia is about to inquire about their relationship over the past year since the Countesses have been granted the Kilmartin peerage and formally recognized by the Queen, but a drunk footman chooses that moment to loudly taunt the table.
"Careful around those ones," he says, to another footman in his company, his Scottish tongue immediately obvious to Lydia, something her mother trained her to forget so she would appeal to more English nobility as a maid, "If you spend too much time around those Kilmartin folk, you might attract some mollies."
Fredrick, who had been immersed in a jovial conversation with Tabitha, nearly slams his mug down on the table. They, too, had slipped back into their Scottish tongue as they drank and spoke familiarly. (Mary has managed to keep her Welsh accent hidden for the most part, but she has been consuming her mead at a slower rate than most. Paul, who grew up between Scotland and England, mostly just has an ambiguous slur to his speech.)
"Don't," Tabitha whispers, watching as Fredrick clutches his mug tighter. Lydia can tell that this is not the first time Fredrick has responded to another footman in such a manner. "He does it to get to you."
"I know," Fredrick says through clenched teeth, chest rising and falling with steadying breaths.
Paul chimes in with a grin to hopefully calm his friend, "Let's focus on having a good night. They're envious that we practically get weekly outings when they get one per fortnight if they're lucky."
Paul follows Fredrick's glare as the other footman smirks before gulping from his ale. Lydia briefly believes they escaped further issue, but then the footman calls out, "I'm no queer, so you can stop lookin'."
Fredrick abruptly stands then, knocking over the small bench he was sitting on. Paul rushes to fix the bench, but no one else moves for a moment except those turning their heads to watch.
Fredrick looks down at Tabitha, sighs, then raises his mug with a smile, "A round of ale for everyone! All thanks to the Countesses of Kilmartin!"
Despite their state, Lydia believes their table may be the most sober out of the two dozen people in the tavern, so when they all cheer and return to their conversations, she breathes a sigh of relief.
Fredrick pours all his coin into his palm to count it out and hands almost all of it to the barmaid as she pours ale for the table. He grabs an extra mug before approaching the other footman.
"Dumb bastard," Paul mutters as he watches, taking a heavy drink of ale as the footman stands to meet Fredrick.
Fredrick still has a large grin on his face when he stops in front of him, "Footman Peter."
"Fredrick."
Fredrick huffs a laugh at the presumptuously familiar greeting and puts the mug of ale down on the table beside him, "You work for Viscount Fairfax, if I'm not mistaken," he squints, as if trying to recall, but Lydia can tell it is for show.
"Aye, as my father did."
Being the closest to Footman Peter's table, Lydia is unceremoniously shoved by Mary to the end of her bench to have a better listen.
"Ah, yes, it is a shame, is it not, that Lord Fairfax was hit with such strife last harvest? In fact, I remember the Countesses of Kilmartin made a great point to secure rations for your province."
"I would not say—"
"I would not say more, Footman Peter." Lydia suspects that without the need for propriety, Fredrick is no longer being careful with his words or voice, his Scottish giving his words power as he says them firmly. "It was a generous amount, as I oversaw the rations being sent out. And this was after Viscount Fairfax's son, the Honorable Douglas Fairfax made quite the spectacle last season in London, did he not? Why, I believe Lady Whistledown even wrote of it."
Peter's face turns an embarrassing shade of red.
"So please, enjoy this ale afforded by the wages those queer Countesses have granted us," he says with a smirk. Peter gives a small nod. "They have treated us, and many others, with kindness. Do not mistake their generosity and forgiveness as my own. I simply ask that you mind your manners," Fredrick says slowly, poking his finger into Peter's chest with each of his last few words, then dropping his last coin into Peter's coat pocket and patting his shoulder condescendingly. "If not…" he says, his smile wide as he steps back, "well, I'll put your own blood in your mouth next time instead of ale."
..
The next morning, Mrs. Beaumont is pouring Chinese tea meant to help after too much to drink. Most of the staff eagerly drinks it as they sit silently in the kitchen.
Fredrick appears, groaning as he sits beside Lydia.
“Did you spend all your coin last night?” Mrs. Beaumont asks, knowingly, pouring some tea for him.
Fredrick grumbles a response.
“You got to stop doing that," Paul says, shaking his head with a light laugh.
“You know how he gets,” Tabitha says, giving Fredrick's arm a gentle squeeze, “So defensive of his Countesses.”
“You would be too if you were me!" Fredrick says defensively, "I went to war, only to come back to work for some old bat, giving me contradictions as commands and getting furious with me. I’ll serve Kilmartin for the rest of my days!”
“That is nice to hear,” says a sing-songy voice, descending the stairs. Lady Michaela appears with a bright smile. The staff jumps to stand, but she quickly waves them off for them to sit. "You are not working, and if anything, I am in your domain. So please, do not let me interrupt your leisure... Or, based on the tea I brought back from China, let me not interrupt your needed recovery," she says with a chuckle, walking through the kitchen with a familiarity Lydia has never seen a noble possess.
Lydia quietly offers again, "Countess, I am still able to assist if—"
“Drink your tea, Miss Lydia," she says kindly, "I assure you my title is not under any threat, nor is your position here if I retrieve my own breakfast," She disappears into the pantry, so Lydia sits back down and sips her tea. She had never seen green tea before, but she must admit it is delicious and another example of the Countesses' seemingly endless generosity.
They can hear her gently humming as she gathers breakfast, likely a tune they have heard Lady Francesca playing.
A moment later, Lady Michaela reappears with a basket, and Lydia can make out some fruit, bread, and some pastries the cook had made last night before departing—a favorite of Lady Francesca's that Lady Michaela had specifically requested.
“We are taking a promenade to enjoy breakfast and some fresh air," she announces, her smile never leaving her face. "You are welcome to continue as you are. We will only need tea in the drawing room in the late afternoon. Benedict and Sophie are expected to arrive with their children some time later today, so the guest chambers should be attended to as well."
“Yes, Countess," Mrs. Beaumont says with a nod. "I made lemonade this morning for Lady Francesca as well."
"You do spoil us, Mrs. Beaumont," the Countess replies with a grin, taking the lemonade and basket and ascending the steps.
Fredrick watches with an expression of adoration, but not the kind a suitor possesses when looking upon a love match, rather, how a younger brother looks to an older sibling, like gratitude.
Lydia can make out the sound of Lady Francesca's footsteps approach the top of the stairs. "That's perfect, darling," she hears her say, her voice warm and quiet but just as cheerful sounding as Lady Michaela's.
“Is the Countess usually this pleasant after granting us an evening and morning to ourselves?” Lydia eventually asks as you hear their footsteps grow distant.
Paul snorts into his tea, then choking on it and sputtering after Fredrick kicks him under the table. He clears his throat, standing and wiping down the front of his waistcoat. “Mrs. Beaumont, we trust you may explain with more grace than we could ever achieve,” bowing with exaggeration. Fredrick rolls his eyes but finishes his tea to dismiss himself as well.
Mrs. Beaumont practically shoos them out of the kitchen before she sighs and looks at Lydia. “We are very privileged here at Kilmartin. Out of respect and duty, we practice discretion. The Countesses tend to be pleasant at all times, and they never direct any frustrations toward us that are not a result of our work or error. Even if there are disputes amongst family or politics, as long as we are doing our work accordingly, we do not face undue consequences."
Lydia nods in understanding, seeing Mary and Tabitha quietly sipping their tea and sharing glances.
“And quite regularly, they enjoy time to themselves at Kilmartin, and it allows us time for leisure. Lady Michaela used to travel often, so she is quite independent. Lady Francesca gives plenty of notice of any of her needs.
“You will notice, if you have not already, how… comfortable they are in one another’s company. It may not be common, and you may not understand it, but you do not need to understand to appreciate your work here. To appreciate them."
..
Later, Lydia is tidying the drawing room, refamiliarizing herself with the space so she may attend to any needs when they have tea or upon the arrival of Mr. Benedict and Mrs. Sophie Bridgerton. She peers out the window when she hears laughter.
Though Lydia is sure Lady Michaela can charm and smile her way through any conversation, Lady Francesca is more reserved, so Lydia is surprised to see her laughing loudly as they follow the worn path back to the entrance. Her face is bright with a grin, so large that Lydia can see it from a distance. She has not seen such a smile in the two weeks since she arrived to Kilmartin, so she finds herself entranced by it. Lady Francesca Kilmartin is beautiful, as anyone with eyes would know, so Lydia finds herself wondering why no suitor in all of the ton was to Lady Francesca's liking on her brief return to the marriage mart.
Before the Countesses round the corner, Lydia watches as Francesca reaches toward Michaela, lacing their fingers together and lifting them to kiss the back of Michaela's hand. Michaela smiles, saying something quietly that Lydia cannot make out, but Francesca looks almost bashful, inspiring a laugh from Michaela who pulls her closer.
Rather than respond, Francesca ducks down to kiss Michaela's cheek. Lydia expects her to pull away, for them to share another joke, but instead, Michaela's voice utters something softly, and Francesca leans back in to press her lips to Michaela's. Lydia realizes she's holding her breath as she watches their lips part, only slightly deepening the kiss with a breath shared.
When they part, Michaela opens her eyes as if cautiously waking from a dream, only to find she is still awake.
Francesca says something else not long after, and Michaela lets out a boisterous laugh. Francesca has a proud grin on her face as they keep their hands joined and disappear around the corner.
There is a slight clearing of the throat behind Lydia, causing her to jump.
Tabitha gives her a small, knowing smile. "Would you help me bring up the tea and biscuits?"
"Yes, of course," Lydia says, her cheeks warm now that she knows she was caught watching the Countesses share a private moment.
As they descend the stairs, Tabitha takes Lydia's elbow and stops her. "I know Mrs. Beaumont introduced this to you this morning," she says quietly, "But she is rather old-fashioned with how she speaks of it. She is trying to be gentle and not to overstep, but I speak freely of it because I see the Countesses' restraint often—When they wish to reach for each other on promenade in Mayfair, when they wish to kiss goodbye as her siblings do their spouses. But they trust us here to perhaps not understand completely, but to understand enough that they can love one another in the open, at least here."
Tabitha keeps quiet as Lydia contemplates her words. "Has my arrival changed this?"
"Yes, but not as a judgement of your character, rather for your comfort as you learn a lot of unique ways Kilmartin works."
"I have never known a woman who... desires other women in that way, but I have heard of it, so it is not completely foreign. If the Queen has looked upon them and trusted their character to grant them both the title of Countess, then who am I to judge?"
Tabitha laughs lightly as she nods, then continues the descent to the kitchen with Lydia following. "It is no different from the love her brothers possess for their wives, or her sisters possess for their husbands. If anything, what they have been through has made them more... everything. More sincere, more grateful. They are kind women, but most of all, they are brave."
"And very passionate," Mary adds, already at the stove heating up water retrieved from the well. Her lips quirk as Tabitha let's out a loud laugh.
Lydia just raises an eyebrow in question, and Mary sighs before clarifying. "They are not reckless in the passion, as they will share a kiss in front of us when parting ways or will hold hands in the drawing room together."
"To be expected from lovers, of course," Tabitha says, retrieving the tea.
"I just warn you that... if we are given the night off, and you wish to stay at Kilmartin for the evening, do not use that time to try to get ahead of tomorrow's duties or seek out the Countesses for anything."
Lydia turns to Tabitha who is smothering her laughter.
"I... found them in a... passionate embrace, one evening in the first month of being hired," Mary explains, her ears turning pink.
Tabitha manages to keep her laughter brief, "I am not sure who apologized most amongst the three of them for the next three weeks."
"I thought I was going to lose my job!" Mary huffs.
"Well, tell Lydia what happened instead."
Mary blushes even more deeply but lifts her chin to answer, "I broke off my engagement because not once had my fiance ever done such a thing for me."
"Done... what?" Lydia asks.
Tabitha takes a seat to smother her uncontrollable giggles in her arms.
"I have said enough. But you can read well enough, yes?"
Lydia nods.
"Great, I shall lend you a copy of Sappho's poetry."
"Poetry?"
Paul appears, grabbing a biscuit that the cook had set aside for them, "Ah, we've reached that point already?"
Fredrick appears shortly after, insisting on taking the biscuit Paul has bitten into just to annoy his friend.
Mary pulls a face at Paul and Fredrick before she turns to Lydia and takes her hands, "There are diagrams in the copy you will be given. But if you take anything from today, please know—nothing of value can be learned from the men here."
"I was going to disagree, but she's right," Paul says, taking a bite of a new biscuit and sipping some of the cold tea leftover from the morning.
Fredrick lifts his own tea up with a nod, "Welcome to Kilmartin, Miss Lydia."
//
And no I don't know any of the servants' names in canon Kilmartin.
Also, the Viscount title applied briefly to John is based on what I could find DuckDuckGoing (fuck Google) regency titles and the eldest son is given the next available title as a courtesy title.
But this also gives me joy because Michaela as Countess is higher in rank than Anthony, and I like to think if he found out Michaela has inherited the peerage before her return to society, and that she's just as rakish as he was, he'd be a little annoyed. One of my headcanons is that Anthony is triggered by his own title because he remembers everything that suddenly became his duty when his father died, so he rants about Scotland's exceptions to inheriting titles, and Benedict, getting drunk to just tolerate this mood Anthony is stuck in, "Brother, please..." And Anthony just keeps saying, "But another thing—" ad infinitum.
Kate will later talk to him, asking him why he is in such a state, and he will try to claim it is out of concern for Francesca and her associations before she reenters the marriage mart. She'll see right through it, "You lost your father and were expected to take his place, and you think of how much work is to be done in the name of duty to society and the Queen. You know of sacrifice and loss. But do you think Michaela—Countess of Kilmartin—to be undeserving? Did she not find her dear cousin, who was like a brother to her, with Francesca? Was she not by your sister's side when we could not be there for her?" (Kate truly saved that man from being a complete jackass.)
Anyway, I had fun writing this because I just really wanted to imagine Franchaela as being the best and treating people fairly and being in love and knowing that the people around them help protect them and make them feel safe. Michaela and Francesca as Countesses will always seek to build community and family.
Hope y'all liked it. I kind of love these OCs right now, but I hope we get to know the Kilmartin servants next season, and I hope Sophie is shown in scenes interacting with maids, etc. GAHHH I need a TASTE of something. The radio silence the entirety of Pride month so far feels HOMOPHOBIC. As homophobic as the fact that this is the busiest time of year for me at my job right now, and I worked an average of 10 hours per work day for the last 3 weeks 🪦.
Also, wish me luck—World Cup is tomorrow and I have to go into the office for our big event. If I'm stuck on a train with drunk football fans, it will officially be the most homophobic Pride month. But happy Pride and happy Pride to our Countesses and their ride or die maids and footmen ❤️
I’ve been thinking about Francesca and Michaela both being Diamonds of the season and if we get this, I want some comedy because imagine how much Francesca hates it but puts on a brave face, and then imagine Michaela’s chronic ick as men try to woo her.
I want a scene like this:
Francesca escapes to a balcony, away from the first ball after being named one of the Diamonds of the season. She has been forcing conversation and dancing with suitors for hours now. So she rests her hip against the balcony and breathes deeply as she looks up at the sky.
Then some light seeps out onto the neighboring balcony as the door opens. Michaela slips outside silently until Francesca hears her talking to herself.
“I swear on both our mothers, John, you better be laughing up there. Bloody Diamond nonsense.”
Then Michaela sees Francesca. “Apologies. I did not mean to disturb your silence.”
Francesca hates the politeness as if they had never been close, but she realizes Michaela had been away for longer than they had ever spent together—she hates that more. “No need.”
They share the quiet, and Michaela feels that pull again and the distance between them feels just as harsh as closeness. She’s surprised when Francesca is the one to break the silence.
“Do you speak to him often?” her voice is quiet, gentle, and Michaela feels that guilt tenfold.
“I… Yes, it helps.” This was something she could have talked to Francesca about when she was in mourning.
“Me too.”
The door behind Francesca opens, and Helen Stirling steps onto the balcony. Francesca sees Michaela in her periphery just drop to the ground below the balcony half-wall to be kept hidden.
“Ah, Lady Kilmartin, my daughter has seemed to run off. Have you seen her?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Francesca spots a smudged dance card in Helen’s hand.
“I found her second dance card in a glass of brandy,” Helen says with something between an exasperated laugh and sigh.
“Second?”
“Michaela set herself ‘on the shelf’ after two years in the marriage market, so I believe many suitors find her all the more intriguing as an unmarried woman at her age. Though, I fear for numerous lords’ feet, a more common occurrence the longer she stays in the marriage market, and the worse her dancing.”
Then the door opens onto Michaela’s balcony and a young widow Francesca recognizes steps out.
Francesca cannot look away, so Helen follows her gaze just in time to hear, “Why, Miss Stirling, I know your penchant for finding quiet places for us, but why must you ruin your dress?”
Michaela stands up abruptly, some flower petals in her hair from the flowers adorning the balcony. She clears her throat. “Mother! Fr—Lady Kilmartin.”
The widow does the same, and Francesca feels her jaw tighten against her own will as she watches this woman chuckle and brush some of the petals from Michaela’s hair, her touch too comfortable and familiar.
“I found your dance card,” Helen says with a knowing tone.
“Oh, it must have slipped off,” Michaela says unconvincingly. “I will go see which gentlemen still wish to dance…”
Francesca’s jaw tightens further as the woman leans in to whisper something to Michaela.
“Good evening, Lady Kilmartin. Mother.”
After she’s left, Francesca turns to see Helen looking at her, as if trying to read her. “Michaela is stubborn and even a contrarian for amusement at times, but she feels obliged to honor the title, especially John’s legacy. Still, she does not care for dancing.”
Francesca remembers the laughter, Michaela’s hands on her waist, how bright her eyes shined as they built a new memory from a piece of one with John that Michaela shared.
“Janet tells me otherwise, how she and John loved Scottish reels. There are few people who can keep Michaela still for long, and even fewer with whom she would dance.”
Francesca just nods.
“I do believe your mother was looking for you as well.”
“Oh, I should return then—”
Helen pats Francesca’s hand, “I’m afraid I do not know where you went off to,” she says with a small smile, “Enjoy the quiet for another several minutes, Lady Kilmartin.”
Kara calls Conner “Little Super” and it quickly devolves into “Lil Supe” then just “Soup.”
The confusion it causes for aliens learning English is half the fun for Kara because when they figure out Super > Supe > Soup, they are just like Where is the joke? Why is that funny? Why are you still laughing?? And that’s their intro to homophones.
“If you think about it,” Kara, drunk, under a red sun lamp with Lena, “He was basically a Super Luthor soup in a tube.”
“I don’t think Conner would like being reminded of that,” Lena says, tipping her head as she thinks about it.
Kara rolls her eyes and shows Lena a photo. “This was his Halloween costume.”
Just a photo of Conner in a Campbells canned soup costume with the El crest on it. “He’s fine. Kal-El’s parents were Kryptonian supremacists, mine raised me on an asteroid and died with the rest of them, a test tube might be the least traumatic origin.”
“You forget that’s my brother’s DNA.”
“Eh,” Kara shrugs, “You share his DNA and you turned out pretty good…” She clears her throat awkwardly as Lena tries to not look like that’s the kindest thing anyone’s said to her in months, maybe years.
“Well, you turned out pretty good too. Pretty super.”
“Wow, I’ve never heard that before,” Kara says, throwing a wine cork at Lena.
The laughter fades into something softer. Then Kara’s phone rings and it’s Superman, so before she answers, a little wobbly getting to her feet, she says, “One sec,” and disappears for 10 seconds and returns completely sober.
“Just needed a yellow sun reset,” she says before answering the call. She smirks and is about to leave after but gives Lena an awkward hug they both needed before jetting off to help Superman.
(Updated: 4/21/26) I figured this would be a better way of linking to things people might be looking for as well as an intro/FYI.
(Let me know if any of the links are bad or if Tumblr app/desktop does something weird with this RIP!)
...
CCF's WLW Bridgerton Watch Guide (Work in Progress)
So you’ve never watched Bridgerton, but you want to watch S5 for the sapphic love story…
Or: So you wanna watch these two dorks fall in love… and stuff…
...
CCF Fanfiction
(a scene from)
Reason with the Clouds Up Above
Rating: General Audiences/Everyone
"I know I am the source, but if there is anything I can do to ease the distress I have cause—"A brief, bitter laugh escapes Francesca, but it loses momentum halfway through and turns into a halted sob. "You could have stayed like you said you would."
Or: Michaela has been gone for 3 years and returns to Mayfair, but her first stop is Bridgerton House.
Read on Tumblr
Related posts about the full fic via the tag: #fic: reason with the clouds
Read on AO3 (Not posted there yet)
Childhood Enemies AU
Rating: General Audiences/Everyone (for now)
How it started
Related posts via the tag: #childhood enemies au
#Headcanon & #Drabbles
"I want them to talk" (Rating: Mature) - i don’t want or need a full conversation in the bedroom, but there is something so incredibly safe and erotic about [. . .] women seeking pleasure and demanding it from a willing and enthusiastic partner intent on providing.
Michaela's sequins and Francesca's fabric preferences
A bath in Kilmartin, a scene (Rating: Mature)
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CCF's Franchaela Thoughts
#CCF Overanalyzes
Analysis of scenes, close readings, reflections, etc. 🤓
"Chemistry" through a queer lens
On Michaela sitting on the floor
Opinions & Season 5 Wish List 😍 (specifics below:)
OK OK WAIT NEXT SUPERMAN MOVIE! (This is tagged Supercorp for Lena x Kara btw.) We know it’s going to be Lex and Superman/Justice Gang (incl. Supergirl) teaming up against Brainiac.
Not that this is likely but just IMAGINE:
They beat Brainiac, and then Lex makes a run for it. He succeeds in escaping via a lead-lined portal of some kind.
Superman is, of course, upset, “Goooosssshhhh darn it.” (“It’s gonna happen someday—I know it!” — Green Lantern to Hawkgirl)
In the background you see a frustrated Kara punt a car just short of leaving the stratosphere.
Superman turns and gives her a look, so she sighs, calls for Krypto, and they go retrieve the car that has only hit it’s apex. She returns with a smashed up car, placing it down gently into a parking spot, using her hands to kind of remold all the dents and “repair” it. She even fills the meter, and she rolls her eyes and gives Superman a thumbs up right as the bumper falls off.
Clark writes on the back of some random paper: SORRY! :( — Superman + Supergirl and puts it under the windshield wiper, which splinters the window more, then shatters completely.
Hawkgirl is just off to the side, rolling her eyes, “Superdorks, back to HQ!”
Cut to the Justice Gang showered but still haggard at a large table in HQ.
Mr. Terrific brings up his data and sighs. “We might need Gotham.”
Then a voice that seems to practically bounce off every wall, “Naaah, you don’t need a bat fucker.”
“Batman does not fuck bats…” Me. Terrific says deadpan.
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Guy Gardner agrees.
Peacemaker struts in. “Batfucker is busy with that clown guy.”
Hawkgirl looks as if she can feel braincells dying, “That’s literally just as many syllables as his name—Joker.”
“I never wanna hear that name again,” Harley Quinn somehow drops down onto the middle of the table. Kara doesn’t startle bc she noticed her a few minutes ago and just likes to see what happens. “He broke my heart… and left me for dead… several times…”
Kara snorts, “You were with that guy?”
Then she suddenly has a vine wrapping around her throat, which she can break through but she just smirks at Poison Ivy who appears beside Peacemaker. “Kinky.”
To which Harley exclaims, “You bet we are!” She hops over and kisses Ivy’s cheek.
Guy huffs, “What are you Suicidal maniacs—”
“We retired that name,” Ivy corrects.
Peacemaker scoffs, “Because everything’s gotta be PC.”
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s because we don’t do suicide missions for the government anymore!”
“Why are you here?” Superman finally says, his voice heard clearly over the bantering. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Then the sound of heels approaching behind Peacemaker, Ivy, and Harley, “Because I invited them,” and a dark-haired woman in a killer suit and dark lipstick appears. “We’ll need them.”
“For what?” Mr. Terrific asks doubtfully.
“To help you find my brother, who the Justice Gang appears to have lost.”
“You’re—”
“Lena Luthor,” she says taking a seat at the table, “Interim President of LuthorCorp. And your best chance at putting my brother back in prison.”
“And us!” Peacemaker chimes in. “Not in prison. Or Arkham. But to help!”
Lena sighs. “Yes. And them.”
..
Cut to a future time. Supergirl is scouting an area with Lena communicating via an earpiece.
“Why am I stuck dog-sitting? I own a multi-billion dollar corporation; I can get a dog-sitt— Ok he just flew after a squirrel in a tree, so I guess I understand why you can’t bring him to doggy daycare.”
Supergirl returns after and Krypto’s wagging his tail as he rests his head in Lena’s lap who’s petting his head as she looks over some photos. “He likes you.”
Krypto leaps up and tackles Supergirl in greeting.
“Probably because I was his only company,” Lena says with a shrug. “I am hardly one to contribute to a game of fetch for a Superdog.”
“If he brought you the ball, then he just wants to play. Doesn’t matter if you can throw it to Mars or not.” Kara sees several heavy items that are shaped like balls at Lena’s feet, so Kara can assume Krypto had to keep guessing which was a ball Lena could actually throw—there’s a 25 lb kettlebell with the handle broken off.
“He was well-behaved, which is surprising based on Superman’s warnings.”
“Krypto just knows what he can get away with, right bud?”
Krypto barks in agreement, so Kara opens the balcony door, flies up, and throws the kettlebell into space for Krypto to get a good run in.
Kara lands and goes back in. “And uh,” Kara takes out a crumpled bag and puts it on the desk in front of Lena. “Thanks. For watching Krypto.”
Lena quirks an eyebrow and inside is a gorgeous bottle of scotch.
“I made a pitstop.”
“In Scotland?”
Kara kind of rocks from heel to toe, forcing herself to be somewhat casual. “Yeah, I have a friend there who owed me.”
“This is my favorite, thank you. Would you like some?”
“It would be a waste—I can’t get drunk.”
“You don’t have to get drunk when you drink, but I can understand being less inclined if it didn’t affect me at all.”
The sound of a kettlebell clanking onto the balcony announces Krypto’s return, but it’s a different kettlebell so Kara’s just like I’ll figure that out later.
Krypto just trots over to Lena and lies down at her feet.
“I’ll stay for one. Actually!” Kara disappears for a minute then comes back with Big Belly Burger. “Have you eaten?”
ANYWAY I JUST WANT MORE CANON SUPERCORP OK?????? GIMME!
been hyperfixated on the Supers for a bit now (i’ve not watched a large amount of supergirl but i’ve been reading soooo many fics), so i had the superman playlist on & thought about this at work & it made me really miss warrior nun/avatrice:
ava walks into the headquarters, & if she weren’t covered in blood, bea would think she’s drunk. she pulls her headphones off so they hang around her neck & gives bea a crooked smile. “hey bea.”
bea meets her a few steps in the doorway, puts her arm around ava’s waist to steady her & guides her to the med bay.
ava insists she’s fine but is showing signs of being concussed. luckily the halo is working & bea sees improvement as the halo gains momentum. but it still makes bea feel unsteady when she sees ava like this, makes her feel like the air is pulled from her lungs. she briefly feels like she’s about to lose her again.
she takes a deep breath, centers herself, & begins cleaning the semi-dried blood from ava’s face. she notices the music coming out of the headphones then, huffing out a laugh, “where on earth did you get those? & what are you listening to?”
“the shop owner gave them to me! oh, we gotta tell mom we owe him a new storefront window by the way.”
“ok that explains the headphones…”
“& i’m listening to music. it’s punk rock, bea. idk if you know this, but i’m pretty punk rock.”
“mm, yes, very punk of you to cry watching wall-e last night. you’ve seen it at least a dozen times. & then you remembered the mars rover singing happy birthday to itself & cried again.”
“yeah and???” ava’s eyes are clearly shining with unshed tears as she remembers Curiosity.
bea softens, holding ava’s face so gently in both her hands. “you… see the good in everyone. you think everything & everyone is beautiful.”
ava gives bea that smile, her eyes looking tired as the halo continues to heal her. “maybe that’s the real punk rock, bea.”
i wrote this at @jtl07 & decided to make it other people’s problem too…
i just imagined kara losing her temper at clark. just so stricken, & angry, insisting a more violent form of justice against a villain:
“we don’t kill people, kara.”
“you don’t.”
“neither do you.”
“maybe it’s a change one of us should make.”
“you don’t mean that.”
“we were sent here to be the best—we have powers, kal. & i am sick of stupid, pathetic men destroying lives when we could end them for the better of the world, remove the threat completely. don’t act like it’s the same thing if he dies versus all those he will hurt.”
“you won’t be able to come back from that, kara.”
“knowing how many i save would make it ok.”
“not the kara i know.”
“the kara you know is the kara i show you to make our ancestry palatable, to make others comfortable. the kara i am watched everyone she knew & loved die bc the same greed & the same selfishness & the same evil. i refuse to let history repeat itself. you have no loyalty to the house of El without memory of it, so i don’t expect you to understand, clark.”
lois reaches out to lena when kara flies off, & lena finds kara outside her balcony. kara would never admit that she didn’t know where else to go. lena sits with kara in silence for a few moments.
“i want to kill him.”
“that’s a valid reaction.”
“i don’t see another option.”
“i would understand. it’s introductory philosophy—the trolley problem. a utilitarian solution. you want to do what’s best. superman wants to do what’s good. most of the time they’re the same thing, but not always.”
“would… would you think i’m evil? if i killed him & his accomplices?”
lena reaches out slowly, so she can get a read of how kara will react. when she doesn’t move, lena takes her hand. “no… i don’t think you have an evil bone in your body, but that’s why i think it would hurt you to hear others say you are. mostly… i think it would scare people, & i think you want to be loved—not feared… you deserve to be loved, kara.”
