#(like... say... jane seymour…)

[crossedwithblue]

random thought bc I've been listening to Six on repeat: the queens claim that the only reason they're remembered is because of Henry, but would Henry be one of the most iconic and well-known English monarchs if not for them?

[milfsisyphus]

need to meet someone the somewhere in time 1980 way: i fall in love with a picture of them hanging in the fancy hotel they rocked with 70 years ago. then i find out i met the older version of them 8 years ago on the last night of their life. my first step is ask my old college professor if he knows how to time travel. second step vintage clothing shopping montage. third step listen to self guided meditation cassettes. and this is how time travel works? keep the audience guessing. step four put on the best talent show 1912 michigan has ever seen. step five realize the picture i fell in love with in the future was them looking at me in the past. step six secure the historical baddie. step seven reach into my pocket and

[kanerallels]

New day new ask but! Yes, The Scarlet Pimpernel novel is amaaaaaazzziinnng. The old original movie is also fun! But imho the 82 movie is far the superior of the film versions. I also absolutely insanely adore the Broadway musical from the 90s, and there's a great ya/apocalyptic sort of retelling called Rook by Sharon Cameron that I also love.

But I highly recommend watching the movie (it's a little long and slowish and 80s hair but perfect, then reading the book (it's very short and a pretty easy read), then listening to the musical soundtrack. (Fair warning, they all have slightly different endings as far as the final climax, but with generally good reason for the changes and they kind of took elements from Baroness Orczy's other novels about the character.)

Sir Percy Blakeney is the best hero with a secret identity to ever hero identity secretly, tbh. He's clever and charming and idiotic and hysterical and dashing and pathetic. And Marguerite is sweet and smart and daring and ridiculous and sly and witty and splendid. -deep sigh- yeah, highly recommend 10/10 every time. Ok bye!

Okay this is all AMAZING. The retelling thing is 101 percent going on my list, and this sounds really great!! I also saw a post once that compared Sir Percy to not one, but two of my all time favorite fictional characters, so like. I can't just not watch it, ya know?

Also you should know that after I got this ask last night I went down a rabbit hole of looking at the actors in this movie (IAN MCKELLAN??? AND THE GUY WHO DIRECTED DOWNTON FREAKING ABBEY???) and then I saw that the guy who plays Percy is also in Ivanhoe from the same year, and I couldn't NOT investigate that (I love Ivanhoe, okay? It's definitely problematic because it was written years and years ago, whatever. I still love it. This is not the time for a rant about it) and now I. Might have to watch a 1982 production of Ivanhoe because it's got some EXCELLENT actors in it including Julian Glover who plays one of my emotional support background character in Star Wars (mainly thanks to this fan fic that you specifically would love because it's got all these honorable caring male characters who do what's right and the platonic relationships? Flawless. I digress) and SAM FREAKING NEILL PLAYS SIR BRIAN DE BOIS-GUILBERT??? To say nothing of yet another Downton Abbey actor being there.

But I digress--I really wanna watch this thanks to that whole rabbit hole from last night, and I also really wanna watch Ivanhoe lol! If I do watch it, I shall let you know, I promise!!

[edmundhoward]

on the topic of stanne's being incapable of viewing feminism through any other lens than 'not like the other girls'... would anne even be regarded as so exceptional if she wasn't as privileged as she was? would the idea of her innate exceptionalism, her standing out at court as more fashionable/passionate/moral/intellectual/exotic still persist? i just have to wonder how many women could have been remembered by history as exceptional, if only given the ability to — if they had the resources from birth that anne had etc.

[fideidefenswhore]

Cromwell, who had overestimated Mary's tractability, 'considered himself a dead man'. His fears were not idle, for Henry dismissed the Marquis of Exeter and Sir William Fitzwilliam from the Privy Council, imprisoned Lady Hussey, the wife of Mary's chamberlain, in the Tower, and ordered his judges to institute legal proceedings against his daughter.

Margaret Pole: the Countess in the Tower, Susan Higginbotham

[cosmic-walkers]

Is it me or do I notice a chunk of Wolf Hall fans tend to not like Anne Boleyn. I think a lot of it has to do with how she was portrayed in both the show and the books...

I like her, a lot...but i notice a lot of people don't.

[duchessofferia]

A WOMAN WHO’S JUST IN HIS HEAD

“In death, Jane became the ultimate consort; unblemished (especially in the eyes of her capricious and tyrannical husband), ever young, and the mother of a surviving son. Instead of merely being the wife who ‘died’ and in recognition of her saint-like life — which went beyond the medieval ideal of saintly queenship — Jane should actually be remembered as the wife who was (effectively) canonised.” - Aidan Norrie

[bluechrysocolla]

More Six The Musical Headcanons Because A Few People Wanted Some

Once a week, Catalina sits in her room and makes a list of people she's annoyed with or frustrated with. Then, she speaks her mind on the subject as if they were in front of her (this can range from a calm 'i did not appreciate when you did this' to literally cussing them out lol). One time, Anne walked by her room a few hours after Catalina had been thinking about Henry and let's just say that Anne has never been more terrified or impressed with her in either of her lives than at that moment.

Anne once gave Kitty a shirt for her birthday that said 'Baeheaded Bitch'. Then, for Anne's birthday, Kitty bought her a matching one. They always make sure to wear them on the same day to show them off to the world.

Jane is dyslexic. This makes it hard for her to text so she texts in exclusively one word answers when she can. Whenever she has to say something long, Jane texts in a mixture of words and emojis. Jane has participated in more than one meaningful conversation over text using emojis and at this point the other queens are used to it.

Anna spends a crap ton of money on gifts for her friends. Like- she proper SPOILS them. When Kitty got her driver's license Anna bought her a car and Kitty passed out from how surprised she was.

(this next one about Kitty isn't gonna be super long and detailed, but I have a good two paragraphs concerning this in my Google Docs if anybody is confused and wants more clarification/wants to hear my thoughts)

When everyone first came back, Kitty liked Anne the least out of everyone. Growing up, she was always told about Anne in a negative light, her family using Anne as a warning to her and her sisters as to what would happen to them if they didn't behave exactly how they needed to. Because of this, Kitty thought badly Anne before she died (because this was something hammered into her since she was old enough to understand speech) and when they were brought back Kitty didn't like Anne very much until Anne proved that history had painted her in a negative light.

Cathy often wonders what happened to her Mary, seeing as there's almost no record of her life after Cathy died.

[evita-shelby]

Happy wife, Happy life

Or Tommy gets drunk and assumes his wife is someone else so he sleeps on the floor instead

For @runnning-outof-time with the prompt 34) “I didn’t get your name.”

Gif by @cillianparadise

The sight of Tommy, this new Tommy who is always in control at all times, drunk as hell and stumbling into the bedroom, is a sight for sore eyes.

It is the old him, the one who laughed and loved horses and had ambition but not the sort to get you murdered by the Crown's most evil men.

“Did you have fun tonight, love?” You ask as your husband of four years stripped down to join you in bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I am sure you’re a catch, but I got a wife.” He answers, perfectly serious too and lies down on the floor after taking his pillow with him.

You can’t help but laugh and tease him. Not like he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Oh, so you’d rather sleep on the floor instead of your bed, Mr. Shelby?” you ask letting you arm hang over the edge of the bed and just low enough to bop his nose.

He hates it, and rolls his eyes at your immaturity.

“Yeah, happy wife happy life.” Tommy responds as if it made all the sense in the world.

Good boy, you say and he thanks you for the praise and rejects your advances while he’s at it.

“What if I told you your wife was in bed and can’t sleep without you with her?” you ask while you lightly pester him in ways only you did.

“Mhm, she’d shoot me if she caught me in bed with another woman, especially you.” He turned on his side and you paused as you raked your fingers through his mop of dark hair.

You.

Was there another tramp trying to woo him away from you?

You knew from the beginning that every woman here would sign off on their firstborn to be in his bed, and sell their soul to the devil to be in your shoes.

You were jealous, so much so that when he left for France you told him he could fuck a whore so long as you got to fuck a fella in return.

Your threat saved him from a bout of gonorrhea which Barney got from a whore who gave it to every man in the battalion save for Tommy.

“She doesn’t have to know,” you say keeping up the act so you know which woman you have to scare away from your fucking husband.

Couldn’t these ladies see the wedding band in his finger?

“She will, you aren’t exactly doing yourself any favors working in the pub, Miss. Miss?” Tommy faltered forgetting the name of the mousy barmaid. Looked like Jane Seymour , with that holier-than-thou face that got Anne Boleyn short of a head. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Grace. Grace Burgess.” You filled in the blanks and knew you’d make the blonde bitch leave Birmingham and scurry the fuck back to Belfast or your name isn’t Y/N Shelby.

Part 2

[forasecondtherewedwon]

It's Enough, It's Enough - chapter five

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: E Chapter: 5 / 6

Summary: Five times Jane and Guildford pretend to have sex, and one time it’s for real.

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four

She's been reading all along. Guildford doesn't know that. She didn't want him to think she wasn't prioritizing the texts on curing Ethianism, and she never wanted him to know that, despite their conversation about marital obligations on the first night of their honeymoon, she's been contemplating the idea of fucking him this whole time. And not just contemplating it, reading about it—which, for Jane Grey, is about as serious as you can get.

Every time she starts to surrender to what her body wants and Guildford stops her, it's embarrassing. Her own fault, of course; even if the eager way she leans in whenever his face comes near totally contradicts them, her words have communicated things like “As if” and “I want a divorce.” Despite her actions, it seems that he heard her from the start and decided to listen. He's not confused. Clearly, Guildford lives in a world where people say a thing and follow through, set their own rules and then abide by them. And Jane lives in a world where her spine dissolves like wet sugar when Guildford stands just a little too close to her. Or smirks at her. Or does anything with his hands, really. Or refers to her as his wife. That gets her too.

The books on sex are as unromantic as Jane imagines is possible. This is maddening, and also probably the reason she doesn't feel like they're helping. She wants to understand, but not like that, or that, or that—flipping through pages on anatomy (she's seen a diagram of a member before) and diseases of the genitalia and their proposed treatments (her eyes widen in horror at repeated suggestions to place plants she knows to be poisonous in extremely delicate areas). It's all just too clinical, and she usually loves clinical! She loves when books present things unemotionally, letting the facts speak for themselves! But that doesn't work for her here. As much as Jane reads about blood and stiffening and insertion, she feels as though she's seeing less than half of the picture. Nothing like the way she feels around Guildford is captured in these pages. Because of that, they're almost no good to her at all.

Getting attempted-murdered in broad moonlight is an unwelcome yet extremely effective distraction. Oh yes, she's considered scenarios that would lead to her waking up on her back in the warm grass, but it was always Guildford who had something to do with that, not Mary. It takes Jane some time before she's able to figure out why she can hardly breathe: the result of Mary's thumbs mashing her windpipe, or fear that someone with stronger thumbs (or maybe a sword) was sent after Guildford to dispatch him too?

But Guildford is alive. For now. Lately, Jane feels as though everything has only been “for now.” She is continually wrong-footed in a world of impermanence. They gain access to the rest of Mary and Seymour's letters, Mary steals them back. Jane awakens from failed assassination-induced unconsciousness, ready to tell Guildford what happened (or maybe that she's starting to understand that thing he sensed she didn't yet the last time they kissed), and he's already a horse. Nothing is certain!

Guildford's father counsels her towards certainty, but it's a certainty of his own desiring, not hers. Neither giving birth to a son nor naming Guildford King (though that's not the order Lord Dudley has in mind) could be easily undone—yet the possibility exists, with so many would-be killers darting about the palace. Regardless, neither action is one she wants to take. Except for maybe the bit about making the son. In this political climate though? Jane doesn't like the idea of using a baby as a tool, even if that is the gig, part and parcel of being a monarch. Again, it's too clinical, making her think of those books with their dispassionate descriptions of the marital act. Does everything in her life need a motive? Must she always pretend to be anticipating something five steps ahead? Will she forever be expected to enjoy scheming as much as the people around her? Why is certainty synonymous with power and never happiness? Can she not fucking live?

Even the project that gives meaning to her marriage, if not her life, is revealed to be pointless; Susannah visits and assures Jane there is no cure to Ethianism. Not being able to disclose to Susannah exactly why that's such bad news makes Jane ache. She needs a friend. She needs Susannah to ask how she is, like she did after Jane's father died. Jane has no clue how to impart this information to Guildford. Is there a way, if she wants to be kind? Can he care for her if she stops being his means to a cure? If she's just a person, full of flaws, letting him down? Is there anything real left between them without their deal? They've done so much pretending. They've built a version of themselves on the lies they've told, and Jane doesn't know whether there is another version.

Leave it to her mother to force the issue. With her usual disregard for what the consequences will be for anyone other than herself, she makes two statements: Guildford is a horse, and Jane is in love with him. Though Jane manages to storm out of the room, her thoughts lack the same decisiveness. It feels to her as if her mother has thrown a knife that skewered the fundamental truth about each of them, Guildford and Jane. He is a horse, and his identity obsesses him, steers him, rides him; everything he values is valued because of its potential to either cure his Ethianism or dull his suffering while he endures the condition that is consumingly hateful to him. She loves him, and the feeling makes her ignore trial, ignore failure; his need for what she is supposed to be able to offer sustains them both. Will he want her if he doesn't need her? Will she stop being afraid long enough to let him?

There are no answers to these questions that she could find in books. There are only her rushing feet—along stone corridors, and then shushing across the lawn. Jane doesn't know how to stop Mary trying to kill her, and she doesn't know how to get justice for Edward, and she doesn't know if Susannah is right about Ethianism or simply angry at what appeared to be Jane's dismissal of their right to exist as themselves. Night has come on and the grass is damp as her dress drags across it. With all Jane's unknowns, at last, she has her certainty: she does not want a divorce. She wants Guildford to stay with her, to be with her, and to be with him, and to let him see that she is afraid, but that she will stay, if he will have her.

It's all circling around her head, so that, when she finds her husband standing at the back of the stables, she isn't sure she even says hello to him before putting a nix on divorce and demanding he kiss her.

She doesn't say she loves him. She doesn't want to talk, she isn't ready. But she's here. Jane's presence is her grand declaration. After all her hesitation, all her needless care, she can't undress him fast enough—can't make him undress her fast enough. She always thought the decision to give in would be difficult, but it's easy, easy, easy. Guildford's mouth on hers is heavy like ripe fruit. His fingers trip over the fastenings that do her up, keep her together, but once he steadies himself, this seems easy too; she wonders if he's pictured it all before: studied her clothing in moments when she was distracted and imagined what it would be like to dismantle his queen's lace and brocade armour. Has he been reading her while she read books?

This, by the way, is what the books couldn't get right: the swoop in her stomach when Guildford pulls her onto his lap, the overwhelming affection in her when she feels him smiling against her lips. Suddenly, Jane registers sympathy for those poor authors. How could they have put this on paper? How could anyone? For all the things that are meant to be read and studied and learned, what's happening between Jane and Guildford, here, now, is only meant to be felt. To transcribe would be to dilute.

She isn't ashamed to be naked before him, and there's nothing clinical about the heat of his member pressed to her thigh when he lies down on top of her in this bed he's maintained in the stables. It smells like him, even here, where the scents of hay and wood and animal are strong. The scent of the bed is exhaustion and resignation, but also refuge. This is where Guildford is both selves, the one he wants and the one he doesn't. He comes here every night when he leaves her. This bed has held her husband when he deemed it unsafe for Jane to do the same. She has a sudden urge to find out what sleep smells like on him, when his body relaxes into the bed that cradles her now. How does he look entirely disarmed? Does being here now mean he'll let her spend the night? She doesn't say she loves him, but she strokes his back while he kisses her hotly and imagines stroking it again while he sleeps.

When the time has nearly come, Jane can tell. She panics. She admits it. And Guildford, who she has seen snide, self-assured, sarcastic, and short-tempered in daily life (or... nightly life), could not be more tender, more sweet. Jane wishes their wedding could have been like this, but in a way, this is a union, and one of their own choosing. He'll show her, no condescension. She'll let him, no injured pride.

He's barely hovering over her as his fingers trace up her thigh. Guildford's touch is so light it almost tickles like his leg hair does—a sensation she's surprised to find comforting, but it reminds her of their first bedding ceremony, his clever deception that spared them both some humiliation. She has always been a consideration for him. His pledge of thoughtfulness is there in his fingertips, in the parting of her, in the caress of the place the arousing fact of his body on hers has made damp. Jane grips his shoulders. Her hands flutter like confused butterflies up to the back of his neck as she trusts him and trusts him and trusts him. She writhes beneath him so much as he runs his careful fingers over and through and into her that he makes as if to climb off her, to give her room. Alight with a pleasure that feels like ringing the rim of a glass, Jane doesn't want room. She wants her husband right here, pressing her down, working her up. She winds her legs around the back of Guildford's calves and holds fast.

His tongue is in her mouth when she finds release in his bed for the first time. Though he drags his sopping fingers out of her, he continues touching her gently while they kiss. On her end, the kisses are nearly formless in the aftermath of the nervous burst that cascaded through her body, and yet Guildford's mouth is patient and forgiving. He grins when her lips meet his teeth, and licks at her, teasingly, when she attempts to slip her tongue into his mouth. Between her thighs, she feels his wedding ring. The smooth metal band bumps over her clitoris, scattering sparks which threaten to start fires; Jane bites her husband's lip to get his attention, then makes him watch her eyes as she rubs herself against the ring that says they are bound before God and England. There will be no divorce, her eyes insist. You were given to me as much as they gave me to you. When he's apparently unable to endure any more, Guildford grasps the base of Jane's skull and devours her mouth. She comes again when he sucks the tip of her tongue. At this rate, he's going to swallow everything her body can't contain.

If she's annoyed to realize she's unwittingly following her mother's advice—mouth closed, legs open—it's a distant annoyance, and it passes. Jane reaches a hand down between them, brushing warm skin on both sides. Their mouths slide apart until Guildford's lips rest against her cheek, not quite kissing. She stops to explore the hirsute path below his navel with her fingertips, lightly scratching her nails forward and back against the texture of his hair. On top of her, Guildford's breathing changes, rough and hitching, wanting her fingers right where they are, but also elsewhere. It's not dissimilar to intoxication, Jane thinks: this warm, loose feeling within her, the way her worries and reticence have left without conscious shedding. She reaches a bit farther (Hold anything firm firmly, and anything soft softly.) and wraps her fingers around his girth.

Her husband is patient, still—if tense—while Jane keeps his member lightly encircled in her grasp as she shuffles her legs apart. The cool sheet under her warm thighs is a relief that won't last. Smoothing her other hand over Guildford's hip, she guides him into the space she's made for him. She gasps when the blunt, wet end of him prods her. When he kisses her, she doesn't know if it's supposed to distract her, but his hand closes over hers and she feels everything.

Instinctually, Jane tilts her hips as he begins to insert himself. Her eyes go wide with surprise at the sensation it was impossible to prepare herself for (not that any of the male authors of those books even thought of soliciting a female perspective on the acts they describe). She can't help laughing at the strangeness. Guildford's (knife-slinging tavern lust-object) member (thick, rigid, twitching against her abdomen while they kissed) is inside her body! They're joined together! And it doesn't even hurt! Logically, Jane understands that this has more than a little to do with Guildford's unhurried fingers preparing her, but it's tempting to surrender herself to the illogical, to romance: it doesn't hurt because he never would, never could, hurt her. Gradually, Guildford sinks deeper. Breathing shakily, Jane bends her knees to hold his hips between her thighs, and then he's fully inside her.

But the end of that part is just the beginning of so much more. Jane loops her arms around Guildford's waist, spreads her hands on his back, feels his muscles go taut as he starts the slow, rhythmic process of consummation. This is their bodies in conversation. It's another way to know one another, and a transformation of them both; Jane can tell by his face, which hovers over hers, his eyes looking down at her with something he doesn't seem able to voice either. But it's there. It's there with them in this bed, in this stable, on this night when nobody told them what to do, or how, or why. Jane hears the soft grunts huffing past her own lips. Latin, Greek, Italian—now she speaks this. It's their own language, and apparently, she's fluent.

In a moment that passes before she can catch it, the sensation of Guildford thrusting within her evolves from feeling strange but good to very, very good. She can feel how wet she is, how steadily he's gliding through, and yet there's suddenly this friction. Her grunts crack open and become breathy cries. It's because she's squeezing him, from within. She's been kneading the muscles of his back, but her own muscles, there inside her, are at least as powerful. They have the power to make Guildford pant like an animal, his hips jerking shallowly against hers until she stops clenching. She offers a slack smile in return for his stunned expression, and then they surge together, grabbing each other's face as they kiss, fingers catching on chins and ears and hair already unkempt from one another's caresses.

Guildford begins rolling his hips into hers harder—not fast, but less restrained. Jane can tell there's so much more he'll show her, something raw she won't see this first time, suppressed so he can give her no more than what she's ready to receive. But it's thrilling to feel him letting go. Her back arches as she tries to meet him in his thrusts, and his curves, his forehead pressed somewhere around her collarbone. He exhales against her skin, hot gusts of air. When he widens his legs, braced up on his knees, it pushes hers farther apart too. There's nothing coy or secret now; her body is held wide for him, and she welcomes it. She digs her fingers into his hair and closes them in a fist. Guildford's lips rub against her skin as he cries out. With quick, mindless snaps of his hips, he finishes inside her.

Feeling as if she's just been awoken from the dead (but no, that was this morning), Jane's heart beats at a rapid pace. Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably. She's overwhelmed. She wants to both crush Guildford against her and shove him away so she can order her thoughts. This is what it feels like, then, to experience someone else's pleasure so close at hand and not achieve her own end. It'll be fine in a minute—he brought her off twice before—but right now, she feels insane.

But Guildford sees it—of course he does. He lifts his head and the hazy bliss in his dark eyes sharpens as he notes the state she's in. He grips himself on withdrawal, and Jane nearly has a fit at the thought of his fingers remaining down there, massaging between her legs again (oh, she wants it, but it might be more than her overstimulated sex can bear). He doesn't do that though. Her husband holds himself heavily on top of her and starts kissing her everywhere but her mouth. He presses his thigh between hers, just presses, and makes his meandering way down her neck, lips below her jaw, lips on her throat, lips where her hair's stuck to her skin with sweat, lips where her body has surely taken on the scent of his. He explores her chest. His mouth skims the breadth of it before going lower. When he gets to her breasts, there's tongue. Guildford licks her—the underside curve, the nipples stiff with sensation—and his thin necklaces hang against her ribs, catching the candlelight when she looks. Between his curious tongue and the pressure of his thigh, Jane shuts her eyes and shudders to quiet release.

She comes back to herself with Guildford stroking her hair.

They lie side by side for a while, not speaking. She wonders if he reads much at night, or if these hours are always kept for silent contemplation. She wonders if he feels as alone here as she does up in the palace.

The bed cools, but their legs are intertwined, and Guildford runs hot. Jane has just learned that, having never lain beside him before, except for the bedding ceremony, which shouldn't count. Anyway, they weren't naked then, and they are now. She feels a bit shy, but mostly, it's nice. He touches her just because, hand sliding down her arm. He touches her like it's the only important thing. Does he love her? She wants him to love her. She wants him to love her whether or not there's a cure.

They kiss when they think they're falling asleep, but the kissing wakes them back up. Their breathing grows rough and their mouths meet with increasing need. They grab at each other, pulling themselves into greater contact. Jane's aroused like she always is when they kiss, but the familiar throb is gone, replaced by the larger, more distinct ache that says her body knows exactly what it's missing—knows Guildford's size and shape.

Very softly, he asks, “Are you too sore?”

Jane shakes her head firmly.

She is kind of sore, but a strained-muscle soreness, a blunt, tired twinge. She knows pain of all varieties. She knows the difference between pains that will hurt more and less the next morning. Tomorrow, what she's feeling now might feel worse, but this is a special circumstance. Guildford is a special circumstance.

So, Jane hooks her thigh over her husband's hip. He groans to re-enter her. He's tired and pliant and starving for her after the time they've spent wanting and not having; he pours all this feeling into her, thrusts breaking against her like deep currents churned up into waves. She rocks with him. Her limbs fold him close to her, but his thrusts get wilder, and she pulls him over her again. There is no separation, she decides. No line between what is the human world and what the natural. She wants to know everything her husband is, especially when he takes her like this—taking her with him, it feels like, wherever he plans for them to go. Good, Jane thinks. You decide.

She likes being here. She puts herself in his hands.

—

Author's Note:

I'm doing the 5 + 1 out of order (this chapter is the + 1). Though Jane and Guildford have now had sex for real, there is one more instance of pretending in their future. It ain't over yet!

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Animorphs and SIX

Hi there! Cates here! Unlike Bug/Sol, I have listened to SIX, and I unapologetically adore it. So I asked her if I could take a crack at the ask about an Animorphs/SIX fusion.

To me, the way to do a match up of SIX and Animorphs would be to match each Queen with a host. The whole point of SIX is that the queens’ stories/lives are reduced to “just one word in a stupid rhyme” “cause in history [they’re each] fixed as one of six and without [Henry VIII] they disappear.”

SIX interrogates the familiar way we’ve always told a certain story, basically forcing us as the audience to confront our own complicity in silencing these women by only seeing them through the lens of a powerful man. Catherine of Aragon is a bitter divorcee, Anne Boleyn is a homewrecker, Jane Seymour is an ideal wife and mother, Anne of Cleves is ugly, Catherine Howard is a sl€t, Catherine Parr is a caretaker. Their stories don’t matter. Their voices have been silenced. They aren’t allowed to say who they are, all that matters is the shell presented to the world. They are disenfranchised and largely powerless, and they’re entirely defined by the man who literally dictated if they lived or died. Sound like any characters we know?

For me, a quick pairing would go as follows:

Catherine of Aragon: Alloran. Life did NOT work out the way he planned. Has a strict moral code. Brought low from a position of power and fame. Stuck in his role for a loooonnngggg time.

Anne Boleyn: Eva. Seen as a means to an end by the Yeerks, is much cleverer and more politically savvy than they’re anticipating, refuses to apologize for who she is, calls the Yeerks on their hypocrisy and bullshit.

Jane Seymour: Taylor. Seemingly wants what’s being offered (power, community, wealth, safety), but it’s a mistake to view her as blindly devoted to the cause. She’s grabbing as much power as she can in a situation where she’s largely disenfranchised and overlooked. She may not always understand the Yeerk empire, but they’re the best game in town and she’s pouring herself into her work because at least they didn’t toss her aside.

Anne of Cleves: Jake. The marriage doesn’t last long, ultimately he ended up with all the power and advantages from the situation. It wasn’t pleasant for him, but he came out on top. And he outlives the Yeerk Empire.

Catherine Howard: Tom. He’s a naive teenager who gets dragged into an impossible situation because he has a crush. He’s passed from Yeerk to Yeerk, each one seemingly worse than the last. He dies young, never having a chance to give voice to his own story, a child whose childhood was stolen.

Catherine Parr: Karen. She’s dragged into things against her will, but her imprisonment is NOT her whole story. She’s not looking to make waves or overturn the status quo, but she has so much life to live beyond her brief period of enslavement to the Yeerks. No one is going to remember her, but she probably doesn’t care because she’s too busy living her life.

[70smarauderz]

my 1970/80s celebrities face claims for the marauders era characters

James Potter

listen this one is gonna sound hilarious but HEAR ME OUT THO jfk jr. like look at the hair and tell me u don’t see it even a little bit, i do kinda have a fc for a desi!james but it’s 100% based on me falling in love with an actors smile and im not sold on the hair (look up young akshay kumar if you’re curious)

Sirius Black

there are a few choices Steve Tyler, Mick Jagger or Keith Richards and while i do love all of them and have a soft spot for mick jagger i have been leaning towards Keith a bit more lately

Remus Lupin

i love thinking about the bowie vibes remus gave off but LISTEN: IAN CURTIS

Peter Pettigrew

i don’t have much to say about this one i just looked at paul young and it felt right peter 100% would style his hair like that idk what to tell u

Lily Evans

jane seymour u are lily to me, u don’t understand that’s how i picture lily i don’t care that her hair is not reallyyyy red that’s literally the lily i saw in my head when i read the books

Marlene Mckinnon

this one was just too easy marlene mckinnon u just are debbie harry to me

Dorcas Meadowes

if marlene was the easiest dorcas was the hardest NO ONE looks like dorcas to me, the only person who comes close is chaka khan because of her smile

Mary MacDonald

i wanted put diahann carroll as mary so bad (because im a little bit obsessed with her) but i already feel like im cheating putting ppl born in the 40s lol, this is brenda sykes and i thing she has the same something in her eyes idk that young diahann has that reminds me of mary

Emmeline Vance

much like jane seymour is lily evans, rekha just is emmeline vance to me idk what to tell you

Frank Longbottom

i don’t even think frank smoked or had a cool look but this specific picture of Joe Strummer grabbed me by the neck and said i am frank longbottom and i had no choice but to agree

you know how i said Dorcas was the hardest? i lied, i have no idea who Alice, Snape or Regulus would be/look like

[heather123fan-blog]

Finally, finished all the episodes of My Lady Jane yesterday. I can honestly say this is one of the most fun shows I have seen this year. It is not historically accurate by any means, but you have to accept this going in if you want to enjoy it.

I would classify it as historical fantasy as opposed to historical fiction. I thought it did a great job of capturing the spirit of the characters even though some of them were wildly different from their historical personalities. In a way it reminded me of Blood, Sex and Royalty with how it modernized the characters and setting. The last episode was fantastic. Jane and Guildford kiss and ride off into the sunset. I loved the portrayal of the Dudleys. John, Guildford, and Stan were great together. Even Frances Grey grew on me! It was nice to see a historical drama focus so much on Jane's sisters and give them empowering portrayals. Also, Edward and Elizabeth were a lot of fun to watch. Though Elizabeth's role was small I adored the actress that played her.

Unfortunately, for Mary and Edward Seymour they were typecast as the villains. If you like them, you probably don't want to watch this show.

I am now looking out for the novels these were based on at my local library and keeping my fingers crossed for a 2nd Season.

[edmundhoward]

​‘jane seymour was not as innocent as she seemed’ ok and you’re not as interesting or as clever as you think, now what? next move please

[fideidefenswhore]

soulmate-ism ❤️

[ilsolefiesta]

my natal chart & heterochromia theory

firstly, I would like to emphasize that this is only a hypothesis of mine and it needs a lot more evidence to support it. 

despite heterochromia being a rare phenomenon, I happen to know two people who have it - my mother and my best friend. both of them have Sagittarius Sun, but I think this is just a coincidence. because of this, I became interested in some patterns that could potentially indicate different eye colors.

it's also important to note that here I consider cases of full or partial coloration as "heterochromia". I don't include situations where people have slightly noticeable tone differences or perhaps color veins. also here I'm speaking about genetic heterochromia, not acquired one.

there are many different approaches to the question of identifying the significator of the eyes in astrology. some people say that the Sun represents the right eye for men and the Moon represents the left eye, while the opposite is true for women. some people mention Saturn and Venus.

however, I have a different theory.

in medical astrology the head and eyes in particular are associated with Aries. therefore, I believe that we need to deal with Mars. I also consider the Sun, as its exaltation is in Aries as well. 

to summarize. according to my hypothesis, we have Aries, Mars, and��the Sun responsible for the eyes.

next, we need to identify the possible reasons of "corruption". my assumption is as follows: 

1. Chiron, as it refers to oxymoron and contradiction of opposites.

2. Uranus, as it refers to something unexpected and strange.

3. Lilith, as it can provide some specific features, but only if it's involved in some significant and accurate aspects or placed in the 1st house. 

we are now done with the theoretical part. then, I analyzed the natal charts of various celebrities with heterochromia. here are some observations:

`1. Kate Bosworth

damn, her Capricorn Sun, Venus and Lilith… so old-money cored appearance, I admire. her Aquarius Mars in square with Taurus Chiron is interesting, because Air Mars often gives blue/grey eyes, but we have a brown (earth) sector in this case...

2. Josh Henderson

honestly, his heterochromia is a little bit questionable for me and it took me around 20 minutes to observe it in his photos and videos. in some photos and videos, his eyes have the same grey/light blue color, while in others, he has such a green eye that I even wondered if it was Photoshop. however, according to the Internet, he was born with this trait, so we can consider it a common knowledge. his Virgo Mars is squared with Sagittarius Lilith and Scorpio Uranus, and there is also a conjunction between Lilith and Uranus.

3. Alice Eve

another beauty with Capricorn Venus, I begin to think that I have something personal with them… in this case, the situation is more clear. we have an active Aquarius Sun in square with Taurus Chiron (once again). additionally, her Sagittarius Lilith forms sextiles with the Sun and Libra Mars.

4. Jane Seymour

do any James Bond fans out there? because next we have actress who played his love interest. another Aquarius Sun - Capricorn Chiron sextile, + Pisces Mars square Gemini Lilith. her light eye, by the way, have a slight green accent. maybe it's because of the Pisces influence...

5. Mila Kunis

she was so good in "Black Swan"! there is really something magnetic in her appearance. Leo Mars sextile Gemini Chiron. additional influence of Leo Sun-Aquarius Lilith.

6. Dominic Sherwood

another Sun Aquarius. probably it also has some effect... Capricorn Mars-Uranus conjunction. it's secondary, but Cancer Chiron has a trine Scorpio Lilith and opposition with his Uranus.

7. Henry Cavill

the sexiest Superman in the house (however, he is absolutely not my type, haha). conjunction of Mars and Chiron in Taurus. that's all for him but this was enough for his heterochromia.

8. Svetlana Ivanova

omg, I'm obsessed with here face. the combination of Libra Sun and Virgo Venus makes her images so... pure, angelic? her Virgo Mars is squared by Gemini Chiron and Sagittarius Uranus. + Mars sextile with Taurus Lilith.

9. Elizabeth Berkley

fire combo. Aries Chiron in a trine with Leo Mars. Mars is also squared by Scorpio Lilith. and, finally, there is also a sextile between Mars and Libra Uranus.

last random fun fact about celebrities:

I also had Sarah McDaniel on my list of celebrities with heterochromia. she has such a unique difference - one eye is completely brown and one is completely blue. but when I checked her chart I find nothing. I was puzzled and at one point, I thought about giving up on writing this post. but then, I decided to do some more research about her. and surprise-surprise - her father revealed the truth by showing a childhood photo of her with both eyes the same brown color.

as for my mother, she has Sagittarius Sun sextile Aquarius Lilith & Scorpio Uranus. her Aries Chiron has no aspects to Mars, BUT it squares her 1st house Saturn. her eyes are green, but a half of one eye is blue. my best friend has 1st house Sagittarius Sun-Lilith conjunction, Sagittarius Chiron-ASC conjunction and Aquarius Mars-Uranus conjunction. her eyes are similar to Kate Bosworth's - light-blue/grey with brown part. that's why I can add that the connection of Chiron/Uranus and sometimes Lilith with the 1st house, ASC in particular or even the ruler of the 1st house also makes sense! (don't forget that Aries is the symbolic ruler of the 1st house). it's hard to trace it in celebrities' charts as I don't have information about when they were born, but I guess it's possible to find this connection either.

that's how it is. huh, it was hard to write and search. Thank you for reading!

I would also appreciate if you could share your thoughts on this topic. Perhaps you or someone you know has heterochromia, and could provide more evidence to support or deny my theory.

Pictures credits: Pinterest