#like girl you just admitted you were in a 21 year unhappy marriage
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Idk why it bothers me so much when people are like dead on the floor SHOCKED when I tell them I’ve never had a boyfriend.
“Never once in your life?” No never once, that’s what I mean when I say I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never as in never, I’m not exaggerating. 28 years old and single every day.
“Well why not?” Gee thanks, that’s awesome, now I either have to trot out all the reasons ranging from time, distance, lack of desire, or depression that’s prevented me from having or looking for a boyfriend in my 10+ years of eligibility OR I have to admit that maybe I’m just not that desireable. If I go for the latter I will inevitably be argued with, usually by someone who either hasn’t had to navigate the modern dating landscape or who’s already in a relationship. It’s not even necessarily that I’m ugly, it’s just my particular set of physical traits combined with my autism awkwardness and inability to connect and flirt fluidly with people means most times I’m just not really a guy’s cup of tea. I don’t blame them, but I’m aware of what I look like and how I come across.
“Have guys at least approached you?” Yes and it’s not the approaching that’s the issue. Tons of guys I don’t want have approached me, don’t my desires matter? And even if I admit my standards or desires are too high, that I’m punching above my weight, I would never want to lower my requirements just to have something and be miserable with it. I’d rather be alone than disappointed. Plus when a guy I’m interested in approaches me, doesn’t mean it’ll pan out to anything, as none of them have yet! Both of us have to be the person the other desires in their life, and that’s such a narrow possibility and dating is such a numbers and opportunity and luck game that I’m not surprised I’m not winning.
I also wish that when I said it I wasn’t automatically pitied by the other party, because then I either have to allow myself to wallow in how sad it all is and accept some goofy platitude like “well I’m sure the right guy is out there for you,” or I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me, at which point people seem to think I’m cold or weird for being unbothered that I’ve never been loved enough to date. I wish people could just take it as a statement of fact, as simple and mundane as saying you’ve never broken a bone.
“Oh I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.” And then the conversation moves on. I don’t want to dwell on it or discuss it or think tank problem-shoot it. I don’t really want to talk about it at all.
#shetalkies mushroom#had to trot it all out for some 75 year old woman last night#like girl you just admitted you were in a 21 year unhappy marriage#why would I want even a second of an unhappy relationship just to say I’m in one ?#I think of the quote from The Queen’s Gambit often#‘people will settle for anything just to say they have something’#well I don’t want to
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Magnolia in May (Part Twenty Eight) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU
Parts 1-20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27...
Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker
rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker
AVAILABLE ON AO3
Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.
Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.
TW: none.
[[A/N: He's so pretty in this gif. Girl... Thanks for reading !!! ]]
Fragrant, every time you so much as shared space with Mr. Grimes, he smelt wonderful. Tones you couldn't quite name and scents that made your head spin -some you question if it wasn't just him. Such scents followed him so closely, that you wished to replicate such a smell -perhaps spritz it on his handkerchief to remember it was his.
Although, you were sure it to be quite odd to sniff a handkerchief.
Which brought you to now, sitting closely by his side as you reread the same page and he shuffled through papers -he'd just requested for your company. And you, being you, eagerly complied.
Mr. Grimes hadn't said anything about it, so you hadn't either.
"Do you use any perfumes?" you echoed out before you could think about it too much.
"Perfumes?" he questioned, looking up to give his full attention -like he always did.
"Like," you stuck to such a topic, "-Like scents? Headmistress gave me one that smells like sweet citrus, but they make them for men as well-"
You were rambling, a nervous ramble -had he ever seen one of these before?
"-It's not a womanly thing wholly, and well, I was just wondering if you used any?"
He blinked at you, with a tiny soft chuckle, "Perhaps. I couldn't tell you what kind, because I'm not certain. Why do you ask?"
You blushed a certain type of crimson, admitting, "Your fragrance is quite wonderful is all. I was only curious if it was entirely you or..."
"A perfume," he finished with a small, teasing little smile -oh, he was not going to let go of this, was he?
"Do you always do that?" he questioned, in reference to the nervous ramble, you gathered.
"The rambling?" you poised, placing your book into your lap, "-Only when I'm unsure of such an approach."
"And why haven't I seen much of it, then?"
"Well," you began, carefully, "-I'm rather certain with you. I don't question my words, I know intently what I'm to say. It's... It's natural to me, I suppose."
"Such a thing is heard only by certain ears," he hummed in understanding, "-I'm rather happy you are so certain upon speaking to me, Ms. Greene."
"I'm sure you must know much more eloquent speakers," you relented.
"No," he added, "-you are quite direct in your pursuit of knowledge. You aren't afraid to get right in a reporter's face, or ask a man of his scent, it's wonderful."
"Some would say it unladylike," you echoed out, fidgeting with the pages between your fingers.
"Some would," he agreed, turning fully to face you, "-but I find it rather interesting. 'Have since the day I met you. Most women are afraid to speak to me, you know. But you are the opposite, I've always wondered why."
"Handsome men do not scare me, Mr. Grimes," you tsked, "-if they did, I certainly wouldn't have made it this far. I'd be married and unhappy, to the tune of a handful of years."
"You believe me to be handsome?"
"Oh, please-" you started with a smile, "-don't tell me you haven't heard such a thing before. The whole town of Alexandria-"
"Not from you," he echoed, a grin biting onto his lips, "-I believe it to mean a lot comin' from you."
"Well, I apologize for not saying so sooner," you smiled, "-I find you entirely too handsome. As does the rest of Alexandria."
"Too handsome for what?"
"For me," you hummed, a bit playful but something else settling in your heart,"-such a man should never reach as lowly as the eldest."
"You speak as though you aren't wonderful," he reiterated, "-do you truly not believe it so?"
"I-" you echoed, a little hollow, "-I believe you."
"When I say you are wonderful?" He repeated, "-You just believe me? You don't believe such a thing yourself?"
"Isn't it brash to believe you're beautiful?"
"No," he stood from the desk, joining you on the couch, "-entirely not. To believe you are beautiful is a thing many wish to, for their own sake. I suppose I'm askin' if you are one of those."
"I... I never thought about such a thing," you exhaled, "-I suppose, being in the prettiest dresses and with the most beautiful ribbon made me beautiful, not-"
"Not yourself," he hummed, using a finger to tilt your finger up to match his eyes, "-Darlin', you are as pretty as a magnolia in May, and one day I will make you certain of such words."
"You seem to be trying very hard now," you softened, "-What makes you certain you can do such a thing?"
"Because," he smiled, fingers still gently under your chin, "-I have the rest of our lives to do it."
The next few days were uneventful, Headmistress on her outings and Father working -it was just you and the sisters at home. You were just about to make breakfast for them when the door was knocked upon -a familiar sort of knock you knew by now.
Beth and Maggie were by your side in moments, eagerly awaiting you to open the door -like they knew such a thing was coming.
You spared a glance at them, perhaps they did.
You swung open the door with a gentle sort of swish, revealing the one and only Mr. Grimes at your doorstep. You knew so upon his knock, but it was still a delight to see him.
"Lovely to see you, Mr. Grimes," you smiled brighter -as you always did, "-What are you here for today? Did I forget plans?"
"No, no," he answered, "-This is a spur-of-the-moment gift, actually. If you shall come with me?"
"Uh, certainly," you spoke, "-but what of my sisters? They haven't eaten breakfast-"
"Allow me," he clarified, "-my chef is still in the process of makin' breakfast, and a few extra faces are certainly welcome."
"Yes certainly we are," Maggie grinned, slipping by the two of you and out the door -it was all rather suspicious. You gently guided Beth out the door, a small hand over her back, leaving you and Mr. Grimes.
"You're certain it's alright?"
"'Course," he whispered, "-the more the merrier. It was goin' to be a rather empty meal without you, anyway."
"I don't have to be there for every meal, Mr. Grimes," you laughed.
He stayed decidedly silent on that, and you were caught a bit off guard. It was quickly righted, however, when he extended his arm to you to get seated in the carriage -your hand touching his warmed you in a way only he could.
Sitting beside you, you found the familiar brush of sleeves was rather lovely -gathering a little flutter from your heart. It reminded of you when such touch was the extent of it, when dancing was what you daydreamed about.
The ride was rather short, Beth filling the silence with her newest read -all the details presented eloquently but still Beth. You enjoyed her synopsis, and always made time for them -especially when she was so openly willing.
You loved your sisters, something in your heart warmed once more. It was a day of affection, you decided.
You squeezed Beth's hand across the car, and patted Maggie's leg -smiling. It was a wonderful morning.
"Before we go to eat," he interrupted, as you gathered outside his home, "-Ms. Greene, will you walk with me?"
They didn't have to ask which one.
"Yes," you answered simply.
The walk wasn't outside, not like you had assumed -perhaps to his garden, or just away from the others. He waltzed you through the door and stopped, the girls walking ahead of you -toward the dining space, you realized.
But Mr. Grimes had stopped in the foyer. Arm tight around his, you hummed out a soft concern.
"Everything alright?"
He merely smiled, eyes lingering on the open spot of the wall -the one you'd seen before on your visit with Father. You curiously wondered what he was so lost in.
"What are you going to put there?" You asked, trying to garner his attention.
"A new portrait," he hummed, turning to you, "-once it's made."
"Oh, lovely," you echoed, smiling, "-It shall certainly be beautiful."
"Certainly," he grinned, eyes lingering on yours for a second longer, before he led you down the hall.
You'd always thought such an estate was wondrous, all billowing velvet and beautiful decorations -it was something you'd never dreamed of seeing. Never dreamed of having-
You realized he'd taken you to the ballroom, then and suddenly, you were rather confused. It was a beautiful room, certainly, with pillars of grandeur and the white marbled floors. But, you weren't sure what you would do here-
"What-"
And then you saw it, a painter. He was set up just off to the side, where the light so wondrously hit everything elegantly -canvas large, far too large. Like... Like some of the portraits out in the foyer.
You stalled in your footsteps, Mr. Grimes tripping for a moment when you didn't move. But he neatly guided you further, carefully a few steps into the painter's space, where you now saw the billowing fabric. A background, you realized, and under it a stool, one that looked rather comfortable. Foods off to the side, as if to prepare for company. It was prepped for-
"Mr. Grimes-"
He took you closer and you realized such foods to be your favorite, all little things you'd offhandedly mentioned to him. And it suddenly set in, smoothing across your shoulders.
It was for you. All of it.
"Mr. Grimes," you whispered, a bit astonished, "-I cannot believe such a thing-"
"One more thing," he hummed, guiding you into a room -where as you opened the door, Maggie resided.
In her hands, your lavender ribbon and hanging behind her-
Your lavender dress.
"Mr. Grimes-" you spoke, rather breathlessly, "-I cannot accept such... How did you even-"
"I asked if she could make one," he answered, barely behind you, "-perhaps not an exact one, but one quite similar."
"Mr. Grimes-"
"Please accept it," he spoke, tone slow and open, "-just this once."
You hummed, stopping and turning to look at the dress -it was somehow more elegant, stitching so detailed and a golden thread around the edges. The lace remained much the same color, but its uses differed only slightly -the ends of the sleeves and the bit of a ruffle in the front over your chest. You believed it to be the prettiest dress you'd ever seen.
"It's... It's beautiful," you wiped at your eyes -tears starting to form now.
"And you'll be beautiful in it," he responded from behind you, and you turned to face him -tears littered down your cheeks.
"Thank you," you curtsied, wiping ineloquently at your eyes -your cheeks certainly flushed.
"Anythin' for you."
He hummed, as Maggie pulled you into the room before he could do much else. Before you could, really-
The dress was perfect, as you glanced upon yourself in the mirror. Each strand of hair perfect and each rose of your cheek even, the lavender ribbon peeking out perfectly matching the dress. The dress-
It was as though you were wearing a piece of artwork, all stitching and details you wished to follow until you couldn't anymore. Your fingers traced them absent-mindedly, as your eyes settled along your face -the dips and curves of your jaw, your nose, and the press of your smile. You couldn't stop smiling.
You did look rather-
"Beautiful," Maggie hummed, head peeking over your shoulder, "-You look beautiful, sister."
You smiled, dabbing at your eyes with his left handkerchief -one of the ones he'd given you.
"Too beautiful," she hummed playfully, "-he's liable to faint, you know."
You laughed, a little watery and teary, but you'd have it no other way, "I don't know, I believe he believes me beautiful in anything I wear."
"Certainly," she spoke, "-but it's another to see you so dazzling. Your smile may just tip him over, Y/N."
The room was quiet then, as you looked over yourself with renewed eyes -his eyes, tried to see yourself in his eyes. Suppose he liked the slight crook of your nose, or the obvious tips of your ears, or the bags laden under your eyes -suppose he liked it all.
He loved it all, something in your head corrected.
You stepped out of the room rather slowly, eager to see him but patient enough to see such a look on his face. You'd never been in something so vivid before, nor had you smiled so wide -you were an essence he had yet to see.
Mr. Grimes didn't see you immediately, chatting away with the painter -eyes derailed from the door, but when he did, it reminded you of a day. A faraway day.
"I believe I've fallen in love with you, most completely."
Letter clutched in your hand you had been so scared, afraid he'd not feel the same as he did, the same as you did. It was such a faraway day from then, but you remembered it so clearly -even the feelings, the emotions.
You could tell he was holding back, the twitch of his hands, the dip of his eyes to your lips -he wished the present company was not rather present. His steps were slow to you, careful and measured, blue eyes hovering over you in a misty sort of way. Was he crying?
"I've never seen someone so beautiful in my life," he echoed, accent strong and voice cracking, "-You must know you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
You wished to kiss him.
"You're quite handsome too," you smiled, trying to dry up the tears.
He laughed, and something in you fluttered -like it always did. But this time, something settled rather different over his face -something you hadn't quite seen before.
"Marry me," he echoed out like he was lost and you were the light.
"Mr. Grimes, I thought we spoke of this-"
"I'm serious," he spoke through tears, slowly falling to one knee -holding your hands, "-I mean every word. Marry me."
"Mr. Grimes-" you spoke, rather teary once more.
"I ask for your hand," he interrupted, fingers pressed into your skin, "-please. I shall not know what to do if you say no, I can no longer live without you, you must understand-"
"Yes," it bubbled out of your lips, tears choking up through your throat, "-of course, yes."
"I wasn't finished," he laughed, utterly delighted, still on one knee and still darting all over your face, "-I have much more to say."
"I don't need to hear it," you laughed, a sort of unbelievable sort of laugh, "-I love you."
"I love you," he laughed -watery, something shining bright in his eyes, "-more than I know what to do with."
"I'm certain we can find something."
#rick grimes#its griming time#stuff n' thangs#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes x y/n#rick grimes x you#rick grimes x y/n fanfiction#twd#twd rick#rick grimes fanfiction#rick grimes oneshot#magnolia in may
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queen isabella maria of france ! ﹙ a bed untouched and blankets on the windowseat, immaculate hair and porcelain skin, what have i done, what have i done? an untouched plate and an empty wine glass, books piled up on an unused bedside table, a plate of cherries, if only i had died too a worn bible with a small length of ribbon sewn into the cover, candles burned to quick, crescent-moon shaped cuts on the inside of a soft palm, black kirtle, black shawl, everything black ﹚
hi all !! sorry this is so loooong, i’m big into character development so once i got started i couldn’t stop ! i’m enna, i’m 21 and from pst. my pronouns are she/her !!
i have discord, so hmu if you want to contact me there, and if i’m online, i’m always available thru ims !! i’ve played isabella before a few times and she’s the angry-sad love of my life so i’m thrilled to bring her here !!
feel free to like this to plot. there are connection ideas at the bottom so please take a look and see if anything fits your muse and it might help us brainstorm something fun!
ⅰ. — statistics & appearance.
𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 — isabella maria
𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎 — queen of france
𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 — trastámara of spain
𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 — bella, but only by her favorite lady’s maid and closest friend
𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 — devoted to god
𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚍𝚘𝚋 — twenty seven, born 23rd may
𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 — spanish
𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 — bisexual ; she’s aware of and has acted on her attraction to women in the past. although it is, naturally, a secret, she is not ashamed of her love for other women.
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 — female
𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜 — she/her
𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 — 5′4
𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚘𝚗 — her skin is soft, warm and blemish-free, a necessity in her station. she likes to keep her skin clean of any marks and pale, like a doll. she augments the warmth and softness of her features with sharp, simple jewelry & wardrobe choices, although notably she does not display her wealth through jewelry, and instead chooses simple and elegant designs over heavy and ornate
𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍 — she’s small and well-built, not skinny, but soft and with a certain amount of roundness to her. she has the typical feminine shape and a bit around her tummy, thighs, and arms
𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 — her voice is lovely and her accent is chocolatey, carefully schooled to be soft and convincing; when she’s angry, her voice becomes much louder and less delicate, slipping further into her accent
𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 — she carries herself like her station, with an air of superiority: her chin is always held high and her neck long, her whole posture ramrod straight; she rarely smiles without coaxing these days, but when she does it’s usually warm and surprised, like she’s forgotten that she knows how to do that
ⅱ. — personality.
tw / miscarriage, depression, mentions of suicide
𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 — as a young girl, isabella was a more naive and patient thing. her family ties were strong, and her loyalty to her father & later her brothers was as unwavering as the moon’s rise and fall. she was raised a perfect princess ; educated, crisp, pious and penitent, faithful to the last and hopeful for the future.
𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 — after having lost all of her children thus far, isabella’s disposition has hardened, and her love and loyalty has started to chip away. she still acts a quiet, faithful and penitent wife, sewing her husband’s shirts and spending an hour or two in the chapel a day. beneath it all, however, is a boiling rage, born of shame, injustice and sadness that she cannot tame.
𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 — were she a more modern woman, she would hunt for sport and retire to a country house. the business of being queen sits heavily on her shoulders. suffering from depression and often times a passive narrative that her life has been wasted and will continue to be wasted, isabella is about as unhappy as any queen has a right to be. she bears it quietly and acts the part of pretty, perfect wife, although nearing closer and closer to her limit.
𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 — although she was perhaps spoiled and too young when crowned, isabella has become known as a thoughtful, keen-witted and fair queen. remarkably thoughtful, every action and position she takes is well-informed and thought through; she is known for heeding evidence and admitting when she’s wrong. her favorite subjects to learn about are history and economy, and as such she’s done good things for trade and public infrastructure, making her relatively popular with the smaller towns and common people benefiting from her strategic work. she has come to love france, although she does not love governing, and consider its people hers.
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 — although a haughty and strict mistress, isabella finds herself more and more drawn to common folk. it seems the servants are the only folk that show her empathy within the french borders.
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚢 — depending on the person, isabella ranges from curtly polite to quietly warm ; she does not particularly enjoy french court, but she’s always polite and graceful. there can be no rest for her; although her home and a country she’s deeply proud of, france feels not unlike a claw trap closed tight around her ankle.
𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 — choleric, intelligent, bold, vindictive, poised, restless, fierce
𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗 — she no longer believes in god. her prayer is show, her piety is act, and if she did believe, the things she’d pray for would be any manner of blasphemy, treason and regicide.
ⅲ. — brief backstory.
— will be updated and changed with plotting and development; relationships with family and french royalty are purposefully left vague until plotted
— tw / miscarriage, depression, mentions of suicide
born the middle princess and good for little but bargaining, isabella was spoiled and coddled by her governess from a young age. education, hope and foolish naïveté let her believe the future was wide and wild, that her betrothal was a thing she could become accustomed to, that her father could do no wrong, and that her brothers were blessed by the sun itself. she was looking forward to a life atop a throne with an endless library, travelling and dancing.. and children. happiness. old age and grandeur.
married life quickly disabused her of these childish notions. though she is its queen, she often feels trapped and cornered by france, by her marriage and her duty, willing her body through hatred and shame to do its damn job and provide one squealing shouting babe so she could point to it and say see, i am worth something, i am a princess of spain and i cannot be made less than i am — but an heir never came, and happiness never followed, and the years have made a bitter, hollow woman of one that was once bright and playful.
though miserable and often times wishing for a grave alongside her buried children, she forces herself to persevere through spite alone; she can think of many worthy things to fall to, but a failed marriage and shame are not worthy things to die over. instead she cultivates the anger over the sadness and tries as hard as she can to put herself back together in the wake of her collection of small tragedies.
her only solace is the repeated hope that one day she will be allowed a child she can keep and hold, the stories and poetry she finds among the pages and pages of the french library, and the art and music that calls france home as much as she has to. she keeps tokens of her lost children, even ones she knew for weeks alone. a small ribbon on her bible for the babe she birthed, and river stones for the ones she did not.
ⅳ. — connection ideas.
platonic —
closest friend, confidant ( future or current )
unlikely friendship ( preferably someone with an opposite personality )
earned trust & loyalty ( put some of that endless loyalty and hero worship she’s capable of to good use )
casual friendships, gossip partners, reading circle
political allies, spanish courtiers who she’s remained friends with, a younger noble/royal she’s vaguely maternal towards
negative —
hatred at first sight ( we all love drama )
enemy of france or spain, enemy of her brother or husband,
someone who’s been cruel to her ( french people who have been cruel to her )
someone who dislikes her backbone, rivals
almost lover turned sour
romantic —
formative young adult love ( can be m/f/nb, royalty or no, idc i just like angst )
forbidden temptation ( can be one-sided )
previous betrothals pre-marraige ( can ofc be negative and/or platonic )
an ex lady’s maid she was lowkey in love with
an ill-advised comfort hookup that she’s now avoiding
#thrones.intro#ⅲ. 𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖆 ♖﹙development.﹚#yikes this is.........long . i'll be around a lil longer if u wanna catch my discord and plot w me !
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Werner Herzog Takes Us All On the Bad Faith Express: Reflections on FAMILY ROMANCE, LLC
My first encounter with Werner Herzog was at the Directors’ Fortnight at Cannes in 1973, where I first saw Aguirre, the Wrath of God in an English-dubbed version that included, if memory serves, a few Brooklyn accents in 16th century Peru. (This is why it took some rethinking and retooling before the film could be successfully exhibited in the U.S., in German with subtitles.) But what flummoxed me the most--in spite of the film’s awesome visual splendor and its crazed poetic conceits--was what Herzog revealed about the opening intertitle when I asked him about it during the Q & A.
The intertitle: “After the conquest and sack of the Incan empire by Spain, the Indians invented the legend of El Dorado, a land of gold, located in the swamps of the Amazon tributaries. A large expedition of Spanish adventurers led by Pizarro sets off from the Peruvian sierras in late 1560. The only document to survive from this lost expedition is the diary of the monk Gaspar de Carvajal.” Herzog’s cheerful admission: the bit about the document and the diary was a total lie, invented by him because he reasoned that people wouldn’t accept the film’s premises otherwise. A cynical form of expedience, perhaps, but I’m sure he knew exactly what he was doing. His Family Romance, LLC (2019)--which MUBI is showing now for free, along with a Q & A with Daniel Kasman—proves that in spades.
For duffers like me who are too alienated from the business world to know what LLC means, it stands for “Limited Liability Company,” and the real limited liability company in Tokyo that this film is about rents out actors to play the roles of family members, friends, or diverse functionaries for lonely individuals—e.g., a divorced father whom a 12-year-old girl hasn’t seen since her infancy, or a bullet-train worker who needs to be shamed by his boss for bungling a precise train schedule, or a woman who once won a fortune in a lottery and compulsively tries to win one again, knowing she probably won’t, unless someone else pretends she does. The resulting feature has been described as a mixture of documentary and fiction, but as Herzog points out in his Q & A, apart from the company’s founder and (apparently) main actor, Yuichi Ishii, playing himself, the entire film is fictional—scripted and shot with a tiny camera by Herzog himself and with actors playing the various characters (including characters who are actors). A fair amount of this is implausible: I couldn’t buy the episodes with the bullet-train worker and the lottery winner, and the seeming intimacy of the scenes often seemed contradicted by the presence of a camera and the knowledge that someone was recording it. On the other hand, if one accepts the various segments metaphorically or philosophically rather than literally, not as real-life events but as postulates, the film becomes a fictional essay film, not a fiction that has to be truthful or even consistent.
This only scratches the surface of the existential games of deception and truth-telling being played, by us as well as by Herzog, because we sometimes have to perform a certain fictional role as spectators in order for the film to function. And because Family Romance, LLC obliged me to keep shifting my own performative role as a spectator, it kept me on my toes even when it failed to meet all my requirements for succeeding as either a sustained fiction or a cohesive essay.
For example, Herzog declares in his Introduction, “There was something big [about the business Family Romance, LLC] that I immediately sensed: where everything was fake, everything was done by impostors, everything was alive, everything was a performance, and yet the authenticity of emotions is always there. You can feel it right away. It is so intense that professional reviewers believed that the film must be a documentary, but of course it was all staged and written, rehearsed, and stylized.” Yes, but even if we decide that Herzog didn’t invent those “professional reviewers” in the same way that he invented the fake diary of Aguirre, what do we—even those of us who qualify as “professional” reviewers —mean by “authentic” emotions”? While the film’s score is being performed over dramatic scenes and/or transitional interludes (such as high-angle shots over the cherry-blossom park where the fake fake father and fake daughter meet), are the emotions that are being expressed and heard those of the composer, those of the musicians, those of the characters, and/or those of Herzog? Are they our emotions as well? Or are they maybe all of these--or is it only some of these that qualify as authentic, as opposed to inauthentic? How can we tell, and how can we be sure? We can’t truthfully or honestly answer any of these questions, and our ignorance on such matters becomes highly commercial—just as Herzog knows that claiming Aguirre derives from a historic document somehow makes it “authentic” even if we know perfectly well that it’s false. It’s really a matter of faith or else a suspension of disbelief. Either way, we need it even if we don’t believe it, and the bad faith that emerges from this dilemma informs a substantial part of our lives, leaking into many of its obscure corners as well as its principal thoroughfares. So one has to be grateful to Herzog for bringing this issue up, even if he arguably cheats on some of its implications—because we’re all cheaters when it comes to admitting our desires and then reconciling them with our practical lives.
For Herzog, as he expresses it to Kasman in his Q & A, the main issue isn’t the truth or falsity of what he’s showing but the essential loneliness of all the participants, in spite of (or maybe it’s because of) all the social media they depend on, which he sees as the essential characteristic of 21st century life. You might say that Herzog shares with Trump the conviction that lying and telling the truth are merely separate tools of equal value in contriving to get an audience to pay attention. Call it a form of media savvy; ethics don’t even play a part in determining which tool should be employed this time around. It’s a powerful position because it corresponds so closely to the ways that we prefer to lie to ourselves. The main narrative thread of Family Romance, LLC, also the most believable, is Yuichi Ishii pretending to be 12-year-old Mahiro’s long-absent father, and the scripted scene with actors that I find most convincing is the one in which the fake father discovers from the girl’s mother (that is, the actor playing the fake father pretending to discover from the actor playing the girl’s mother) that the photo Mahiro showed him of herself on a beach wasn’t photographed in Bali, as she claimed at the time, but on a local beach, which means that both of them were lying to one another. Like the multiplication of two minus signs, the cross-pollination of these two lies creates what appears to be an authentic truth. And of course appearances are everything.
I think it’s fair to say that the business conducted by Family Romance, LLC (meaning the company rather than the movie, although I suppose it can apply to both) is basically a form of nonsexual prostitution--which isn’t a value judgment, just an observation. After all, the sort of prostitution based on sex that involves a certain amount of make-believe also occurs inside some marriages. A filmmaker friend of mine once became a prostitute while preparing to make a film about prostitutes, and she told me at the time that she sometimes enjoyed her work, making men happy that way. Maybe she was conning herself in order to think that, but then again, so were some of her customers—and shared fantasies might be said to have certain claims on being real rather than imaginary. Insofar as reality is often a matter of social agreements, it can even be argued that social media—including your reading of this sentence—are one form of social reality, despite the loneliness Herzog finds in it. But social transactions are often carried out via symbols and icons—photographs, statues, flags, movies—that can be mistaken for their real-life equivalents.
Sometimes a prostitute’s client knows that (s)he is being fooled, sometimes not, but paradoxically even if (s)he does know, the issue of the prostitute’s authenticity matters—it comes with the territory. That’s where the bad faith comes in, in movies and in a good many other things. We all know that Charles Manson’s chicks weren’t wiped out by either stunt men or flame throwers and that Hitler didn’t perish inside a locked movie theater that went up in flames, but pretending otherwise makes a lot of people feel good. It even permits some of them to praise Tarantino for being sweet and gentle towards some of his other characters, including the murderers. It’s the same sort of thinking or nonthinking that enables our President to feel proud and happy about Confederate statues and selected or invented Coronavirus statistics making America great again, in the full knowledge that some of his followers will agree with him, sometimes without knowing what they’re agreeing about. When one of Family Romance, LLC’s clients, Mahiro’s mother, visits an Oracle, we don’t even know whether she believes in or plans to follow the Oracle’s advice; it’s simply a ritual act that she and we follow, like watching a movie and pretending that we believe in it.
It’s not too much to say that in different ways and to different degrees, we’re all happy and unhappy travelers on the bad faith express. It’s what makes life worth living and also what fucks us up.
by Jonathan Rosenbaum
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Plee
Hey.
You there.
Whoever is left.
I don’t know who you are, but hello, and thanks for stopping.
I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish with this post other than to just put it out in the air, somewhere, that I am NOT okay. These last four years of my life have been far worse than I could have ever hoped for myself. I feel like I’m drowning and whenever I try to swim to the surface for a breath of air, the ocean just gets that much deeper. Sure, life’s had its ups, but the majority of it has been downs. I am not happy. I never realized that I was ever in this position until about a week ago when I got more drunk than I ever have been before in my life. I could not move. Everything was spinning at the speed of a top and I could. not. stop. crying. I called everyone in my family, and cried and told them how scared I was and how much I miss them (since they all live far away.) I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. Maybe being alone. Maybe death. Maybe life. Honestly, I think I’m afraid of it all. This post is going to be long and riddled with rambling that won’t make any sense. I’m sorry, and if you stay through it all, thank you for your time. I wish I could give something back to you.
I don’t know where to start with this. Maybe I’ll start where all of this began...ha ha Sam, way to go.
My parents were never happy. I never realized it until it was over and the mushroom cloud of the divorce was already halfway round the world, but they weren’t. Mom, she works. She works all the time and I feel bad because I haven’t seen it really pay off for her. She sits in front of her computer from 5am to about 6pm typing medical notes. She’s been doing this for just about as long as I remember, and this has taken up a large part of my life. I remember waking up in the morning to her typing and coming home from school to her typing. I’m not sure if she actually likes the job, or if she’s been hiding from something...distracting herself.
Dad has been retired a couple of times and had to come out of retirement once to try to keep the family afloat. It was never something I saw but we were struggling. He specializes in landscaping and amateur astrophotography, though amateur may be an understatement. I don’t honestly remember much of him working because it was never anything at home and he would never bring it home with him. Other than the poison ivy. Mom didn’t like that.
I’m going to spare a lot of personal and family details that nobody but us need to know, but the years went on, we moved from Kansas to Massachusetts and I could see them growing apart. It was obvious. They would fight more, Dad would sleep on the couch more often than not because of his “restless leg syndrome,” and the spark was gone. Dad spent all his time up in his office while we would be downstairs watching our favorite TV shows, me and my mom. *I want to add a little side note here that I am not angry with any member of my family. I am happy that they are all doing seemingly well for themselves now, but more on that later* It was in the air that they weren’t together anymore.
Fast forward about 3 years. All of a sudden mom wants to go to our cabin up in New Hampshire a lot more. She needs time to herself. One day my dad brings my sister and I up to his office and gives us each a hug and says,
“That’s it. The marriage is over. Your mother is having an affair.”
My favorite author, Chuck Palahniuk once wrote in Fight Club, “We have just lost all cabin pressure,” and I have never related to a set of text more in my life. Right around the same time, and a week before my birthday, my girlfriend of 7 moths decided another guy was more suitable. Whatever, I was learning life lessons a lot this year it seemed.
Now, to be fair, to this day I don’t actually know what my mother was doing and it’s not really any of anyone else’s business. Both of them were unhappy and it needed to end for both of them so that they could be where they are now. My mom is happily living in New Hampshire at the same cabin, and my Dad is putting around the country with his lady. Good for them, right?
Backing up a little bit, before my dad met his new lady, we lived in several different places. We lived in a quiet little town that held the high school that I graduated from, then we moved back to the town we lived in when we moved from Kansas all those years ago. We went on like that for about three more years, trying to repair ourselves as a group after the divorce, my father, sister and I. We didn’t abandon my mother but there was a lot of confusion at that time and my sister and I didn’t know what to think and my mom was too far away to form our own ideas based on her story. So we were quiet for a little bit. I finished high school and was in a relationship for the majority of these three years. I was trying my best to be happy and I didn’t realize that I was cramming all of these emotions down and away until now. And then my dad met Her. Thats when it REALLY started going downhill for me, and it hasn’t gone far back up since.
My dad was 50 years old when I was born. He didn’t want to have children but then woke up one day and decided he wanted his family name to go on. I was 17, I think, when he met Her. I’m 21 now. If he was 50 when I was born, I’ll let you do the math. He realized he may not have too much time left and decided that he wanted to start living for himself. He moved to Florida with Her, and my sister moved in with a friend. I went back to our broken family home, which was on the market at the time. I’m not mad at him. I’m happy that he’s able to finally start living his life the way he’s wanted too.
I worked. I worked a lot while living in this house at a race track about 10 minutes up the road. I loved this race track as if I owned it, like it was mine. It was a newly built facility and I became a part of the crew at the end of its first year of operation. It was bittersweet work because while watching amazing pieces of machinery race around 2.3 miles of some of the best racing surfaces you can find in New England, I was stuck out in the sun and the heat. This is where my anxiety really started to get ahold of me. I stayed at this track for 2 years.
If you’ve never been through an anxiety attack, you’re more lucky than you may know. I thought my heart was stopping. I remember being hunched over in my chair on my corner of the race track telling my GM on the radio that I needed to get down and that I was having a serious problem. I felt like my heart was stopping, dear reader. I was hunched over in that fucking green folding chair with no feeling in my hands staring at a rock on the ground waiting for my life to end.
A small part of me was okay with it and I’m just now admitting it. That racing season ended and I haven’t been back very often since. This was 2016. Hold on tight, we’re moving a little quickly now.
After the racing season ended I ran out of an income and I couldn’t qualify for unemployment based on how much I had made from the track. I couldn’t afford to heat the house I was in for the winter because it was too big, and again, I didn’t have any income. Nobody was hiring. At this point I was still with the girl I had been with since the beginning of the divorce. I had a lot of feelings for this girl and she was kind enough to let me kind of go back and forth between her parents for a while but ultimately decided that she needed to do things for herself. That’s fine. Good for her. Noticing a pattern? This was December of 2016.
Well, now I’ve got nowhere to live. Look what you did for yourself, Sam, save your money you stupid fuck.
Lucky for me I’ve got some DAMN GOOD FRIENDS. Honestly, I don’t know what I did to deserve my inner circle in my life. My friend, Bej, we’ll call him for fun, and his amazing mother decided they could put me up for as long as I needed. I was infinitely grateful obviously but felt terrible deep down in my gut. I know that I have these friends but I felt like I had nothing. My family was all over the place when I thought for my whole life leading up to this point that I would always have the support group of my family right there behind me. They were there, but so, so fucking far away. I was newly out of a relationship and felt like everything was going against me.
I stayed with Bej and his mother for 3 months until I was able to find work at a new chain restaurant that was opening not far away. The second that I heard this place was opening I was the first to apply, the first to be interviewed, and the first to be hired to this new store. I was finally doing something for myself and felt amazing about it. I willingly drove an hour every day to go to the proper training for the new store and worked as hard as I could as often as I could. I actually ended up landing Bej and another friend their first jobs here and we’re all still with the company as of Sept, 2017. I was still lonely, though.
Remember the race track that I worked at? I went back for a regional event for a club I was a member of. It was a two day event. The first day wasn’t very eventful, cars raced, cars spun, people won awards. It was normal. We went down for lunch at noon.
There she was.
She was literally a fucking angel.
She was wearing a white BMW sweatshirt, white pants, and white Rosches. Literally an angel, guys.
I didn’t think I had a chance, honestly, so I didn’t fucking bother.
I tried to forget about her during the day. I got lost in the smell of race fuel and the loud engines until the end of the day. That’s when the Flag Chief told me who I’d be stationed with the next day.
Guess.
Okay, Sam, you don’t have a chance buddy but you’ve got nothing to lose.
“Hi, I hope you like sarcastic assholes!” -Nailed it.
We hit it off. I have said it before and I will say it many more times. I have NEVER. NEVER had any sort of connection like I do with this girl. It went well enough that I asked her out for ice cream after the event, and even though it was far too cold for it, I had to ask. I could not pass this opportunity up. She said yes, and we went, and even though it wasn’t exactly a date because of some other friends that were there from the track, it went amazing. I knew that day that good things were going to come of it. You’re probably sitting there thinking things are turning around, huh? Ha, me too.
I don’t know how to really explain the next whole bit without giving out too much personal information that I’m not at liberty to give, so I’m just going to try to wrap this up.
Legally, we can’t be together. Nothing to do with age or anything, we’re both the same age, but things are going on in her life that are keeping us apart. In addition, she has attempted school before but got caught up in social/love lives and school fell through because of it. She and I don’t want that to happen again. We’re taking a break. It’s a bit more of a break than I thought but I will do everything I can to be here on the far end of it. I don’t know how long this break will be and the lack of communication scares me. I fell HARD for this girl, reader. And as far as I know she fell hard for me. Why does this look so easy for her?
Basically, this has just been a sob post about how much of a mess I think my life is but its all really starting to weigh on me and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m getting to the point where I don’t really want to be here anymore. I left out a lot about how the multiple jobs I have/am trying to keep up, aren’t working due to abusive bosses because I suck at writing and this whole post is a shitshow anyways. I don’t know. I should shut up. Sorry for the anticlimactic ending. I’ve been at this for several hours and took a long break to work in the middle. I just wanted to let something out somewhere.
Thanks for reading. I hope you’re well, whoever and wherever you are. Better than I feel, at least.
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. In Tenebris . 21
With his hands shoved into his pockets, Gray took a deep breath and slipped into his home. He could hear Ur on the phone in one of the rooms, voice distressed as she spoke urgently. He couldn't blame her. Out of three children, he was the last, and they both know just how likely it was that Ultear and Lyon had been taken by the very people who'd taken his friends.
"I'm home!" he called and she greeted him faintly before going back to what she was doing. He wasn't too upset. She was busy.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Gray trampled past the kitchen and upstairs to his bedroom. He dropped onto his bed and then checked his phone.
He'd been expecting calls from Erza, Lucy, Levy, or even some other person from the tavern he hung out at.
He was not expecting a missed call from Lyon.
"Ur!" he shouted, immediately on his feet. He booked it back downstairs and into the dining room, where Ur sat with her phone to her ear. "Ur," he gasped when she looked up, dark eyes watching him with impatience. "Ur, Lyon called my phone."
She hastily bid her contact farewell. She waved him over and he scrambled to stand beside her. He set his phone on the table. "Play it," she ordered, readying a pen to make note of Lyon's words.
Gray hit the button.
The voice that filled their ears was certainly not Lyon's, nor was it Ultear's or Meredy's. It was the voice of someone Gray didn't recognize. He made sure to note that he wouldn't delete it so that Lucy or Levy could listen later, help decipher who it was.
"Greetings, Ms. Milkovich and Mr. Fullbuster," the voice said smoothly. "We are aware of your connections with what you call the dragons and other such people." Ur glanced at Gray, but he didn't remove his gaze from the phone. "Hargeon's funding is running low, you see. So we will ask something small of you: pay us a large sum of money and we will return Mr. Vastia and Miss Milkovich, unharmed. Let's say...two million five hundred thousand jewels should do. Leave the money with Miss Heartfilia and it will be retrieved. You have three days from the moment you hear this message."
A tone signaled the end of the message and Gray hunched his shoulders. "This is my fault. I knew it was dangerous, dealing with whatever Lucy and the others are doing-"
Ur gave him a sharp look. "These are the people you asked me to allow into my shop?"
Gray nodded. "The experiments themselves are good people, even if Pyro is an idiot. But...things have been rough for all of them recently. Levy got attacked earlier, and Natsu - one of the dragons - took an injection willingly to get medicine for Lucy since she's been having a lot of problems lately."
"This isn't your fault, nor is it theirs," Ur sighed. She leaned back, stretching. Gray watched his adopted mother with sharp eyes. "This is the fault of the one in charge of this all. How we'll get that much money though…my credit's so bad I can't get a loan, and I won't let you. It's too much in regards to interest."
"I can talk to Lucy about a loan," Gray suggested, raking a hand through his black hair. "Or Makarov. He's decided to fund the whole thing for Lucy and Levy so that they can help the experiments."
Ur bit her lip, looking unhappy about the idea, but not seeing much of a choice. "Do it, talk to Lucy," she decided. "I won't ask Makarov for that much money, but the Heartfilia's should have enough to help."
"On it." Gray grabbed his phone and snatched car keys up - keys he'd put away minutes before. "I'm going to go back and talk to her in person so I can show her the message."
"I'll work on one of my sculptures," Ur decided, though her eyes showed her unhappiness. "It'll give me something to do while I wait."
Ur hated that she couldn't do anything for her children.
Levy flinched as she moved her arm and it throbbed. While she hadn't received injections like the others, it still hurt a lot and there was a huge bruise on the crease of her elbow, where the needle had been forced in. She remembered Jackal's hands pinning her, his cruel face grinning as Lamy giggled-
"Levy?"
"Hey, Wendy," Levy said gently as the small dragon dropped to sit beside her on the couch. Chelia hesitantly settled onto the loveseat. "What can I do for you?"
Wendy eyed Gajeel, who'd dozed off in a chair with his head leaned back, breathing deep and even. "I wanted to ask if Chelia and I could play with that ball we used, when we were all kicking it around. Sting said he'd play with us."
"Of course." Levy gave her a warm smile. "Go ahead and take it. It's in my room, under the bed."
"Thank you!" Wendy beamed, and then lost her smile after a moment, biting her lip. "Levy...will Natsu be okay? And you?"
"I'll be fine, even if we don't know what they did yet," she reassured. "I don't know about Natsu though, Wendy. Has he not woken up yet?" Wendy shook her head. "He probably needs a lot of rest, like Lucy did. I'll have someone go outside and grab you if he wakes up while you're out, okay?"
"Kay," she murmured, climbing to her feet. She exchanged a small smile with the quiet yet friendly Chelia and then the two girls headed off to retrieve the soccer ball.
Levy watched them go and chuckled, turning her attention back on her phone. She'd been studying a language on her phone, using an app to practice. She'd found an interest in the idea of knowing several languages a few months before and now seemed like a decent time to begin learning.
Whatever had been done, things clicked much easier than they had before. Each word made sense and she could recognize them with ease. She'd always been a quick learner, she supposed, but this…
She paused when Wendy came trotting out into the split room with Chelia, Sting, and Lector at her heels, Charle in her arms and the ball in Chelia's. Levy waved and waited until they'd left before going back to work.
"Fire," she said aloud, reading the term on the phone as a box opened beneath it. Draw the word.
With ease, she scribbled the word out.
And promptly screamed bloody murder when her phone burst into flames with a small explosion. Pain singed through her as the debris struck her lap and she shot over the back of the couch, landing heavily on her back. Wheezing, she clawed her way to her feet and peeked over the edge to see Gajeel on his feet, crimson eyes wild and wide open. He darted forward to smack the flames that had sprouted on her couch out.
"What the fuck, Shrimp?" he grunted as Yukino peeked out into the room with a shocked look.
"Everything okay?" she asked, frowning at the pair.
"Yeah," Levy lied. She thought about it. "No. I may have just blown up my phone."
"How the hell did you manage that?" Gajeel demanded, eyeing the debris that was left.
She raked a hand through her tangled blue hair. "I was...I was studying a language. It said to draw symbol for the word. So I drew the word. And my phone blew up."
"...hold on," Yukino told her, disappearing. She came back a few minutes later to find Levy on the couch again, grimacing and rubbing at small burns. She shoved a piece of paper at her and then a pen. "Here, try this. Write something on this with the pen."
Levy eyed her and did just that. Gajeel leaned over her shoulder, suspicious. He glanced up when a sleepy Lucy wandered in, Happy held in her arms. "What's going on?" she demanded, but he waved her off. She came to look as well as Levy scrawled out "fire".
Nothing happened. Levy looked up at Yukino. "Try with your finger, Levy."
Levy hesitated, and then did as she said, running her fingertip over the paper. She squealed in surprise when it flared up into flames.
"Oh, my god," Lucy breathed, eyes widening in shock.
"It hurt me," she admitted, tapping a burn on her leg. She blinked blearily. "I can't...I can't believe this. I can't use my phone for words!" A pause. "Change of plans, I don't even have a phone anymore."
"I'll get you a new one," Lucy promised and then raised her chin. "My, um, dad. He, err, wants to meet with me. Here."
"Your crazy father wants to come here?" Gajeel huffed.
Yukino blinked in confusion. "Is this bad?"
"He's tried to force me into a couple marriages, was fairly rude to me for a number of years, and has tried to guilt me back into his house," Lucy listed bluntly. "But he came through when I needed him to, when Levy called to ask him to deal with Tartaros. So when he said he wanted to meet with me and all of the experiments, I figured why not? He already knows. And if I can convince him, we may have another source of funding to help everyone and feed the dragons. Bones aren't cheap."
Gajeel ran a hand down his face. "You want to bring someone who probably worked on Natsu in?"
"I think it's smart," Yukino admitted. "But you'll have two less dragons to worry about soon." Her eyes lit up. "Minerva called. She's coming to pick Sting, Rogue, and I up next week. We're taking Lector and Frosch if that's okay."
"No problem," Lucy told her. "We don't mind." She turned back to Gajeel, who eyed her hidden sad expression with suspicion. "If you're nice, he might fund your shop, Gajeel."
"I'm going to be makin' friends," he said very seriously.
Despite being a little distressed by what was going on, Levy giggled and murmured, "Who knew befriending the rich person would come in handy."
Lucy smiled a little, hoisting Happy further into her arms. "I'll go check on Natsu...where's Wendy and Chelia?"
"Outside with Sting, playing with a ball," Levy told her. "They're fine for now."
"I'll go sit with them just in case," Yukino offered and then headed for the door. "If Rogue comes looking, send him out!"
"Lucy," Levy began as she turned to leave. "Have you taken the medication yet?"
Lucy shook her head. "I'll take it with dinner. Oh! Gray texted, said he'd be stopping by about something important with us. Will you come get me when he shows up?"
"Sure," she agreed. "Erza's coming this evening to give us an update, too. Is your father coming tonight or tomorrow?"
"Tonight," Lucy admitted, rubbing a hand down her face. Without another word, she left and Levy shifted her weight onto her other hip, glancing over her shoulder at Gajeel. The dragon was watching her closely.
"Please don't offend Jude Heartfilia," Levy pleaded with him and then frowned when he narrowed his eyes at her. "What? What are you looking at me like that for?"
"Your phone," he grunted, jerking his chin at her. "It burned you."
Levy touched a burn on her thigh. "Only a little. Not too badly. I'll be okay." She flashed him a quick smile. "Thanks for your concern though, Gajeel. It'll be fine, I promise. Now." She stretched her arms carefully above her head. "How about we start some dinner?"
Gajeel eyed her suspiciously but grinned, showing off sharpened teeth that went with his draconic appearance. "What are we eating?"
Gray came shortly before dinner.
Lucy met him at the door, Happy on her shoulder and a green-furred cat tucked under her arm, scooped up after he nearly bolted outside. "Hey, Gray," she said gently, taking in his exhausted face. She waved him in. He didn't hesitate to duck inside.
"Hi, Gray!" Wendy called from the balcony above, waving down at him. Chelia peered curiously down at him beside her.
"Hey, Wendy," Gray greeted quietly, waving up at her. "Lucy," he said, addressing his friend. "What do I have to do to get two million five hundred thousand jewels from you in a loan?"
Lucy's lips parted. "Gray-"
"Someone called on my phone." He looked down at his phone. "Someone in league with those psychotic bastards took my brother and sister. Meredy, too, I'm willing to bet. Please. They promised to let them go if we gave them the money."
"Gray," she said gently, "I don't have access to the Heartfilia bank account."
He looked at her in horror. "Lucy-"
"I'm sorry. I really am." She reached out and gently touched his shoulder. "We'll get them back though, I promise you. Do you want to stay for dinner? Erza's coming by and...and so is my father."
"I can't." He shook his head. "Sorry, Lucy, I have to go home. Ur's not saying it, but she's a mess, I know she is." He took a deep breath, looking ashen. "If you can get your father...if you can get him on our side…"
"I'll talk to him," she said gently. "But Gray...that's a lot of money. Even for us. And we need to think this through. They're current ideal is to experiment and then shove at us, so...and we've got people infiltrating areas. I'm sure someone will get them out. Even if we can't pay it."
He gave her a tired look. "Lucy. I love you and I love Levy. You're family. But I can't...I can't stop thinking that if I didn't know you, that if we weren't friends, this wouldn't have happened."
Pain flickered across her face. But she understood. "I know. I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't apologize," he muttered, turning to leave. "Just...do what you can. I'll talk to you later." He left without another word and Lucy suddenly felt lonely - lonely and extremely guilty.
If she hadn't insisted on helping...none of this would have happened.
But then...Chelia would still be stuck. Her three dragon friends would have starved and Sting and Rogue wouldn't be free, nor would Juvia. There was so many people that she'd helped alongside Levy-
A blast of heat washed through the house.
Lucy shot up the stairs, biting her lip so hard it bled. "Wendy," she paused to order. "Stay with Chelia and make sure that you're ready to treat more burns. Okay?"
Wendy's dark eyes shone with anxiety as she nodded, looking to Chelia.
Chelia smiled faintly. "We'll be ready."
"Good." Lucy flashed her a short smile and then raced for Natsu's room. Gajeel and Sting hovered in the doorway, Yukino and Juvia beside them. Levy hung back, wary of the flames, and Lucy could hear Rogue swearing within the room. "What happened?"
"He woke up," Gajeel grunted. "Except the bastard's lost his shit again."
Lucy peered inside and flinched as smoke made her eyes water. Thanking the heavens that the worst damage he could do was burn through the wooden floor, Lucy took in the flames whipping around Natsu, who had thrown himself into a corner, screaming.
It broke her heart to hear him.
"Rogue," Sting suddenly shouted.
The shadow dragon slid from the room, rising from Yukino's shadow with a rumbling sound. He wasn't burned, but looked flushed from the heat. "I can't get close, even like this."
"You ain't goin' back in," Gajeel warned Lucy. "He's set to incinerate."
Lucy searched her pockets, but came away with nothing useful - and then gasped as Happy slid into the room. "Happy!"
The blue-furred cat ignored her and sidled right up to the dragon that panicked in the corner. Purring, he sat a short distance away, not daring to get too close. After a moment, he yowled loudly.
The sound startled Natsu out of his panicked mood. Sharp glowing eyes snapped to the blue cat, who wiggled his body and mewed softly, flicking his ears back and then forward. Recognition flickered through his gaze and then the flames vanished and he threw his arms out. Happy bounded into his grip and rubbed against his chin, purring loudly enough that Lucy could hear him.
Their jaws dropped.
"Consider me impressed," Gajeel admitted as Natsu ruffled the cat's ears gingerly, murmuring to him. "He did better than you, Bunny Girl."
"Thank you for your support, Gajeel," Lucy said wryly.
"Natsu!" Levy said softly, waiting for a response and not daring to move into the room. His head snapped in their direction and she gave him a large smile that he hesitantly returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. Reassured, she stepped in - and then was brushed past as Wendy bolted in to throw her arms around Natsu in a tight hug.
"Wendy, I told you to stay out in the living room," Lucy scolded though she wore a look of amusement on her face as the young girl beamed at Natsu, relieved that he was okay. Natsu patted her head affectionately, ruffling her hair.
The inky marks flickered into appearance before disappearing again and then stayed away for the time being. There was no sign of his horns as he grunted and hauled himself to his feet with Happy in his arms. He shook his head to clear it, thinking cautiously, taking in each person at the door before nodding to himself, as if confirming that they were friends.
Gajeel propped an elbow on Levy's head and she nearly went down as her knees buckled. "Look at you, Salamander. Who needs to be watched for temper tantrums now?"
Natsu glared irritably and then looked to Levy anxiously, gaze flickering to Lucy. "Did you-"
"Yes," she reassured, amused that his first concern would be Lucy's "medicine". "I gave it to her. I don't know if she's taken any yet though. Have you taken any of those pills, Lucy?"
"I was going to with dinner," Lucy said quietly, smiling faintly. "Leo's been shouting at me not to though."
Natsu rumbled low in his throat and Lucy hastily reassured, "I'm still going to."
As she'd stated, she didn't want their suffering to be for nothing.
Natsu grimaced and touched his head, but Wendy smacked his hand away and drew his face down so that she could look. A fierce gleam in her dark eyes told him not to try and pull away. Finally, she rested her fingers over the injection site and tried to heal it.
Without meaning to, he practically threw her away, a strange pained shriek leaving his head. Wendy squealed as she hit the ground, rolling onto her back after a moment with a gasp for air, and Gajeel stormed in with a lethal glint in his eyes.
"Sorry," the pink-haired dragon whispered, quivering, pain racing through his veins. He scowled as horns shoved themselves free of his scalp, the new ones hurting more than the others. "It...hurt."
"S'okay," Wendy wheezed. "I won't try again." She scuttled over to Levy, who tucked her under her arm as Gajeel glowered, taking a protective stance in front of the pair. Lucy rolled her eyes.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, nodding at Yukino. "Yukino and Rogue made dinner. Sting...helped."
If that meant trying to steal from various dishes.
He shook his head. "Not really," he mumbled, flinching.
"That's okay," Yukino said gently. "We're going to play some slapjack after everyone leaves. How about you join us for that at least?"
He looked reluctant, not pleased with noise and entirely unsure of what slapjack was, but nodded. "Sure." He wrinkled his nose as Happy bopped at it with a blue paw. He sneezed flames and then snorted to clear his nose of smoke that pooled around his head. "Damn it," he seethed.
Gajeel cackled and Sting outright laughed.
All amusement faded, however, a moment later. All of the dragons looked aside, staring at nothing. A moment later, Gajeel grunted, "Someone's here."
Lucy sucked in a shaky breath. "I'll get it."
She pushed past them all, Natsu watching her go with tightened eyes, and felt a flash of affection for all of the dragons as Rogue slid into her shoulder, just as heavy as she remembered him to be.
When she reached the door, she didn't hesitate to open it.
She flinched at the sight of one exhausted Erza Scarlet before her.
"Lucy," she greeted almost too quietly for Lucy to hear, dark eyes shadowed, ragged hair tucked into a hasty braid. She was clothed as cleanly as ever, in sharp professional clothes, but the cloth was wrinkled.
Gone was the powerful woman that had made many tremble in their shoes.
And for some reason, that left a bitter taste in her mouth - a hollow feeling in her soul.
This was her fault, all her fault. If she'd only sent them to live outside rather than getting attached-
"You'd dismiss your friends like that?" Aquarius sneered. "I didn't take you to be someone like that."
"Shut up," Lucy seethed to herself and then gestured for Erza to enter. "Wasn't Jellal coming?"
Erza's lips quirked up a tiny bit. "He's decided to go speak with Makarov. I heard inklings of a rip in their power and chose to take advantage of the discovery. It's nice to see that you are well. How are the others? Chelia? I heard that she'd been brought in. Mira was telling me about it, and Cana."
Lucy smiled broadly. "Chelia's great. She and Wendy are-"
Words died in Lucy's throat as another car pulled up outside the house. Wild emotions streaked through her and after a panicked moment, Lucy took a breath to calm herself. Erza looked outside and smiled gently at her. "Be brave, Lucy. You have looked death in the face and lived. Your father is nothing."
Lucy liked the sound of that.
Besides. It's not like he could do anything when there were five dragons, a girl with abilities similar to Wendy, Juvia, Levy's new-found ability, and a fierce Erza to deal with. Lucy smiled at that.
Feeling braver, she ducked outside and waited patiently as Jude Heartfilia hauled himself out of the car. A breath on the back of her neck scared her, but the sheer heat of it told her that Natsu had sensed who'd arrived - and that she'd need silent backup as Erza went inside to greet the others.
"Happy?" he offered, holding his cat out.
"Thanks." Lucy bit her lip as she hugged Happy to her. She silently wondered if she should have changed, but one look at Natsu had her rolling her eyes at her own thoughts. He was a mess, stained with ash and the occasional flecks of black. He didn't even have a shirt on at the moment. His pants had been ripped and torn, and he hadn't bothered to change them or put on shoes.
She didn't even need to put her hair up if she didn't want to.
As her father approached the house, eyes wary, she lifted her chin and called, "Hello, Father."
His gaze latched onto her. So many times it had been filled with greed, with anger. Now, he was just tired. "Lucy," he said quietly, no malice in his voice. His gaze flickered to Natsu. "And you are…?"
"Natsu," he said stiffly, lifting a lip to show his teeth a little. "I'm Natsu Dragneel. I'm the fire dragon of our house."
She liked how he said that. Like he was some sort of guardian.
"Ah, Mr. Dragneel. I remember you." His gaze studied Natsu closely. "My wife was fond of you in her endeavors."
"So Momma really did take part in this," Lucy said softly before shaking her head and turning to head inside. "This way, Father. I'll introduce you to everyone else. Erza and Levy are here, of course. Gray had to skip out."
"Four dragons, a water woman, a woman of the stars, and a god, correct?" Jude listed, earning a shocked stare as she and Natsu whirled to look at him. "On top of it all, your friend Levy is no longer entirely normal, and nor are you."
"How'd you-"
He cut Lucy off. "I have been in contact with Makarov Dreyar. He has...looked past previous altercations in favor of providing me with a path of redemption."
Her jaw fell. "You're working with...you're supporting this? I thought-"
"That I'd be against you?" Jude's eyes flickered - almost sadly, Lucy realized. He was like a completely different person. "I meant what I said when I spoke with Miss McGarden, Lucy. For all of my actions, you are my daughter."
Natsu snorted softly in disbelief, but Lucy smiled just a fraction and led her father inside.
Because for the first time in his life, he was trying to redeem himself in her eyes.
What was wrong with attempting to forgive and forget?
#fairy tail#fanfiction#au#in tenebris#riverofmemoriesft#nalu#gajevy#natsu x lucy#gajeel x levy#natsu dragneel#lucy heartfilia#gray fullbuster#ur milkovich#erza scarlet#jude heartfilia#happy#wendy marvell#chelia blendy#sting eucliffe#rogue cheney#yukino auguria#gajeel redfox#levy mcgarden
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Autism’s Awfully Inevitable Illness
Imagine growing up with a disability which gives you an 80% chance of having mental health problems before you turn 18. Imagine growing up with a disability in which only 16% of adults with the condition are in full-time work long after turning 18. Imagine growing up being told these statistics knowing you are different, you are unlikely to succeed, and your permanent condition means there's little you can do to change it.
That's what the numbers tell those of us young people with an Autism Spectrum Disorder, that having Aspergers Syndrome or Autism will limit our lives in a way that means we'll never be like those we grow up with. In a way however we sadly already know this, as more than 75% of us admit we've been bullied at school, more than 50% of us have experienced discrimination in the workplace, whilst 22% of us feel right now we have absolutely no friends at all.
As a 21 year-old guy with ASD, I'll admit I'm a bit tired of being a statistic. I was diagnosed with Aspergers aged 10, then depression and anxiety aged 17, before quickly losing my first adult job a few years later and ending up in hospital for a number of months due to self-harming, suicide attempts, and all of the above. It was an experience I was constantly told no one should have to go through, but ultimately the percentages saw it coming.
One thing I'll always hammer home about those of us with Autism is that we are all different, we are all individuals, so why is it that we all share so much in common when it comes to suffering with mental health difficulties? They're supposedly unrelated conditions, yet for those of us with an ASD diagnoses, we can be 80% sure one day we'll get a mental health issue diagnosed with it. Mental illness isn't Spotify Premium or a copy of the Daily Telegraph, it shouldn't automatically come free alongside anything, especially not an already difficult to deal with disability.
It's hard then to argue that the cause of the unhappy Autism and mental health marriage isn't simply society itself. The 80% who admitted to also experiencing mental health problems were all young individuals, boys and girls who haven't even had the chance to fully experience what life has to offer. For those of us young people, school and university life is pretty much all we know so far, and we all know what a toxic environment the world of education can be to anyone on the Autism Spectrum.
Schools nowadays often lose sight of the individual, usually in the ruthless chase for exam results and league table positions. Teachers are rarely trained to provide the often small-scale but essential additional support for children with Autism, especially those in mainstream schools where three-quarters of those with the condition attend.
Behaviours caused by the condition, or simple misunderstandings, are so often punished in the classroom. Children on the spectrum struggle with social rules because of their disability, so to be punished because they don't follow these rules is both ludicrous and hugely damaging for a child. A child in a wheelchair would not be reprimanded for being slow getting to class, so a youngster with Autism should never be criticised for being slow to understand a teacher's demands.
It's not just teachers either, as the difficulty in fitting in and making friends with other students offers often the biggest challenge to young people growing up with ASD. Being 'different' is rarely a positive amongst your classmates, and it's easy to feel excluded, on the outside, and like you are the odd one out of all of them.
Growing up becomes a battle with your self-esteem, an area so incredibly entwined with our mental health. For me the problems grew the more I disliked myself, the more I felt I was a failure for not making friends or not surviving in the classroom. Autism often causes huge problems when dealing with different emotions, and throughout school and university I struggled with intense feelings I rarely had under control.
I felt jealousy at my peers that they could enjoy things I couldn't, anger at my disability that was stopping me doing these, and shame at myself for constantly feeling this way. Hatred of oneself, a difficulty in expressing feelings and emotions, it's easy for these to turn ugly and lead to outbursts, self-harm, and sometimes worse.
Depression is a complex illness, but I know that so much of mine was exasperated by constant self-loathing, whilst not being able to go out and enjoy the supposedly enjoyable social elements which dominate teenage life. Events such as parties and nights out were a sensory nightmare, with too much going on, too much noise, putting me on a constant edge of anxiety and panic. Struggling to relate to people left me lacking any strong relationships, whether social, professional or romantic. Yes I found it difficult to talk to girls, but then again I found it difficult to talk to boys, and teachers, and my family, and pretty much anyone either in person or online.
A life with a disability that impairs communication skills is a fairly lonely one. However to assume because we often keep ourselves to ourselves we're all 'loners' or quite happy on our own is completely wrong and misguided. We have desires to be social and outgoing just as much as any other young person, but the anxiety and difficulties that come alongside make this incredibly challenging.
This anxiety can often overwhelm our lives, given the world now currently requires so much connection with others to get through it. It's not a world yet adapted to support those with Autism. At school you take exams with strict time limits, despite having a disability that slows down your ability to process information. These school exams are in order to help you get a job, but only with a job interview, another process requiring quick thinking, good social skills, and the capability of overcoming any anxiety, in this case a full-blown anxiety disorder.
Statistics around Autism and mental health may seem shocking to those on the outside, but anyone who's worked with or lived with the disability knows the difficulties and challenges faced by people with ASD every single day, and that currently there is little being done to set changes into motion.
However despite all this, I and many others are determined to help give everyone on the Autistic Spectrum the opportunities required in life. Support that can give us the helping hand we need to stand alongside those we often assume we can only look up to, and assistance needed to prevent the supposed 700,000 of us living in the UK with the condition being consigned to the expectations of both society and the media.
For all those without the condition, taking the time to offer that additional support you would likely provide to someone with a 'visible' disability, to someone with Autism, can make all the difference that's needed. Whether that's allowing extra time to process information, allowing space in social situations, or simply communicating with that person and asking how they, as an individual, would like to be helped.
For those on the Spectrum anxious about the future, I want to instil a sense of belief that I know many of us lack. The truth is every day we overcome our condition in so many different ways, and throughout our lives we've achieved things a diagnosis of Autism says we probably shouldn't be able to do. We spend a lot of time proving people wrong, so there's little to stop us doing this throughout the rest of our lives, taking it a step further every time.
It took me many years of self-doubt, once being someone overwhelmed by public transport, busy cities, or talking to anyone I didn't know. However I'm now a person with Autism who commutes into London on busy trains, before giving speeches to people I've never met. I'm a person with Autism who loves proving everyone, and that especially includes myself, well and truly wrong.
Self-belief, self-esteem, and mental health are completely intertwined. For anyone with Autism they're a constant battle to overcome. However with the right support, and the right opportunities given to take the fight to them, they can be the things that push you towards a real chance in life.
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queen isabella maria of france ! ﹙ a bed untouched and blankets on the windowseat, immaculate hair and porcelain skin, what have i done, what have i done? an untouched plate and an empty wine glass, books piled up on an unused bedside table, a plate of cherries, if only i had died too a worn bible with a small length of ribbon sewn into the cover, candles burned to quick, crescent-moon shaped cuts on the inside of a soft palm, black kirtle, black shawl, everything black ﹚
hi all !! sorry this is so loooong, i’m big into character development so once i got started i couldn’t stop ! i’m enna, i’m 21 and from pst. my pronouns are she/her !! i was part of this group during the og version and i’m excited to go for this again !!
i have discord, so hmu if you want to contact me there, and if i’m online, i’m always available thru ims !!
feel free to like this to plot. there are connection ideas at the bottom so please take a look and see if anything fits your muse and it might help us brainstorm something fun!
ⅰ. — statistics & appearance.
𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 — isabella maria
𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎 — queen of france
𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 — trastámara of spain
𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 — bella, but only by her favorite lady’s maid and closest friend
𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 — devoted to god
𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚍𝚘𝚋 — twenty seven, born 23rd may
𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 — spanish
𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 — bisexual ; she’s aware of and has acted on her attraction to women in the past. although it is, naturally, a secret, she is not ashamed of her love for other women.
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 — female
𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜 — she/her
𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 — 5′4
𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚘𝚗 — her skin is soft, warm and blemish-free, a necessity in her station. she likes to keep her skin clean of any marks and pale, like a doll. she augments the warmth and softness of her features with sharp, simple jewelry & wardrobe choices, although notably she does not display her wealth through jewelry, and instead chooses simple and elegant designs over heavy and ornate
𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍 — she’s small and well-built, not skinny, but soft and with a certain amount of roundness to her. she has the typical feminine shape and a bit around her tummy, thighs, and arms
𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 — her voice is lovely and her accent is chocolatey, carefully schooled to be soft and convincing; when she’s angry, her voice becomes much louder and less delicate, slipping further into her accent
𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 — she carries herself like her station, with an air of superiority: her chin is always held high and her neck long, her whole posture ramrod straight; she rarely smiles without coaxing these days, but when she does it’s usually warm and surprised, like she’s forgotten that she knows how to do that
ⅱ. — personality.
tw / miscarriage, depression, mentions of suicide
𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 — as a young girl, isabella was a more naive and patient thing. her family ties were strong, and her loyalty to her father & later her brothers was as unwavering as the moon’s rise and fall. she was raised a perfect princess ; educated, crisp, pious and penitent, faithful to the last and hopeful for the future.
𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 — after having lost all of her children thus far, isabella’s disposition has hardened, and her love and loyalty has started to chip away. she still acts a quiet, faithful and penitent wife, sewing her husband’s shirts and spending an hour or two in the chapel a day. beneath it all, however, is a boiling rage, born of shame, injustice and sadness that she cannot tame.
𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 — were she a more modern woman, she would hunt for sport and retire to a country house. the business of being queen sits heavily on her shoulders. suffering from depression and often times a passive narrative that her life has been wasted and will continue to be wasted, isabella is about as unhappy as any queen has a right to be. she bears it quietly and acts the part of pretty, perfect wife, although nearing closer and closer to her limit.
𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 — although she was perhaps spoiled and too young when crowned, isabella has become known as a thoughtful, keen-witted and fair queen. remarkably thoughtful, every action and position she takes is well-informed and thought through; she is known for heeding evidence and admitting when she’s wrong. her favorite subjects to learn about are history and economy, and as such she’s done good things for trade and public infrastructure, making her relatively popular with the smaller towns and common people benefiting from her strategic work. she has come to love france, although she does not love governing, and consider its people hers.
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 — although a haughty and strict mistress, isabella finds herself more and more drawn to common folk. it seems the servants are the only folk that show her empathy within the french borders.
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚢 — depending on the person, isabella ranges from curtly polite to quietly warm ; she does not particularly enjoy french court, but she’s always polite and graceful. there can be no rest for her; although her home and a country she’s deeply proud of, france feels not unlike a claw trap closed tight around her ankle.
𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 — choleric, intelligent, bold, vindictive, poised, restless, fierce
𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗 — she no longer believes in god. her prayer is show, her piety is act, and if she did believe, the things she’d pray for would be any manner of blasphemy, treason and regicide.
ⅲ. — brief backstory.
— will be updated and changed with plotting and development; relationships with family and french royalty are purposefully left vague until plotted
— tw / miscarriage, depression, mentions of suicide
born the middle princess and good for little but bargaining, isabella was spoiled and coddled by her governess from a young age. education, hope and foolish naïveté let her believe the future was wide and wild, that her betrothal was a thing she could become accustomed to, that her father could do no wrong, and that her brothers were blessed by the sun itself. she was looking forward to a life atop a throne with an endless library, travelling and dancing.. and children. happiness. old age and grandeur.
married life quickly disabused her of these childish notions. though she is its queen, she often feels trapped and cornered by france, by her marriage and her duty, willing her body through hatred and shame to do its damn job and provide one squealing shouting babe so she could point to it and say see, i am worth something, i am a princess of spain and i cannot be made less than i am — but an heir never came, and happiness never followed, and the years have made a bitter, hollow woman of one that was once bright and playful.
though miserable and often times wishing for a grave alongside her buried children, she forces herself to persevere through spite alone; she can think of many worthy things to fall to, but a failed marriage and shame are not worthy things to die over. instead she cultivates the anger over the sadness and tries as hard as she can to put herself back together in the wake of her collection of small tragedies.
her only solace is the repeated hope that one day she will be allowed a child she can keep and hold, the stories and poetry she finds among the pages and pages of the french library, and the art and music that calls france home as much as she has to. she keeps tokens of her lost children, even ones she knew for weeks alone. a small ribbon on her bible for the babe she birthed, and river stones for the ones she did not.
ⅳ. — connection ideas.
platonic —
closest friend, confidant ( future or current )
unlikely friendship ( preferably someone with an opposite personality )
earned trust & loyalty ( put some of that endless loyalty and hero worship she’s capable of to good use )
casual friendships, gossip partners, reading circle
political allies, spanish courtiers who she’s remained friends with, a younger noble/royal she’s vaguely maternal towards
negative —
hatred at first sight ( we all love drama )
enemy of france or spain, enemy of her brother or husband,
someone who’s been cruel to her ( french people who have been cruel to her )
someone who dislikes her backbone, rivals
almost lover turned sour
romantic —
formative young adult love ( can be m/f/nb, royalty or no, idc i just like angst )
forbidden temptation ( can be one-sided )
previous betrothals pre-marraige ( can ofc be negative and/or platonic )
an ex lady’s maid she was lowkey in love with
an ill-advised comfort hookup that she’s now avoiding
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