#i know miss anne boleyn gets a lot of attention on here

[dramiones]

omg for ur history edits; tudor period! (i love love love this period, so much history!)

YES, TINA!!!

[the-quiet-winds]

The Gravity of Tempered Grace (part two)

[Didn’t get a whole lot of response from part one, but I’ve worked too much on this fic to not post all of it, so I will keep posting it anyway!]

[part one]

[Part 2: I See the Devil in Me, Saying What I Want to Hear]

The Life and Times of Jane the Queen, Chapter 4 - The Lady of Wulfhall

“Not much is truly known of Jane’s early years living at Wulfhall. Most records of her life don’t begin until she arrived at the court of King Henry and began to serve Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn before becoming queen. It is likely she did not receive a formal education, especially not one to compare to Henry’s other wives. She was barely literate, and her formal signature is notable for backwards E’s in both her name and her spelling of “Quene.” Where she faltered in academics, however, she thrived in household work and needlepoint. Some of her embroidery was so well-made, it survived into the 1650s, over one hundred years after her death.”

There she goes again, Catherine can’t help but notice. More needlepoint.

It’s almost hypnotizing, in a way. Jane works with such poise and precision, it’s truly a work of art to behold.

She’ll look up, tilt her head slightly to the side as she studies the subject of today’s endeavor, then turn her head back down to her needlepoint. She does this over and over, never getting dizzy, never deviating.

She only embroiders what she sees, Catherine notes. No imagination or, seemingly, memories of her past life.

Jane remembers her first pass through this Earth, all of them do, but she seems detached from it. She can discuss the painful birth of her son and her prolonged, almost agonizing death without batting an eye. 

Aside from maybe Katherine, Jane has the most emotional song in their show. She has outbursts of anger, one of which directed at Catherine of Aragon herself.

Even in those heated moments, though, Catherine can see that she’s only acting. Jane’s eyes are gray and lifeless, even as she screams in Catherine’s face. During rehearsals, it was clear that her tears during her song were produced on demand. 

“Did you need something?”

Catherine snaps back to the present at Jane’s voice, and those cold eyes are fixed straight on her.

“You were staring off into space,” Jane says. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, uh, no. Thank you, though. Didn’t realize I zoned out.”

Jane simply hums and returns to her needlepoint.

---

Henry knows that his wife - wives, if you want to get technical - is halfway across the world, but what he needs is here. 

It’s well into the witching hour when he stands outside the window separating him from his lost treasure.

He drops his knapsack to the ground and goes to work.

---

They’re just getting home after the show when Jane starts acting strange.

Strange, in this case, is somewhat relative, considering that Aragon and Anne would have classified almost all of her behavior up until now as “strange.”

“Did any of you love Henry?” She asks, sitting on the couch with tea in her hands, as casually as one would ask about the weather.

All the eyes in the room turn to her. “What do you mean?” Anna asks.

“Did you love him?” Jane repeats. “I did, but… did any of you?”

There’s something almost like sincerity in her eyes, and it’s the most emotion and life Catherine has seen out of her since they all came back.

“No,” Katherine says immediately, flatly, nearly offended at the question in the first place.

“Not really,” Anna says.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Parr adds softly.

It’s quiet, then, and all attention turns to the first two wives.

“I guess I did,” Catherine admits. “I mean, I was married to him for twenty-four years. You don’t get over that easily.”

“I did, at first,” Anne adds. “But I think I loved the danger and sneaking around more than I loved him.”

Jane looks at the both of them, cocks her head slightly to the side, and then, of all things, laughs.

Catherine bristles, and Anne couldn’t look more confused. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You know he didn’t love either of you, right?” Jane asks. “It’s true that I’m the only one he loved.”

“Only because you had a living son,” Anne quips.

“A legitimate living son,” Catherine grumbles.

Jane smirks. “I also knew when to shut my mouth and not flirt with courtiers,” she says to Anne. 

“Jane, chill,” Cathy pipes in. “I don’t know why you’re trying to rile her-”

She stops talking when Jane turns sharply to her. “I’m simply trying to figure out what my husband saw in these wenches.”

“Woah,” Anna stands up, “that was over the line. Apologize, Jane.”

“Why would I apologize? It’s true.”

“We’re a family, Jane,” Katherine butts in. “You don’t say shit like that to your family.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Goodnight.”

With no apology, no afterthoughts, no anything, Jane rises gracefully and makes her exit.

The other five all look to each other in disbelief. “What the hell was that?” Anna asks, dropping back into her seat. 

“That was insane,” Katherine mutters.

“It was incredible,” Aragon whispers, staring blankly at where the wall meets the floor. “That’s the most emotion I’ve seen out of her since we all came back.”

“I have to agree with you there,” Anne mumbles. 

“Is this… is this what she’s really like?” Cathy asks hesitantly.

No one can answer her, because no one knows.

The two who knew Jane in the last life… well, they aren’t all that sure they knew her at all.

---

Jane lays down on her bed and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she has no idea where she is.

She’s standing up, first of all, with no memory of getting off the bed. And she’s outside. 

Did she sleepwalk?

“Hello, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down Jane’s spine, although she isn’t sure if it’s from delight or worry.

Delight, she finds herself deciding, despite her ambivalence about the whole thing, and turns around to face her husband. 

He looks the same as she remembers, just as tall and ruggedly handsome, although perhaps slightly less aged.

Henry takes both of her hands in his, pressing kisses to her knuckles. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

Jane doesn’t answer.

“Didn’t you miss me too?”

“I don’t know.”

He tugs her softly against him. “I know, my love. I know.” So gently, he kisses her forehead. “But you’re here with me, now. Everything is alright.”

Resting her head on his chest, she tries to relax. But there are too many questions burning and flitting through her mind for her to ignore. “How are you here?” She asks. “And… and where are we?”

“I’m here by the same twist of fate you are,” he answers quietly. “I can’t say I understand it either. And we’re home, my darling. Doesn’t it look different now?”

Jane squints in the dark, and she can vaguely make out the city skyline. It definitely isn’t New York, that’s for sure.

“We’re in London,” he explains. “Back in our once-home.”

Jane’s eyes blow wide and she pries herself out of Henry’s arms. “How… what? London?”

“I’m here, love, you’re okay,” he tries to soothe. “I can’t tell you how, yet, but it’ll all make sense soon.” He leans in to kiss her head again, and Jane is in such shock she can’t move. 

Henry reaches a hand into the satchel at his side and looks into Jane’s eyes. “Now go back home and forget all of this happened.”

---

Jane heaves a deep breath as she settles deeper into her bed. Another long day gone, another dreamless night ahead. 

Without much pretense, Jane Seymour turns over and falls asleep.

And somewhere else, Henry smiles.

[janeyseymour]

Quaran-queens

someone prompted this a while ago, but i just got around to it now... so sorry for the late post but.... it’s here? enjoy?

Anne is not handling quarantine well and Lulu isn't handling not being able to see her girls.

13 days. It had been 13 days since the world shutdown, and the third queen was losing it. In desperation for some sanity, she called her baker friend.

“Hey girl!” Jenna’s chipper voice rang through.

“Hey there,” Jane sighed as she plopped down on her bed.

“Oh you don’t sound too excited. What’s goin on?”

“It’s been 13 days since I’ve been out of this house, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to survive anymore.”

“I told you you’re always more than welcome to come quarantine with us.”

“And leave my house for Hurricane Anne to destroy?”

Jenna bit back a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. What’s hurricane Anne done today?”

“Oh boy, are you in for a story...” Jane recounted the story with a heavy groan.

“Anne Boleyn! How many times have I told you to stop heelying around the house? You’re going to break something, and that something could be yourself!” Jane’s shrill voice could be heard throughout the house from her spot in the living room.

“Janey, lighten up a little. I haven’t broken anything yet, and I’ve been super caref-” the sound of a vase shattering could be heard followed by a very quiet, “shit.”

“That better not be my vase shattered on the ground!” Jane stood from her place on the couch and marched herself in the direction of the crash.

“I’ll clean it up! I’ll buy you a new one!” the green queen promised before the blonde could even round the corner.

When her eyes set upon her favorite vase in shards on the ground, she yelled, “Catherine! Come deal with Anne. I can’t right now.” The third queen walked down the hallway to her room, eyes glued to the ground. Had she looked at the woman with space buns, she might have lost her temper on the shorter woman.

“Jesus Christ Anne,” the gold queen could be heard sighing as Jane closed her door. Sighing, she sat on her bed and pulled out her phone.

About an hour had passed when a notification had come up on her phone.

AnnieBoleyn started a live video

Perhaps against her better judgement, she clicked on the live. She still wasn’t quite happy with her predecessor after the incident earlier in the day.

“Hey queens! It’s Annie again. I’m bored out of my goddamn mind, so I thought I would just tell you all about my day!” The green queen giggled a little bit. “I woke up this morning thinking ‘ oh my god I’m stuck in this house again with Lina, Janey, Cleves, Kat, and Cath again. What can I do to piss any of them off today?’ I hadn’t even really done anything yet, but turns out, just by being me, that happens. I was bored and heelying around the house when I accidentally broke one of Janey’s vases. I cleaned it up, but she still got pissed.”

That comment pissed Jane off.

JaneySeymour: Anne, I’ve told you a thousand times not to heely in the house. I don’t know why you can’t just listen.

“But I cleaned it up!” the woman on screen remarked. “And, I already ordered you another one!” Anne adjusted the camera a bit to show off the kitchen. “Now, I’m trying to make some cookies as an-” a door could be heard slamming shut in the background followed by a frustrated-

“Anne Boleyn! Get out of my kitchen! You are not making cookies!”

“But I’m making them for you as an apology! Some are already in the-” the smoke alarm went off.

Jane could be seen in the background opening the oven door, a cloud of grey smoke infiltrating itself into the kitchen. The look she shot Anne was no look that anyone wanted to be at the other end of.

“I’ll fix this!” Anne said hurriedly.

“I’ll fix this!” Jane roared back. “You’ve done enough for the day. Please, just... I don’t know. Go find Cathy to annoy or something. Just get out of my kitchen.”

“I heard that!” Cathy yelled from her room. “Do not come in Anne! I’m working!”

“Jane, honest, I can help clean this up.”

The green queen turned to her phone that was still recording them. “Queendom, I have to go. Janey is about to lose it.”

“‘Lose it’ is putting it lightly,” The blonde huffed as she opened various windows and the smoke wafted out of the room. “Alrighty then, get to scrubbing.” She situated herself at the island counter and gestured towards the mess.

RoseAmongstTheThorns: wait... can you keep the video on? We wanna watch anne clean lol

Jane laughed lightly at that request, her voice immediately going soft as she addressed the audience. “It's pretty boring really. Anne’s just going to be scrubbing things until they’re sparkling again.”

“It’ll just be Janey telling me ‘keep scrubbing! It’s not clean yet!’ and ‘I still see some cookie dough!’ No one needs to hear that but me.”

“Alright now queendom. We’re going to sign off and clean the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, one of us will go live later tonight to show you Anne’s cleaning skills. Have a good day now. Love you!” Jane ended the live.

“And then, 20 minutes later, Annie told me that the kitchen was clean. So I went live to show the queendom her version of clean,” Jane shook her head the image.

“Hey Queendom! It’s Jane here and-”

“Janey, they know it’s you! It’s on your account!” The green queen playfully rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Jane drug out. “Annie over here thinks that the kitchen is clean. Can the queendom help me out and decide if it’s clean or not?”

Immediately, comments came pouring in.

Theroseamongstthethorns: uhhh sorry anne, jane’s gonna have u cleanin for a while

Sixqueenswalkintoabar: ...it’s cleaner than it was before?

Hausofholbein: jane’s standards have to be higher than that.

“Hausofholbein would be correct,” Jane muttered as she glanced over the comments. “This is not up to my standards.”

“Oh come on guys! It’s pretty okay, right?” Anne tried to worm her way out of tidying up.

“Do you think we should let the queendom see more in depth?” The third queen raised an eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest.

“No, no,” Boleyn rushed out, knowing her work wasn’t done. It didn’t hurt to try to get out of it though. “I’ll just clean it up.” The second queen got back to scrubbing the pans in the sink.

“Alright guys, I better help her out some. Thanks for your help queendom!” Jane smiled into the camera and waved.

Right before she ended the livestream, Anne could be heard mumbling, “Yeah. Thanks a lot queendom.”

“You know I love the girl, but she’s a lot sometimes. Thankfully, she’s off and annoying Lina. Anyway, enough about my own personal hell; how is Lu handling all of this?” The blonde turned the attention away from herself.

“I’m sure if you decided to quarantine with us, it would make my daughter’s year,” Jenna laughed. “She had a full on tantrum today because she couldn’t have some ‘Janey and Lulu’ time. Kicking, screaming, crying- the whole nine yards.”

“Oh jeez. I’m sure she’s happy to be able to spend time with you and Jim though?”

“Oh, she is. But uh, she wants Janey and ‘her girls’. She wants all of us together. So...” the brunette dove into her story.

“Lu honey, come on,” Jenna pleaded with her daughter.

“No! I’m going to see my Janey!” the little one protested, halfway through putting her shoes and socks on. “I don’t care if I have to walk there myself, but I am-”

“Little miss, you know you aren't to leave this house unless there’s an adult with you.” The baker’s husband came walking into the room with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Daddy, not you too!” Lulu whined.

“Sweetpea, it’s not mine or Daddy’s fault we’re stuck in the house. Janey’s got to stay at her house too. She wants to see you too baby,” Jenna tried to reason.

“Then, let’s go see her! I want to see my girls!” the young one continued as she put on her second shoe.

“I want to see the girls too, but we just can’t,” the baker paused. “Ignore the law.”

“A little white lie,” Jenna sighed. “I don’t like doing it, but I had to think of something other than ‘we can’t.’ You know that doesn’t work on her.”

“Daddy says we break little laws all the time, like when we cross the street without being at a corner!” the girl pointed out. “Let’s just break this one too!”

“Hun, I said no.” Jenna’s voice lost a small bit of softness.

“Daddy? Please?” the girl with pigtails looked at the doctor with puppy dog eyes.

“Mama-” Jim caught a glance at the glare his wife was giving him. “Mama and I have talked about it. We just can’t go see them right now. It’s too dangerous. We all have to stay healthy.”

“And that sent Lulu into hysterics. She told us she didn’t want to live with us anymore and that you and the girls would take her in and-”

“Which we would,” Jane chuckled lightly.

“And she told Jim that he was a meanie and told me that she couldn’t believe I would keep her from seeing you.”

“Oh jeez. I’m over here struggling with Anne, but you have a small child. Can't even imagine what that’s like.”

“Anne is like a small child,” Aragon opened the door and let herself into the gray room Jane occupied. “Sorry for listening in. I just wanted to let you know that Anne and Kat are downstairs fighting over the last glass of chocolate milk. Anne screamed something about, ‘Viva la choccy milk’. Do you want to intervene, or should-”

“Please. I think if I go downstairs right now, I might lose my temper.”

“And Anne might lose her head,” Aragon chuckled. “I’ve got it. Sorry to bother. Tell Jenna we all said hi.” The first queen made her way out of the room and could clearly be heard yelling at the two cousins.

“The girls say hi,” Jane giggled a bit.

“Tell them we say hi back.”

“Anyway, where were we?”

“Lulu couldn’t believe I was keeping her from seeing you.”

“Ah yes.”

“I had to walk away from the situation because I knew if I stayed, I might’ve lost it on her or Jim. Jim also walked away after parking Lulu in her room for ten minutes. And then...” Jenna continued on with her story.

“Lulu, you can come out of your room now,” Jenna said gently as she knocked on her door. She heard shuffling in the little girl’s room and opened it.

“Louise, what on Earth are you doing?” the baker questioned as she watched her daughter stuff her backpack with a stuffed animal, clothing, and a pack of oreos. Her daughter looked at her briefly but stayed silent and only continued to pack her bag.

“Jim!” the brunette yelled. “Get up here!”

“Huh?” Jim poked his head into the hallway. At this point, the small girl had finished packing and marched her way over to her father.

“Daddy,” Lulu paused. “I mean, Jim?”

“No Lu. I’m Daddy.”

“Not anymore. I’m running away to go live with Janey and my girls. But uh, Ma- I mean, Jenna told me I’m not allowed to leave the house without an adult, so will you help me run away to Janey’s please?” The little girl stared up at her father with big blue eyes as she clutched onto her backpack.

“I’m afraid not Lu. Quarantine is affecting all of us,” Jim laughed lightly as he patted his daughter.

“At least she didn’t try to run away by herself,” Jane commented.

“Yeah,” Jenna sighed. “I’ll give her that.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

“‘Fraid so kiddo. Can we be your parents again?” Jim asked gently.

Lulu mulled over this for a few seconds. “I guess so,” she finally sighed. “But only until quarantine is over. Then, I’m going to run away to live with Janey. Maybe she’ll help me escape.”

“Whatever gets you through this quarantine,” Jim laughed quietly before leaving.

“You’re kidding,” Jane couldn’t even stifle the laughs that were bubbling up inside of her.

“Nope. So, I was thinking maybe we should do one of those video calls tonight. It’ll keep Anne from doing anything mischievous for a little, and Lulu will be happy because she’ll at least get to see all six of you for a little bit.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

Quarantine turned out to be much longer than any of them hoped, but the video chats did keep “Hurricane Anne” from destroying the house (well, not completely, but it helped), and Lulu was happy to be able to see her girls, even if she wasn’t able to shower them in hugs and kisses.

And no, Lulu did not try to run away to the queens’ house again. Not after she saw the aftermath of Anne’s baking catastrophe that almost lost the six their house.

[sleepy-stories]

Chapter 8: An Upcoming Date

At the Home’s of the Boleyns, the family of 2 parents and 3 children and lastly 2 grandchildren.

Mary sat on the edge of her bed, holding onto a framed photo of her late husband. She stares at it with tears, tears that stream down her cheeks.

She sniffled. Her hand lifted a white tissue and brought it up to her eyes. “I miss you so much,” Mary whispers. She hasn’t told anyone this secret. Mary couldn’t let go of the past.

Then a sound of a knock at the door brought Mary’s gaze to it. “Co-come in,” she stutters, her voice trying to hide the sad tone. Anne opened the door and walked up to her eldest sister.

“Yes?” Mary asked, continuing to sniffle.

“Mary, Mother wants you to help wit-,” Anne said before noticing Mary. She gave her full attention to her appearance. Her eyes were red because of the tears, her nose constantly running, her hand clutching on a tissue.

Has she been crying? Anne lowered her gaze at the framed photo in her left hand. “Mary, you are crying? What happened?” the other Boleyn asked. Anne sat next to her and brought her hand on her back, starting to rub it in circles.

“If you don't mind me asking?” Anne asked, feeling worried that she would bug her on something that she isn’t comfortable with.

“No, no it's fine,” Mary said but continued anyway, “this has been going on for about 2 months now and I always tell you all that I’m ready to date and ready to move on, right?”

Anne nodded, she continued to look at her.

“Well, that was a huge lie. I haven’t moved on and I’m scared,” Mary said, feeling worse about herself.

“I know you are missing Sir Carey, Mary.” Anne said and continued,” And I know it is not easy for you. But I do believe at the bottom of my heart that you need to at least try. and If you do it then I’ll find someone too,” Mary looked at Anne in curiosity to her advice, which made her sniffle again.

“You know you are not good with relationship advice, Anne,” Mary said, feeling a bit better. She shows a small smile to her.

“I know but at least I made you feel better, didn't I?” Anne asked, with a little tease to her.

Mary sighs, she gets up and sets the photo on the small table. She turned back to her sister and asked, “What does Mother want me?”

“She just wants your help with the evening snacks that she’s preparing with Catherine,” Anne said.

Mary headed out the door and left her sister, Anne behind. But soon, She followed Mary to the kitchen, where little Catherine and their mother were washing and cutting strawberries.

The Boleyn girls walked up to the two. “I’m here, Mother,” Mary announced her presents. Her voice was positive but a little shaky which their mother didn't notice.

“Oh Mary, thank you for coming.” Mother thanked her.

“You can just help your daughter finish up washing those strawberries first,” Elizabeth said pointing at the bowl in which Catherine took one of the strawberries and scrubs it under the sink, as she stopped and looked over at Mary. "Then after that, I want you to cut those apples," her mother pointed to a bigger bowl that sat next to the strawberries.

Mary nodded.

Mary walked over to her daughter and started washing the strawberries.

Hours passed in the evening and the sky went dark. Everyone sat at the table for Mother Boleyn to present the meal to everyone at dinner. And When she did, it was veggies, meats, and biscuits. Everyone went around the table to pass the food to each other to serve themselves, and they even prayed before eating.

Thomas looked over at Mary and said,” I heard that you are going on a date tomorrow at night,”

“Yeah, I’m gonna give it a try, I’m meeting my date here, but going to the bar for the night,” Mary told, her eyes not up at her father. She picks through her meal.

“Hmm,” Thomas nods.

“Do you even know what he looks like?” George asked, with his mouth full. He was very curious about this man. “You know, height, looks, age?” he asked again, this time demanding the answers.

“First, don’t eat with your mouth full, you will choke and…. fall asleep,” Mary said straight at George but looked over at her young children. “Secondly, he only said his age and his name in the letter,” Mary said as She grabbed a white cloth and put it on her daughter’s lap and another to whip off her son’s mouth.

“I sent a photo of myself to him, but he never did the same,” she continued to say. Mary felt regression to this soon-date, she looked at her food more than her family when she talked.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll find out who he is?” Mary asked herself that.

Meanwhile, Outside of Tudor’s mansion, Henry walked to the library with Parr, Cleves, and Wilson behind him. “Alright ladies, I’m gonna be gone tomorrow night on a date which my sisters suggested to me, to be more open with the world,” Henry told them, making it to the old library which was a block away from their original location.

“I’m gonna be meeting people which have been happening for a while and I need a book on dating or any advice from you three on relationships,” He said as he stepped in and held the door open for them all.

A couple of people walked past them and left, as the four walked over to the shelves. The shelves were tall, made out of wood, and easy to break. However, it held up all the books without any trouble. “You know, I’m not so nice to my maids nor my workers in the business but I allow you to freely find some books to read and keep,” Henry told, honestly. And after that, he walked off to the librarian to ask for help. Cleves and Parr looked at each other and both headed to the history area, Wilson didn't even bother to follow and went somewhere else.

Cleves looked for the “t” titled books. Parr did the same, which ended up being found by cleves called the Tudor history and then Parr later found the book on henry viii.

The cover picture of the man looked like him, but less overweight and less old. Henry now walked past them but didn’t look.

“Sir, did you find what you needed?” the librarian asked. She stood next to Tudor, who was reading two book titles. “Yeah, just choosing over two books.” He continues.

“I’ll come over to the front desk when I’m done,” Henry told her, which she understood and walked off. Wilson walks over to Henry and looks for a book next to him. Tudor brought his attention to her then returned it to the covers. “You know, the librarian likes you, sir,” Wilson blurted it out.

“Yeah, I can tell, everyone likes me,” Henry said, putting one of the books back on its shelf and looking at Wilson. “I’m Handsome, Rich, Famous and even Single. Everyone likes those,” he said, as he moved each finger down one by one when he named himself.

“Who’s your date?” Wilson asked, she held the book in her hand. Her voice was calm to the tone which made Henry a bit worried. But gave in anyway.

“My date is this woman name Mary Boleyn and she sent me a lot of information about herself as being a widow with two children, one a boy and one a girl, living with her parents and siblings, and her husband died from a disease,” Tudor said but continue, not noticing Wilson staring at him and now the two other maids walking up to him. “This is relatable for me since I lost my brother to disease too. And still haven’t forgotten about,” Henry thinks more about his past, his father was happy with his mother hugging him tightly, Arthur smiling at Mary, Margaret is happy as well. He thought they were so happy before.

Tudor sighs and walks over to the front desk and the maids followed. They all set their books on the desk. As the librarian heard the noise of the books hitting on the hard desk, she put down her book beside her.

She took a glance at everyone and more on Henry a bit before taking her check-out booklet and pencil, which she started to write down Henry's name and all of the book titles in it. After doing that she told the due date and even gave one of them a single piece of already written paper with the date on it, September 30. That’s two weeks away.

Parr looked at the sign by the desk that said, one week is our due date and chose two books for one person only. Then, Henry took the books and handed the correct ones to each woman, and headed out the door.

Wilson asked, “What book did you get? It looks old.” She stared at it. “Just an old Victorian Book on dating,” Henry said, proudly.

[jane-fucking-seymour]

Legend of the Six has now been updated!

Chapter 23: Daughter of Shadow

Words: 5032 

AO3 Link

When we are little, we are taught that the darkness is scary.

Children hide from it under the comforts of pillows and blankets, men shield themselves from it with torches and lanterns, and the general public escape it through dreams and sleep. From the day we are born to the day we die, we are told to fear the Dark, and the creatures that live amongst it. It’s personified as the unknown, as the wicked, as the evil. The Dark, many claim, cannot be trusted, nor can it be utilized without misfortune.

The many, to Anne Boleyn, are considered fools.

Ever since she was a little girl - even with the scary stories of the Darkness being evil and Light being good - Anne Boleyn constantly sought for a second opinion. It’s not that she didn’t trust the stories; far from it, as she had seen what the dark could do. But she’s also seen it do wonders: it hides her from an ambush when she’s younger, it reveals foolish enemies positions that don’t know how to control their shadows, and it is a comfort, still, when late at night. After all, Anne argues, the darkness is the reason why we are in awe of the stars. That’s got to count for something, right?

As she continued down this path of Darkness, she came to befriend it in a unique way. Shadows would race to her to say hello, like old friends. The Darkness often wrapped around her like a cloak, a better shield than the ones the finest blacksmiths of the Realm could make. She extended a hand to the dark and found that it not only accepted, but embraced her as their own. And she was happier for it.

Of course, her friendship didn’t go unnoticed; it’s what started the rumors in court to begin with. Many in the court would talk ill of her friends, of the comforts she held that were so unique and against the grain that people thought it scary. She was shunned by many in the courts - all afraid of this girl that could control the darkness, calling her a Servant to it, a thrall. To many, Anne was cursed, and her regency should never had seen the light of day.

Unluckily for them (and, eventually, for her), Henry wasn’t afraid of the dark either.

Anne came to understand this as she was on the run from a particularly unyielding suitor. She hid in the shadows, in the garden, waiting for the man to pass. He hadn’t seen her, and in his drunken stupor, had started calling for her quite loudly. This resulted in unwanted attention. Anne had chuckled as the man was immediately yelled at by the King himself, thoroughly embarrassed and berated in the middle of the night by such an important figure in the Realm. She expected the guy to turn tail and run, which he did.

What she DIDNT expect was for the King himself to suddenly turn and face her. Her, hidden by the darkness that she knew so well.

He looked curious, as if struggling to see her, but seeing her all the same. He called for her to appear, to not be afraid. He wasn’t afraid of the dark either, he said. He knew she wasn’t either. Perhaps they could make a habit of finding each other in the shadows in the night, perhaps they could chat about their experiences with the Dark, perhaps they could be friends.

It didn’t take too long for Anne to realize he meant something a little more than just friends.

The marriage between Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII was going rather swimmingly, at least according to anyone that looked: Catherine had just saved the world from evildoers in the South, and Henry had applauded his wife’s work. The Realm rejoiced in such a decisive victory over the enemy that day, and had even strengthened their allyship with Holbein in the process; a two for one victory that the history books were to celebrate for centuries, if all had gone to plan.

But, as Anne would later find out in their midnight rendezvous, he thought he could do more. His wife was, of course, a formidable person in battle, but the Darkness isn’t that scary. It got a bad reputation because of the Blessed that defeated the enemies in the South, he said. Why couldn’t his wife see that the darkness wasn’t something to banish, but to wield? 

To Anne, this made perfect sense because of the darkness that she knew, the darkness she assumed they were talking about. It resulted in resentment towards the (at the time, current) queen, especially when Henry finally gave her the chance to be the Blessed Aragon’s lady in waiting not too long afterwards. Anne didn’t see then that it was a way to groom her for the throne; instead, she simply thought he wanted someone in his corner, someone that understood the Dark for what it really was.

And she played right into his hands perfectly.

At least, for a while.

It was later, when Catherine was “killed,” when she saw Jane Seymour enter the picture, that Anne realized that maybe he wasn’t a friend of the dark like she thought he was.

For one, he never was able to hide well, not from anyone. The darkness that was easy to sink into when she was alone or with Maggie or even with Catherine and Maria was not as such when he was around; it was like the Darkness rebuked him, didn’t want him near it. Didn’t claim him as their own the way that they had claimed Anne all those years ago. In her want to be queen and in her want to have someone that understood her, she ignored it; there was just something about Henry that made her want to ignore what she thought she knew. He had that way about him, a way that made her want to believe in what he said.

So when he told her to go on the road that fateful day, she had no idea what was coming.

Maria hadn’t been acting any different than usual, for example, and it was in the middle of the day when it happened. Anne was completely unsuspecting until just before the ambush occurred; at that point, her shadow gave her away. For a while, it was the shadows that was her most trusted ally as she hid, refusing to be found until she absolutely had to. 

She survived because of the Shadows. They had given her so much. But now, it seems, they were asking something of her.

Who was she to refuse?

So she sits, in front of the woman, head bowed respectfully. The woman smiles softly at the girl in front of her, as if greeting an old friend. Anne suspects she knows more about Anne than she lets on, but it’s disrespectful to ask.

“I see that you’re ready now,” she says. “To become my champion.” She nods, standing up. “It’ll be a tough road ahead of you, if you choose to embrace my gifts.”

“You have given me so much, my lady,” Anne says quietly, respectfully. “I am but an agent of your will.”

The woman looks over at Maggie, who is still bowing with her head down. She gently lifts the girl’s head up with a soft grin.

“You won’t be needed here,” the woman says, “but I won’t deny you the opportunity to observe the trial. No, you’ve done just as much as her, and I like you almost as much, but she is the Champion for a reason.”

Maggie doesnt dare look the woman in the eye, instead nodding respectfully. “I am in awe of your graciousness, my lady,” she says, a bit of a tremble in her voice. She’s a bit nervous. 

The woman smiles and offers Maggie her hand. Maggie takes it. “You may look me in the eye, you know,” the woman says. “We’re all friends here.”

Maggie does so after a moment, and she’s a bit calmer now. This doesn’t feel as formal as she thought it was going to be, but then again, the Shadows have always been somewhat misleading. 

The woman turns back to Anne, who hasn’t moved from her spot. “My Champion,” she says, sitting down in front of Anne. “You will start your Trial immediately. Should you pass, you shall become my Keeper. Should you fail… well, the outcome depends on how you do that.” She shrugs, a hand wistfully circling in the air, forming some sort of bowl with smoking black substance in it. “Drink. And you shall begin.”

Anne nods, looking back at Maggie with a smile. “I’ll be back.”

Maggie nods, still a bit nervous. “I know you will.”

And with that, Anne takes the bowl and drinks it down.

It doesn’t taste like a lot of anything, but the texture of it is vile to say the least; it feels like something is fighting to go down into her stomach, as if it had a mind of its own. She winces at the feeling, squeezing her eyes shut as the bowl, too, dissolves into the substance and enters her.

She steadies herself, feeling how the substance affects her. Her hands, now empty, fall to her sides, and she focuses. She can feel everything else falling away, can feel herself sinking deeper and deeper and deeper…

… until she’s nowhere at all.

She’s floating in nothing.

It’s dark, and it’s comfortable. She opens her eyes and sees nothing. She floats aimlessly, like in a calm river of sorts, and smiles softly; this was nice. Not really what she expected, if she was being honest, but she’ll take what she can get.

Just as she thinks that, however, she immediately feels herself drop. Now, she’s freefalling into nothing. It’s nothing too terrible, but there seems to be something… darker… just below her now. She yelps, tenses, gets ready for the impact-

-but it never comes. Instead, she’s standing still, on the darker darkness.

She looks around, curious about what’s  happening.

“Hello?” she asks. She doesn’t hear anything - no echo, no voice returning her call. It’s getting a bit cold, too, as she walks further and further into this new darkness. The shadows from before, when she was floating, were what she was comfortable with. This… was not.

Not bad, just different, and incredibly unsettling when she wasn’t used to it. 

She continues through, unseeing, and she wonders if she’s missed something, if she’s already lost the trial. There’s no real purpose to this at the moment, she realizes, and she thinks maybe she needs to do something. Maybe she’s waiting on herself.

With a deep breath, she stops walking, extending a hand above her. She closes her eyes, takes another big breath, and summons the darkness she knows so well.

Usually, it would result in the room getting darker… but that’s not the case. Not now. Her darkness is brighter than this darkness, and the comfort she’s felt for over two decades returns to her. And now, with a smile, she listens to her goddess:

“Your trial begins now, oh contested Champion. I hope you are prepared.”

Anne nods, feeling herself being tugged away and pulled impossibly fast to an impossibly far distance in the shadows - lightyears away from where she was, but also right next door. She eventually stops where she is, and her eyes adjust to the light in front of her.

She’s got solid ground below her. She’s in a hallway. It’s dark and cold and wet. It’s clear that the only light in this area has been the blue torches that dimly illuminate the area. She’s not sure where she is, but she knows she needs to continue. 

She moves forward steadily, but as she does, she starts to hear things - a voice?

“Hello?”

Not her goddess’, either.

Her hand goes to her side, where her trusted daggers would be, but they are not there now. She instead moves to the side, using her shadows to protect and cloak herself as she pushes forward. She hears the voice again, this time coming from the end of the hallway.

Someone’s here. Someone that’s definitely real.

She turns into the room, warily at first, but then she realizes who it is and raises and eyebrow.

“Catherine?!?”

Catherine is indeed there, looking around, very confused. When she spots Anne, though, she instantly rushes over to her.

“What’s going on?” Catherine asks, frowning. “I was just headed into the town we were headed into before you left and… and now I’m here.”

“You were Claimed for a time,” says a voice, one that isn’t either of theirs. “You have been Unclaimed. But now you’re Claimed again.”

Catherine seems to recognize the voice, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “In what way?”

“The Light knows what is happening,” says the voice, reassuring in tone. “And they know why you’re here. They know I won’t keep you any longer than necessary, and they know you won’t be harmed.”

Catherine seems to relax a bit then, but she’s still a bit confused. “I don’t know why I’m here, though.”

“You’re… well, I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Anne mumbles, a bit embarrassed. “But you’re my guide.”

Catherine blinks. “Your what?”

“In the Trials of the Shadows,” Anne explains, “we get a person that can’t be seen by the Trial, but the Chosen can see and interact with them. Someone that we have a strong connection with. Someone that’s important in our life story. Someone that the Woman chooses.”

“And… she chose me?” Catherine asks, tilting her head.

“We both did, it’s kind of a mutual agreement decision sort of thing,” Anne replies. “Well, most of the time. It’s my soul choosing who it is, and the Woman consenting to manifest it- it’s a long story. Not enough time, if we want to get out of here before the Festival in a few weeks.” Anne sighs, a hand running through her hair. “What you need to know is that I need someone to guide me, to help me through the tough road ahead.” She doesn’t dare look Catherine in the eye for the next part. “It seems that both myself and my mistress are in agreement that if anyone can get me through this, it’s you.”

Catherine smiles. “Well, seeing as I’ve nothing better to do-”

But the jokes stop, suddenly, as the room around them changes.

They’re suddenly in a chamber, one that’s familiar and not at the same time. It’s clearly night, but the moon is not the moon; it’s moreso a ball of energy, as if it was made of arcanic magick rather than a celestial body.

Anne moves into the room a bit more, observing quietly.

“Isn’t this the castle?” Catherine asks quietly, looking out the nearby window. It’s a town made of shadows, but a familiar town nonetheless. “This is Henry’s castle in the Capitol… but I don’t know this room.”

Anne frowns. “Me either, at least, not yet,” she looks around and tilts her head, looking down at the nearby desk. She looks at the papers, picking some up and looking through them, just in time for Catherine to meet her there.

“Anything?” Catherine asks, tilting her head.

“Just notes about certain military movements and plans,” Anne says, continuing to look through. “These look to be from my time as queen, or at least near that time-”

They both look up, however, when they hear someone unlocking the door.

“They can’t see me, but-” Catherine starts, though Anne is already ahead of her. She instantly moves to the shadows, hiding herself. Catherine simply watches as the door opens. She cringes a bit - the person is covered with shadow, their true form unable to be seen. 

They walk towards the desk, looking through papers before eventually picking up a blank one and writing on it. They continue to write, and Anne gets a better look at the paper. She narrows her eyes and, while avoiding detection, moves towards the back of the room, farthest from the door. 

Just as she does, another person enters the room - this time, Catherine gasps.

“Maria!”

Maria can’t hear her, of course, and the scene continues without interruption. 

Maria stands in front of the shadowed figure, bowing slightly.

Both Anne and Catherine wince when the shadowed figure starts talking - their voice is cloaked in a thousand others, distorted and underwater and barely even hearable yet blaring all at once. 

Maria, however, doesn’t seem to have an issue hearing them, resulting in a one-way conversation that Catherine and Anne can hear.

“Of course, I understand,” Maria says with a nod. She looks down at the paper that is handed to her, studying it carefully. Maria sets her jaw a bit before she nods slowly. There’s a moment before she tenses, looking up at the shadowy figure, clearly angry.

“I have not forgotten the promise I made,” Maria growls. “Not to her. Catherine shall not have died in vain.”

The confliction on Maria’s face makes Catherine’s heart break. 

Maria nods, salutes, and leaves the room. As soon as the door closes, the shadowy figure suddenly snaps their attention straight to Anne.

Anne’s gasp is only for a moment, as the figure rushes her, and suddenly she’s consumed by it.

“Anne!” Catherine yells, but the world is turning again, and despite her concern, another scene is playing out.

Anne, barely on her feet, moves to hide again, but… something’s changed. Something’s starting. Anne is more tense as the next scene happens, this time with the shadowy figure and a eerie green light.

Another person arrives - a magick practitioner in the castle, Catherine assumes - and speaks:

“Once we have someone to accept the terms, necromancy will be firmly in our war arsenal,” he says, looking down at a paper. “We’ve managed to connect the dots on this fairly quickly, thanks to the research at the Heart. And because of that, we may be able to control corrupted Light and Shadows easily enough in a few years.”

“They what-?” Catherine asks, but suddenly Anne is once again attacked by a shadow, once again forced to absorb it. “Anne!” Catherine yells, moving over to the girl as she falls to her knees.

Anne is gasping for air, but is clearly furious. “I can feel it,” she growls out. “The frustration, the anger, the power… it’s all here.” She holds up her hand. “This is how it would feel. To go unchecked. To be consumed… by the rage… of the past…”

Catherine frowns. “But that’s not what the Darkness is, is it? It’s not rage, it’s not power. It’s something else, isn’t it?” It’s something Catherine doesn’t totally understand, but she gets this much; it’s very similar to her own understanding of the Light.

Anne growls out, looking down at her hands as they burn with darkness. She feels it crawling around her skin, no longer the comfortable calm that she’s used to, but with newfound purpose. Anger. Betrayal. All of it. It’s feeding into her emotions, into her magicks.

Catherine sees the trial for what it really is, just in time for the scene to change again.

They’re in a room, and now Maria is back. Catherine ignores her feelings for the time being as she hears the conversation.

“It’s done,” Maria says bitterly. “She’s dead.”

The shadowed figure turns around, says things they don’t understand, and Maria nods.

“I’ll be sure to keep this in mind,” she says quietly. “For the Realm.”

Again, the shadow figure snaps her attention to Anne… but this time, Catherine steps in, quickly shielding Anne from the figure.

Catherine yelps as she absorbs it instead… but now, her Light seems to overpower it.

For now.

“Anne,” Catherine says, a bit winded by the event. Anne, for her part, is glaring at Maria, but Catherine breaks the line of sight. “Anne. Remember. This is a trial. What are all of these things doing to you?”

“They’re…” Anne growls a bit. “They’re making me angry. Angrier than I’ve ever felt.”

“Okay, and why would they want to do that? What is happening with the Darkness you’re feeling?”

Anne focuses on it, only for a moment, before her thoughts immediately go to the Maria in front of her. She’s right there, for the taking, easily killed at this angle…

“Anne, answer me.”

She looks back at Catherine. “It’s not actually Darkness,” Anne growls out. “It’s not comforting. This energy, it enhances your darkest thoughts. Your fears. Your anger-”

Anne tries to pulse towards Maria, but Catherine quickly stops it.

“Anne, focus.” Catherine says. “You can’t let this overtake you. Focus on me: why are they showing you these things? What’s the goal?”

“To make me angry,” Anne growls, struggling in Catherine’s grasp. Maria’s so close, she could almost touch her.

“Is that all?” Catherine asks, raising an eyebrow. She’s struggling to keep Anne at bay, but she’ll do it for as long as it takes to help her.

“What the fuck do you mean, is that all, it’s-!” she starts, but then her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh, shit, oh-”

“What?” Catherine asks, clearly confused, but then the shadowed figure appears again. Anne immediately turns her attention to it, quick to suddenly pull Catherine behind her with some unseen shadows, and instantly moves to grab the shadowed figure.

Anne narrows her eyes as the shadowed figure whips their head around to face Anne, but Anne shakes her head.

“Not this time,” she says, smirking. “It was a distraction. You were always good at those. And you’re here, because you’re my weakness. You’re the reason I can’t move on, you’re the reason I can’t grow. You, and what you stand for to me.”

She grabs a torch nearby, and this time throws it at the shadowed figure.

The shadows retreated from the form, and the true terror appeared. 

Her hair as blonde as before, blue piercing eyes now tinted with green energy as the new staff she wielded resulted in a pulsing energy that made Anne want to run. She looks on with wide eyes as the woman, over and over again, summons monstrosities, clearly attempting to overrun Anne right then and there.

Anne practically growls.

“Jane fucking Seymour.”

The figure in question certainly looked like the Keeper of Necromancy, but with one distinct difference - her eyes were not normal, but instead pulsing with darkness, with eerie energy that Anne had to look away from at the moment. She shivers at the coldness that’s so apparent she can feel it, but then a warm hand holds on her shoulder and she looks up at Catherine.

“This is the trial, then.” Catherine says, so matter-of-factly that it helps calm Anne somewhat. Anne looks up, managing to overcome her own fear of the corruption before her, and nods. Catherine nods back. “Go on, then.”

Anne moves away, towards the corruption, taking a deep breath as she does so. She suddenly pulses forward, moving past the shadowy monstrosities and immediately to Jane, but the girl dodges so fast that Anne can’t react to the counterattack. Suddenly, Anne has a knife through her stomach, though it quickly dissolves into shadows as she’s released. She falls to the floor, huffing in pain, as she practically growls at Jane, who backs up and readies herself for another onslaught.

“Direct attacks won’t work,” Catherine says.

“You think I don’t know that?” Anne asks, right as she pulses forward again. This time, instead of straight on attack Jane, she uses the shadows to dissolve into cover…

… or at least, she thought she did, right before Jane plucks her out of the darkness and once again stabs her with a dagger that fades into shadows.

Anne yelps again, and this time, she falls to her knees. She holds her abdomen, coughing up blood, before she looks down at the wound. It’s festering with corrupted darkness.

And that gives her an idea.

“What else do you have?” Catherine asks, at the woman’s side as Anne shakily stands up. Anne seems to be focused, so Catherine steps aside. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t think you can take another one of those stabs.”

“Don’t worry,” Anne says. “I won’t need another chance.”

She pulses forward, straight on. Catherine’s heart drops; did Anne suddenly forget this was what she did at first?

Jane readies her dagger, and just as she thrusts it into Anne… it suddenly stops. It all stops. All the monsters, all the magicks Jane conjured. They all just… stop.

Catherine looks over to find that Anne’s eyes are not her own - they’re filled with darkness. At first, Catherine thought the girl had lost, that she was corrupted like Jane’s magicks, but when Anne suddenly thrust her hand into the sky and Jane immediately did the same thing, Catherine realized what was happening.

Of course, Catherine thought, feeling a little stupid for not realizing it before. She can control shadows!

Indeed, Anne was now controlling Jane’s movements, Jane’s actions, all of it. The darkness around them was no long being passive in the fight; Anne was forcing it to move with her, at her command, and Jane was powerless to stop it.

This, Catherine realized, was the true power of a Keeper of the Shadows. This was the potential of the Queen of Shadows.

Anne immediately pulses backwards, but Jane still can’t move. Anne lifts her hands - Jane doesn't follow this time, Anne’s holding her in place - and Anne suddenly has chains connected to Jane’s wrists. The end of the chains are in Anne’s hands, and she smirks as she suddenly slams them into the ground, making Jane fall as well. Keeping the chains in one hand, Anne uses her other one to command the shadows to clear out the monsters around them, wiping them into oblivion, before focusing back on the Jane in front of her.

With a final wince, Anne takes the energy that she could feel around the wound and harnesses it herself. Instead of it infecting her body, she now controlled it as she formed it into a spear and threw it back at Jane, cracking her heart and thrusting them all into pale moonlight that blinded the area for a second.

The corrupted dark gives way to pale moonlight, and that Jane is on her knees. She looks up and her eyes are her own. 

Anne’s blade pulses with the warm type of darkness that Anne is familiar with.

Anne looks down at the girl, and Jane looks up. She’s crying, eyes wide at the blade. She doesn’t say anything, however, as she bows her head.

“What is this?” Anne asks, but she keeps her gaze on Jane.

Catherine looks around. “Looks like the forests near the castle in the Capitol, honestly,” Catherine says. “I recognize this clearing. The bridge to the courtyard is only a few yards away.”

“And why is she giving herself over to me?” Anne asks, her hand tightening on her blade as her body stiffens.

Silence. Then, Catherine:

“I think you’ve a choice to make, Keeper of the Shadows.”

Anne continues her focus on the neck. She continues to remember. She continues to feel.

And she raises the blade and thrusts it down, hitting her mark. 

Instead of a scream, or a head rolling, the figure immediately bursts into darkness, fading into the darkness around it. There’s suddenly a stronger darkness - a Void of sorts - and Catherine and Anne are pulled into it. The darkness is suffocating for Catherine, whose light suddenly is snuffed out, but Anne seems to revel in it, like it’s a cool refreshing drink. 

When she opens her eyes again, however, she finds the Woman and Maggie standing over her.

Maggie smiles, but she’s clearly scared. “Annie?”

Anne takes a deep breath, then smiles. “I’m ok. We’re all ok.” She looks up at the Woman. “Was that satisfactory, my lady?”

“Just about what I expected,” the Woman replies. “But I think you’re ready regardless.”

Anne stands and, just as she goes to bow again, the Woman puts her hand on Anne’s heart and mind. Suddenly, Anne can feel a cool yet warm sensation coming from the hands that pressed against her, and her eyes faded into darkness for a moment before they returned to normal. She takes a deep breath and, suddenly, she feels more alive than ever.

When the Woman steps back, Anne instinctually puts a hand on her heart and head, just before she summons a shadow dagger in her hands.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Anne says. She then takes a deep breath and focuses on the energy; it forms into a darkened fireball of sorts, then a gauntlet, then an arrow. She smirks as she then puts the energy into her other hand, back into the dagger, and takes a step back into the shadows. She completely disappears then; not even Maggie could sense her.

She ends up behind the Woman, who doesn’t seem surprised to see her, but smiles. “I trust your new arsenal is to your satisfaction, my champion and my Keeper of Shadows?”

Anne’s eyes go wide at the title and she smiles widely, but she immediately shows respect, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Mistress.”

The Woman nods. “Pray you continue to do my will, though you are not bound to it. That’s not how I operate, unlike some others.”

That got Anne thinking. “Where did Catherine go?”

“The Blessed? She’s back in her body. She had some issues with a Fae, but I saved her.” The Woman smiles. “She helped my Champion in her trial, I saved her from being stolen away by the Fae. I consider us even - well, myself and her Goddess.”

Anne nods. “I’ll be sure to tell them to be careful moving forward. Thank you, my Mistress.” She looks back over at Maggie, who nods. “We need to go. The place where they are, it’s a Fae Lands. They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

Maggie nods. “After you.”

They rush off.

[imagines4thepeeps]

Take me back in time (katanna)

A/n- this is my first six fic. I’ve lost my muse for a lot of other fandoms so I’m sorry to all of those that have requested already. This probably won’t get many peoples attention it’s mostly for me. If you do happen to like this or six feel free to request because I can’t wait to write more for this fandom.

Summary- Kat and Anna have just been brought back along with all the other wives of Henry VIII. This is the first time seeing each other in 500 years.

_____________________________________________

Anna couldn’t breathe. She was shaking violently, tears falling veraciously from her eyes. In the history of Anna’s life she had never felt a pain like this, never. Her Kat was gone, her beautiful,kind liebling taken from her. Anna had promised herself she would always protect the girl and now here she was.

Her sweet, charming girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly was beheaded. And on top of that dumped in an unmarked grave in god knows where. Anna knew from experience that history would not treat Katherine kindly. She knew they would never see the funny, vibrant, and loving young girl she saw. They would see a harlot, a witch, a little girl who was so greedy she lost her head. That’s what tore her up most of all, she was not only dead physically but her reputation and memory had been tarnished for what would probably be till the end of time.

She thought back to when she first met Katherine. The girl had danced the whole night long with Anna.

“I love dancing, it’s where I can be myself most, I find much freedom in the rhythm of it all, don’t you lady Anna?” At her name Anna snapped back to reality. She had been staring she was absolutely sure of it.

“ oh um yes ,but I fear I’m not so good at it”. Kat was grinning ear to ear.

“ nonsense”,she said,”you dance better than most people walk,” she laughed (god her laugh Anna could hear it now) ,”but I can see you need a break, a walk perhaps?”

“That would be great”. Anna beamed any extra time spent with this beacon of light she would cherish. Kat led Anna through the gardens chatting all the while.

“You know I usually don’t get along with women”. It comes out of her mouth before she can stop it.

“Really? Well you’ve got a friend in me Katherine”. It did strike her as odd but then again why did it matter if the girl preferred the company of men. As she would later find out it was all that mattered to Henry.

(Many years later)

“Kat?” Anna couldn’t believe it Kat was standing right in front of her. No. She stopped moving towards the figure. Her mind was playing tricks on her. In her final days she saw many faces from her past and kat’s was common among them. “You aren’t real are you?”

“No Anna it’s me—“ before the rest of the sentence could leave her mouth Anna had her arms around Kat. That voice was unmistakeable everything down to the look in kat’s eyes told Anna it was her girl.

“ I can’t believe it you have no idea how much I’ve missed you liebling.” At that Anna pulled Kat into a searing kiss. In the history of kisses there have only been five extraordinary ones, this kiss left them all behind. Hundreds of years of pain and longing and sorrow all came to head with the meeting of their lips. They were together again at last.

“Wow Kit I didn’t know you had it in ya” Anne Boleyn said as she put an arm around her cousin. After a second of just looking in awe at the pink haired girl she realized something. She turned her attention to Anna. “ I’m sorry but who the fuck are you”

All of the queens suddenly turned to look at the gremlin in shock. Then all at once a great weight was lifted when Anna began to cackle and with that followed Kat and soon everyone was roaring in laughter. With that they knew they would all be alright in this strange new time.

(Bonus cuteness!!!)

[dreamcatcherfication]

Dreamers in Fantasyland - Part 4

I keep forgetting that I tried to do a balance of old English dialect and modern English dialect, and it surprises me every time I edit this fic.

Final part, woohoo! We made it guys! A little sooner that expected, but that’s the fault of my laptop breaking. This is the last part of the fic requested by @theatergirl06 long ago when we had our ask war. As this door comes to a close, hopefully I’ll be able to open another... more sinister door...? This part is about to be very confusing, but if I’ve done it correctly, it’ll be (hopefully) a great ending. Things are about to get really meta. Buckle up, cause you aren’t ready.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of sexual abuse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Things seemed a lot calmer on Anne’s boat, the world finally back on track. Cathy had no real sense of what was normal anymore, so she relied solely on the feeling of calmness she felt with Anne. They were sitting on the floor, backs against Anne’s bookshelves. “You know,” Anne commented, her hand unconsciously fiddling with the bandages on her upper arm, “I was afraid you and Cleves wouldn’t come.”

“Why would you think that?” Cathy asked, putting a hand on Anne’s leg.

The captain shrugged. “I barely know you, and no matter what I feel when you’re around,” Cathy had to hide a blush, “you have no loyalties to me. The only reason I could think for you tracking us down was to save my cousin. Thank you, by the way,” Anne tacked on at the end. Despite the melancholy in her voice, Cathy could tell Anne was being sincere. “And Anna, she may seem young, but she’s smart. She knew our ship had taken serious damage from Henry’s attack. I didn’t think she’d risk our crew just to come for me.”

Knowingly, Cathy replied, “I don’t think you were her only motivation.”

Laughing, Anne’s face lit up, if only by a little bit. “Yes, yes. I’m glad she’s found someone in my cousin. They seem happy together. I long for that.”

Cathy frowned, suddenly hyper aware of her hand on Anne’s leg. “What do you mean.”

Hanging her head, Anne’s hand crawled until it was sitting on top of Cathy’s. “You remind me of a past that I don’t have, Miss Parr.” Anne lifted Cathy’s hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “I feel as if we’ve spent a thousand years together, and those thousand years have been lost somehow. I want nothing more than those years back.”

Staring at her hand in Anne’s, Cathy took the leap and slowly leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Anne’s lips. “I believe I understand what you’re saying,” she murmured, hiding the full truth from Anne.

Anne’s lips pulled upwards slightly, her eyes going soft as she stared at Cathy. “Everything is right in this world.”

A phantom hand shoved Cathy backwards, causing her to jump in shock. “No,” Cathy spoke softly, “everything is not right.” For some reason, she had been handed an answer. “Things won’t be right until you tell Kat that you are her cousin.”

Nervously chuckling, Anne shook her head. “I don’t think it’s best to drag up my family history.”

Grabbing Anne’s hands, Cathy leaned forward so that their noses were inches apart. “Things will never be the way they are supposed to unless you tell Kat.”

Anne was growing frightened by Cathy’s strange behavior. “How do you know this? What if she turns me away, knowing of the past with our family.”

“Kat is the most kindhearted person I know,” Cathy stated determinedly. “She is loving, and while she retains some of her naivete, she is intelligent. I know that girl better than she knows herself,” Cathy felt confident in her words, despite having only met this version of Kat a few days ago, “and I know she will not hate you. Kat is the last person to judge anyone on family matters. It will do her good to know the truth.”

At first Anne seemed reluctant, but she agreed. “I… I will tell her.”

As if summoned by Anne’s agreement with Cathy, Anna and Kat entered the quarters. “Anne,” Cleves greeted her captain, a hand around Kat’s waist, “It seems you’re doing much better.”

“Yes Anna, thank you,” Anne grunted, standing up from her sitting position. Cathy followed, brushing off the dust that had collected on her skirt. “Kat, if I could speak with you?”

The girl frowned but detached herself from Anna and moved over to Anne. “What is it Anne?”

“I…” Anne struggled with the words, “Do you remember when you asked me if we knew each other?”

Unsure of where Anne was going, Kat hesitantly answered, “Yes?”

“Well, the truth is, we do.” 

Kat’s eyes narrowed as her head scrunched in confusion. “How? I still can’t quite figure it -”

“Boleyn.” Anne blurted. “My full name is Anne Boleyn.” 

Eyes widening, Kat finally made the connection. “You’re my cousin,” she gasped, staring at Anne with wide eyes. Biting her lip, Anne nodded, expecting Kat to yell at her. Instead, the noble girl threw herself into Anne’s arms, hugging her close to her chest. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard from any of you,” she admitted into Anne’s chest.

It took a moment, but Anne reciprocated the hug, wrapping her arms around her younger cousin. “I didn’t think any of you wanted to hear from me.”

Pulling away, Kat curled her lip. “Our family is a mess. Everyone is constantly fighting and there’s never any peace. You may not have felt welcome, but that’s not your fault. It’s theirs.”

“Oh, Kat,” Anne’s voice was so full of emotion, it almost seemed as if she would cry.

“I want to stay with you,” Kat told her newfound cousin. “I want to stay with you and Anna and Cathy on this ship.”

“You want to be a pirate?”

Kat did the equivalent of a 15th century puppy dog pout. “More than anything.”

Unable to resist, Anne told her, “Well then, welcome aboard sailor Kat, I hope you're ready for some chaos.”

“I’m always ready for chaos if it’s with you.”

This, Cathy thought, this was right. This was how the world was supposed to be. The two cousins were together and happy, reunited after their family had torn them apart. Anna had found her happiness with Kat, and she had gotten her captain back. Cathy had saved the girl she loved with all her heart and Henry was gone from their lives. This should be the end.

…

But something kept pushing in the back of Cathy’s mind, telling her there was more. There was something that she kept missing, even when it was blatantly obvious to her. It was right on the tip of her tongue, infuriatingly so. “Anna, Kat,” she spoke up. “Would it be alright if I talked to Anne for a moment. Alone.”

“Of course,” Anna nodded, holding her hand out for Kat to take.

Before the two girls could leave, Cathy intercepted Kat. She pulled her friend into her arms, holding her tight. “I love you Kat,” she murmured into her ear. “You’re my best friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“I know Cathy,” Kat mumbled back. She pulled away and bounded to Anna’s side, holding her hand as they exited the room.

Shifting her attention to Anne, Cathy started to feel dizzy. Stumbling on her feet, Cathy had to press a hand to the wall to steady herself. “Cathy?” Anne spoke worriedly, promptly at her side. “Are you alright?”

Cathy wasn’t alright. Everything was hitting her at once like an epiphany and her mind couldn’t handle it. “Anne, Anne,” Cathy started to stutter, reaching out and grabbing Anne’s arms. Pulling her closer, Cathy spoke directly in her face, “Anne, I’m not from here.”

Laughing nervously, Anne nodded. “Yes, I could tell that by your skin color, but it’s not anything to be worried abo-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Cathy cut her off. “I’m from the future. Or from the past and then the future. Or they’re both the future compared to now.”

Anne was at a loss for words. “Cathy, did you hit your head -”

“No,” Cathy stared directly into Anne’s eyes. “I am going to tell you something that sounds crazy and - and - and,” Cathy stuttered over her words, “You have to promise to believe me. Please,” she begged.

As confused as Anne was, she could tell when people were lying. Cathy was either telling the truth, or she was crazy, and Anne didn’t believe for a second that Cathy was mental. “Okay, I promise.”

Nodding, Cathy stepped away from Anne and started pacing around the room. “In my first life, I was married to King Henry VIII of England, known to you as Henry Tudor.” Anne’s face grew into a snarl but she said nothing. “I was Queen Catherine Parr, the sixth wife of Henry. We never met, but I knew you well in that life.”

“How could you know me if we hadn’t met?” Anne questioned.

“Because you were Queen Anne Boleyn, Henry’s second wife. You divided England from the Catholic Church, and you changed the world.”

Anne didn’t like the way Cathy was speaking. It wasn’t in her tone, but rather the way her words made sense. Anne knew she should be finding Cathy’s claims preposterous, but for some reason they resonated in Anne’s heart. “Who were his other wives?”

Attempting to steady her shaking hands, Cathy started to explain. “His first wife was Catherine of Aragon. You might know her name, she’s the informant who run’s Aragon’s Pub.” The way Anne’s eyes lit up let Cathy know she did in fact know who that was. “Then there was you who pushed Henry to break from the church and annull his marriage with his wife. You two were married, but when you proved too much for him -” Anne scoffed, “he beheaded you.”

Falling silent, Anne looked at the floor. “Who was after me?”

“Jane Seymour, the one who gave him a son. She’s Kat’s caretaker back at court, although you’ve never met her. She died of natural causes. His fourth wife was Anna von Cleves,” Anne’s head shot up.

“Please don’t tell me -”

“She got the best outcome of us all,” Cathy assured her, breathing in heavily as she continued. “She had an arranged marriage with the King, but when she embarrassed him, Henry started calling her ugly and later annulled his marriage once again. Anna got her own palace and lived far longer than any of us.” Cringing, Cathy realized who she had arrived at.

Noticing Cathy’s apprehensiveness, Anne pushed, “Well? Who was next?”

“Katherine Howard.”

“No,” Anne choked. Cathy was only giving her a brief rundown, but Anne felt as if she was living through this experience with Cathy.

Swallowing, Cathy had to take a moment to steady her voice. “He married Kat when she was only fifteen, maybe a year or two older, none of us know for sure,” she refused to look in Anne’s horrified eyes, “But Kat had a terrible past where men had… sexually abused her. One of her friends in court took advantage of her and when the King found out,” Cathy’s voice hitched, “he beheaded her.”

Anne was devastated, even though she knew Kat was safe and sound. “That bastard,” she hissed. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Then there was me. The survivor,” Cathy was finally able to make eye contact with Anne. “I watched him die, and I thought I was free. I remarried, but died barely over a year later.”

“That’s… quite the story,” Anne muttered, unsure of how to process what Cathy told her.

Grabbing Anne’s hands again, Cathy set her face. “That’s not the end. After we died, the six of us woke up in a new world. The 21st century.”

“The what?”

Cathy knew it was hard to believe, but she had to get Anne to understand. “This is going to sound very confusing, but you have to understand what I’m saying.” Anne’s hesitant nod was all Cathy needed to dive in. “Five hundred years in the future, we live in the modern world. We tell our story as Henry’s wives to the world, and we reclaim our lives. You and I are in love in that world,” Cathy said fondly, running her hand over Anne’s, “and all six of us are a family.”

Anne was subconsciously smiling, content with the picture Cathy was painting. But it was shattered as Cathy started choking on her words. “I - I think that - that - that,” she breathed in deeply to control herself, “That this was meant to happen. Us being here.”

“What are you talking about?” As hard as Anne was trying, she couldn’t keep up with Cathy’s mind.

Resuming her pacing, Cathy made a variety of frustrated noises. “It all makes sense, doesn’t it! Right from the start, it’s been set out. I’m not Cathy Parr. Or rather, I’m not the Cathy Parr of this reality.”

Anne took a step forward, attempting to calm Cathy. “I don’t think you’re making much sense.”

“No, it makes perfect sense,” Cathy gasped. “When Kat and I snuck into Mary’s room, the only reason we were in there so long was because I couldn’t write her letter. If I had control of myself, I could’ve written that letter in five minutes. Instead, the actions of the other Cathy Parr, the real Cathy Parr, kept me from completing the letter. And because of that…” Cathy paused her pacing. “Because of that, we met. Anne, don’t you see!” she turned to the captain, “It’s all predestined.”

“What?”

A theory started to weed its way into Cathy’s mind, taking root. “What if, every generation there’s a Catherine Parr and Anne Boleyn. And a Katherine Howard and Anna von Cleves, Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon. We’re all destined to meet again and again in some new reality. Somehow, we all are connected, with ties to Henry.”

All common sense told Anne that Cathy’s theory was impossible. Yet deep inside her, there was some little bit of her that couldn’t help but believe what she was saying. “If you’re right, then why can only you remember this?”

“It must be some fluke in the system,” Cathy ran a hand through her hair. “Clearly I don’t have complete control of my actions. When Anna and I were getting information from Catherine, she asked what was in my satchel. The only thing that I had packed was a journal full of academic teachings, the exact thing Catherine wanted. I would’ve never thought to bring it, yet somehow it ended up in my possession.” There was awe in Cathy’s voice as things started to make sense. “The longer I stay here, the more I speak as you do. I’m speaking as this Cathy Parr would, not as I, my modern self, would.”

Anne nodded her head, understanding what Cathy was trying to say. “Every generation, the six of us are destined to be connected. Somehow, some way, and Henry’s involved.”

“Yes,” Cathy bit her nails, an anxious habit she didn’t know she had. 

“But I’ve never met Jane Seymour or Catherine de Aragon,” Anne frowned. “Surely that doesn’t make sense.”

“I said we were connected, not that each of us have to meet,” Cathy corrected. “Anna, Kat, and I never even met you in our lives as Queens. I - I don’t know Anne, but there’s more to it all than the surface level.”

Sliding back down against the bookcase, Anne rubbed her eyes with her hands. “This is a lot to take in Cathy.”

“I know, I’m sorry Anne,” Cathy came and sat beside Anne. “Just, promise you’ll still love me if I wake up someone else,” she pleaded.

Giving the girl a painful smile, Anne leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I don’t think it’s possible for me not to love you Cathy Parr.”

Giggling, Cathy rested her head on Anne’s shoulder. “I’m so tired,” she whispered, feeling her eyes drift shut. “This is all so much.”

Anne pulled Cathy into her lap and wrapped her arms around the girl. “I’ll be here when you wake up. No matter who you are.” And so Cathy gave in to the darkness.

Jerking out of bed, Cathy spun around, looking for anyone familiar. “Cathy?” Anne groaned beside her, shifting under the sheets. “Are you awake?”

“Shh,” Cathy shushed her girlfriend, slowing her breathing. “Go back to sleep Anne.” The bedroom was dark, exactly as she remembered it when she fell asleep here last. 

“Mmkay,” Anne hummed lucidly, “G’night babe.” Cathy watched her girlfriend fondly, holding back the tears that inexplicably appeared in her eyes.

“Sweet dreams, Anne Boleyn.”

-----------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @totally-not-boleyn-falcon

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Two-Back

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word count: 3406

Well. I didn’t expect to be posting this today but I need get it out of my drafts so it’ll stop haunting me.

This fic is based on personal events that happened during this month last year. It’s gone through several different rewrites before I finally settled on this version of it. It’s a vent, of sorts, I guess. Which means it’s both very close to me and quite dark at the same time. I don’t sugarcoat it, so please pay attention to the trigger warnings. If you can’t handle it, don’t read it. I wrote this more for myself, not for anyone else, but I don’t want it to go to waste, so that’s why I’m posting it.

With all that out of the way... Check the triggers, and I hope you enjoy. I love you all 💕💕

TW: Rape

——————

“Where’s Boleyn?” Snarled the man who had broken into the theater late that night.

“I’m here.” Answered his prey.

Something in her told her to say it. Deep down, she didn’t want to, but it was the only way to protect the queen. If she gave him what he wanted then he would leave. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Sate the hunger within and the beast would settle.

“You look different.” He said, sizing her up.

“Reincarnation sometimes changes the body.” She replied calmly, despite her mounting fear. “I thought you were smart enough to know that, Cromwell.” She knew him from his eyes- cold and hard like chunks of obsidian.

Thomas bared his teeth like a rabid wolf. His gaze is hungry. His forward stride is so quick that Joan couldn’t even think to move, but it didn’t matter anymore, because she’s pinned against the wall of her dressing room. She feels stomach acid creeping up her throat, burning, itching, the urge to expel it all. But her mouth is twisted shut.

“You've wanted this for a long time, eh?” Thomas smirked. “Otherwise you would've pushed me away already.” He knew she couldn’t, for he was pressing hard against her, his weight much greater than hers. “I’ll make it enjoyable for you, I promise. I’m going to do all the things I should have done back then, my lady.”

Thomas’ tongue laps gently against the “queen’s” earlobe before nipping and pulling with his teeth. He bites hard enough to leave a mark and doesn’t stop until his victim yelps.

Joan’s heart aches so bad. It’s like someone’s reaching in with their hand, grasping it so tight, twisting and tugging. Wringing it like a rag. 
Thomas pulls her closer, hugging her against him. Joan can’t breathe for a moment as her face is smothered against his shoulder. He’s sucking on her neck, starting at the side and making his way to the front, to the sensitive part of her throat. Joan is forced to lift her chin, which just gives him more space to bite and mark. She claws at his back.

“Stop-” She hissed. “You f—” She whined sharply when yellow teeth nip on her collarbone. It comes out pained, but Thomas hears a moan of need.

“Do you like that?”

Joan glared at him, but struggled to keep up her strength when Thomas began to make a mess of her chest. He’s pinning her wrists above her head, leaving her helpless to his assault. Slimy trails of saliva are left across her breasts and she cringes.

“Please— Thomas, stop!”

Thomas enjoys the way she pleads his name and starts to bite harder, just to get a reaction.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“Thomas, you-” Joan cuts herself off with a pained noise when Thomas squeezes one of her breasts hard enough to definitely leave bruises. She whimpers and her resolve finally comes crumbling down, along with what feels like her entire life.

Her conscious wavers for a moment. It’s hard to pull it back, as it was far from her reach. Every inch of her body felt numb and she could only squirm helplessly, with each of her movements being slow with fatigue and fear. She barely registers her body crashing to the ground; her eyes shut tightly upon contact with the cold floor.

“Oh, you look so beautiful like this...” Cooed Thomas’ slick voice.

Joan struggled to force her eyelids apart again and moaned softly, head lolling across the ground. A panic attack is rising in her chest.

“The noises you make are almost as cute as...”

For a moment, all her senses were wiped out before coming together again. Colors and light bled together like wet paint on a canvas. She didn’t hear what Thomas had said, but it only took a little common sense to put two and two together.

“T...T...” She tries to speak, but her voice drowns out as her head falls to the ground again. “S..sto...” She can’t get any coherent words out of her damn mouth.

“What’s wrong, my dear Anne? Cat got your tongue?” Thomas croons.

A momentary headache throbs through Joan’s entire skull, making her moan softly in pain. She writhes, kicking out her legs weakly at something that wasn’t there. Thomas notices and chuckles.

“You look so adorable like this.” He said while approaching her, “Like a little baby deer.”

He crouches down, running his fingers over Joan’s clammy cheeks. The tears burn like lava etching trails down her face.

“Moments like these need to be savored.”

“G...go to h...”

“Aww, can’t even finish your threat.” Thomas chuckles and shakes his head. “Now, stop wiggling around. I want to make sure your focus is on me. It’s the only way I can make sure you have a good time.”

Joan eyed him wryly for a moment before doing the exact opposite of what he said, thrashing as much as she could. She tried to scream, but the sound that came out was completely noiseless. A boot drives into her stomach, making her wheeze and then sprawl out limply.

“What did I just say?” Thomas said through his teeth before loosening himself up. “Though, I can’t expect you to get it just yet. After all, it’s your fault we’re in this mess. Anne, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need you. Why won’t you just let me have you?”

Joan is in that half state of unconsciousness again. She’s whimpering and squirming around like a hurt puppy, staring up at Thomas with big grey eyes that only fueled his bloodlust even more.

“My adorable, beautiful little Anne.” He purred.

Bands of hot iron compress Joan’s lungs to a point of bursting. The panic attack rises to the surface and she gasps desperately for air, trying to crawl away from Thomas. Another headache from the anxiety and lack of oxygen lances into her skull like a spear and her eyes are rolling around her in their sockets.

“Now, let’s-” Thomas grunts when Joan manages to kick him in the leg. It doesn’t hurt, but he still glares evilly at her. “You don’t ever learn, do you, bitch?”

Joan scowls at the man.

“But you are such a little fighter, aren’t you? Here you are, crying on the floor, and yet you still try to get away.”

Thomas is turned away, but he’s moving his hands around a lot. Joan doesn’t want to know what he could be fiddling with so she began to search around the room desperately. She ends up finding a broom she had used earlier that day, when things were still okay, and swung it at Thomas’ head. It misses her intended target, but instead slams against his shoulder, which she takes.

“You cunt!” He shrieked, reaching back to see if he had gotten badly hurt. “Do you know what you could have done, you dumb whore?!”

Joan felt a swell of pride. She uses that to get up, but Thomas is suddenly upon her. They tussle and fight, but, try as she might, Joan is no match for the larger, older, clearly-deranged man. The broom is yanked from her hands and her head is smashed against the wall; she swore she could hear the sickening sound of bones breaking. She slumped to the floor, moaning, as Thomas fumbles with her pants and underwear.

“You fucking animal—”

Like that, Joan loses the ability to speak as a searing pain shot through her colon and guts. It takes her breath away; she can’t breathe at all. Her mouth opens and closes frantically, but just can’t understand why she’s unable to pull air inside. It’s because there’s too much inside, too much of the wrong thing, and it’s stuffing her and holding her close and—

“Dear, look at me while I touch you. That’s just common decency don't you think?"

Joan refuses to open her eyes. She wants to lose herself in the suffocation. Thomas pulls her hair.

“Don't be rude.”

She can feel more tears coming- how long had she been crying? She’s shaking her head, whimpering and wheezing as her need for air gets more and more painful.

“N-No..!”

She can't hide the fact that she’s having a panic attack. Her voice is crackling and she sounds snotty. She wants this to stop right now. She tries to ease away, but he’s firmly holding her in place. She keeps muttering “no” over and over again, trying to drown out his voice.

Thomas leans over her more, restraining her with his body weight.

“I said,” White hot pain sears through Joan’s groin, causing her to howl, “Look at me while I touch you, dear.”

She’s dry, and the friction between her legs burns so intensely that it made her see stars. Within moments of only a few thrusts, she already feels raw. The stinging only increases.

All at once, she feels everything- the pain in between her legs, Thomas’ fingernails hooking in her hips, the hand that raised up to fondle one of her breasts, the blazing heat that blooms in her stomach, the broomstick shoved up her rectum. Then, she feels nothing at all.

———

Four hours.

He came in at midnight. It’s now four in the morning.

Four hours.

He tortured her for four hours.

Joan wonders why he didn’t kill her. She wished he did. She wanted the pain to go away.

She lies on the floor of the dressing room, naked, barely away, and struggling to breathe. Her bare, scratched up stomach is splattered with semen- he did her one favor by not coming inside of her. He didn’t want to risk a child from the infidelity.

The broom is lying a few feet away, the end coated in a shiny caking of blood and other fluids. The hole it left in her felt like it would never close.

Joan pushes herself up slowly; the pain is unbearable. It’s a constant, aching thing in her stomach that never seems to relent it’s throbbing. Hot coals were shoveled into each part of her body when she moved again, stoking the raging fires burning inside of her. Her muscles were crackling painfully from the strain of getting up.

She has to clean up the mess left behind. It’s a humiliating, shameful thing. She wipes off her belly and legs and tries to do the same from her vagina and rectum, but they seize up the moment her hands get near, so she leaves them be. The blood congealing between her thighs squelches uncomfortably as she scrubs off the floor with a rag (not a mop. she doesn’t want to feel the similarities of the broomstick). It bubbles and smears and sticks on her skin, sometimes running down the length of her legs and Joan has to quickly swipe the trail away. It’s like wiping away the tears of her ruined virginity.

Every air freshener in the building is sprayed in that room. Joan doesn’t know if it’s enough to mask the scent of sex and blood and sperm because she can still smell it, but she can only hope.

The broom is cleaned and hidden. Joan never wants to see it again.

She puts on her clothes from before once she’s finally done. The pants get soaked instantly and the underwire of her bra cuts painfully into the bruises left behind on her breasts. She deals with it, though. She needs to for a little bit longer.

She limps home on unsteady legs. Every step is absolute agony. When she gets to her single flat, she makes a beeline for the bathtub and stays there until the water is cold. Laying down like she was is uncomfortable. She’s worried about how bad it’ll be when she needs to use the bathroom.

She makes herself a cup of tea when she’s changed in fresh clothes. It soothes her abused throat, but it hurts to swallow. The warmth is good for her regardless. Wash away the taste. Force down whatever stickiness is still latched against her esophagus. She takes a painkiller as well.

The TV stays on tonight. The darkness is unwanted. She lies down on her side on the couch when laying on her back and stomach both prove to be painful. She makes sure she can still see the door. She’s made sure it’s locked twice.

Joan knows she probably won’t sleep, and she knows that’s to be expected. She’s prepared for it. She knows how this works.

———

Joan smiles shyly at Aragon. She rolls her eyes at Kitty. She helps Cathy with an original song. She follows the director’s orders.

She avoids physical contact. Which is normal. It’s what people who experienced what she did, do. Nothing to be ashamed of, just a typical reaction.

The others don’t suspect a thing, and she’s relieved. It isn’t easy to cope with what happened, but she’s confident that if she just kept at it, by herself, she can do it. There’s no need to confide in anyone—especially Anne. They don’t need to know.

Nobody needs to know.

———

It’s October, now. Five months have passed. Joan has recovered.

Physically speaking, her vagina and rectum eventually closed back up to normal sizes and using the bathroom became less painful as time went on. It’s still sensitive down there, but not as bad as it used to be. The bruises on her breast have healed, too, and the hickeys Thomas left behind were no longer visible.

Mentally, however... Well, Joan was working on it. She was really good at hiding what happened, masking it and twisting it around until it seemed harmless. It wasn’t, she knew, but she let the illusion remain.

The little things tipped her off. Hearing the word “rape” or seeing it happen shows or something like that didn’t phase her. She knew most of it was fiction, and there was a fine line between reality and make believe. However, she couldn’t stand to look at broomsticks anymore. As shameful as that was.

The nightmares start, too, but they’re an on and off thing. Her dreams are mostly blank, now. The memories only shove their way in when they want to taunt her, teasing her mind with their horrible tendrils.

Therapy’s supposed to be beginning, but, somehow, she knows she’ll still have nightmares of his naked body, his disheveled hair, and fingers inside her. Sometimes she dreams of monsters on top of her, pinning her down, licking her, knotting her, smashing their mouths against hers, clawing and groping and grasping. Sometimes she dreams of just watching that happen from a distance, and it’s Anne beneath the beast.

Sometimes she wishes she had let that happen.

It’s selfish, she knows. She knows all too well about selfishness and envy. But, God willing, when Joan wakes in the night, shaking and shivering and trying not to scream, the comfort of the incident happening to someone else that wasn’t her is the only thing that could soothe her.

She can feel it sometimes, too. Fingers forcing their way in. Tongues lapping her breasts. Teeth tugging her ear.

And it burned, burned, burned...

But Joan copes. She forgets—that’s a better word for it. She doesn’t nurture herself or make herself stronger, she just tries to pretend it didn’t happen. And when she does recognize it, she jokes about the incident with herself because it’s the only way to make it hurt less.

People don’t like when she jokes about it. They found it rude and offensive. She didn’t see it that way. It was a coping mechanism. Telling her to stop is what was rude and offensive.

But there weren’t that many people that knew. She didn’t share it often. Only sometimes on her secret social media account, which is where the backlash stems from. She preferred it that way. And then she messed it all up.

It happened too quickly for her to really comprehend it. She was sitting by Anne during a lunch break before their next show, trying not to isolate herself anymore. Anne was talking with the other queens. They all had a tendency to joke about their experiences with Henry, especially Anne, who didn’t really have any boundaries, as she wasn’t phased by dark humored jokes. So that’s why she had made some offhand, but subtle comment about dubious consent, and Joan just had to open her mouth and say something on agreeing to that. She didn’t even realize she did it until she looked up from her granola bar to see eyes on her.

“What?” She blinked.

“What did you say?” Anne said to her.

What Joan had blurted out hit her like a freight train. Instead of replying, she just went back to chewing her snack, hoping everyone would just move on, but then Anne grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to an empty room.

“What happened?” Anne asked.

Joan doesn’t answer. She looks at Anne with wide eyes and she can feel the queen’s anxiety smothering her, but she can’t answer. The words are caught in her throat.

“Joan,” Anne’s voice lowered. Her eyes are bulging in their sockets.

Joan was dizzy, falling, the world and everything she knew rushing past her.

You saved her, you saved her, you saved her- She kept repeating that in her head, but it brought her no comfort. She wasn’t a hero. Especially because she sometimes wishes she never did what she did.

“Did someone...?”

Anne didn’t need to elaborate. She’s heard and seen enough context clues from the other queens to know signs.

Joan swallowed thickly, and then nodded.

“Oh my god—” Anne reared back in shock, as if the gesture had taken a physical form and punched her in the stomach. She took Joan’s hands in her own. “Oh my god, Joan. When? What happened?”

“A few months ago,” Joan stammered. The floodgates have opened. She couldn’t keep it back anymore. “He— Some guy— Cromwell is alive and he broke into the theater looking for you. S-so I...”

“Oh, Joan, no—”

“I told him I was you.” Joan whispered.

Anne went very still, very silent, very pale. Her eyes widen and widen, and a quiet tear slowly rolls out from one side. Her hands, which still held Joan’s, have tightened. For a moment, it didn’t even look like she was breathing—she just stared forward, over Joan’s head, not even meeting her gaze, and held perfectly still.

And then, she’s jerking backwards and storming out of the door. She paces back and forth, hands up at her head and tangled in her hair as she tries to breathe but it didn’t seem to be working well for her. More tears were streaming down her reddening face. The other queens looked over worriedly.

“It’s my fault,” Anne muttered. Over and over again—she got lost in that single phrase like she was in a trance. Joan was scared to snap her out of it, but she had to speak up.

“No it isn’t—”

“YES IT IS!!” Anne whirled to her, face flaming, eyes ablaze with guilt and despair and rage. “He was looking for ME, Joan! I-if I had just been there, then I could have—“ She clamped a hand over her mouth and screwed her eyes just.

“I saved you!” Joan cried. “I couldn’t let him hurt you! This— this is my—”

“No,” Anne shook her head miserably. She grabbed Joan’s forearms and held on so tight it hurt. “No, Joan, no! You-you should haven’t— You—”

“I WASN’T GOING TO LET HIM HURT YOU!!” Joan yelled. “I don’t CARE what happens to me as long as you’re okay! I want YOU to be alright! I want YOU to be safe!” Her voice cracks, wavers, and the tears spill free. They sting her eyes like hot needles. “Because— because I— I let so many people hurt you. Back then. And I didn’t do anything to help you. I could have, but I—” She chokes for a moment and dips her head. “I saved you. It’s what I couldn’t do before. And it’s what I deserve.”

Anne’s legs buckle and she falls to her knees. Her arms wind tightly around Joan and she sobs into her stomach. Above her, Joan is still, hands hovering over the queen, until she, too, falls.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. They were both crying too hard to talk at this point, anyway.

[sweetestrequiems]

New Day, Same Queen

Summary: The queens have been reincarnated into their new bodies. They have a lot of emotions and they are confused by what’s going on. Some of them are more emotional than the others. Welcome to the modern age, Queens of Six.

Part Four of Six: Anna von Kleve (Eng.: Anna of Cleves)

A/N: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -Cleves is kinda angsty and that’s my fault, but like... Cleves is always given fluff and I’ve nothing against that. Yeah, this has an okay-ish ending, but this is arguably one of the more emotional parts. Howard’s is the most emotional, in my opinion. 

Tag List: @aveasorae | @watercolored-lemonade | @boombiotch | @patdfobmcr-yt | @everything-insanity | @silverpetals97 

––––––––––

October 22nd, 2019.

Mornings were no longer truly quiet in what was to become the Tudor household in the next few days.

The downstairs level of the residence was quite lively. The first, second, and sixth wives of the late king of England were pretty much having a casual conversation over a cup of tea. It was almost as if nothing had really happened between them in their past lives. A few laughs could be heard here and there, but mostly it was chatter that wasn’t discernible. A groan came from (quite unironically) the red queen. The fourth wife of Henry.

The German, Anna of Cleves.

Sitting up, she ran her hands through her hair and yawned. “Alive again? Maybe this is all just a bad dream.” And so, the woman laid back down and closed her eyes. But this immediately backfired when she shot back up with a realization. “WAIT A SECOND. I DIED ALREADY. THIS CAN’T BE A DREAM.” Fear began to sink in as the covers were pretty much ripped off of the bed and she hurried to the closest mirror. It was no joke, she was alive. With her hands on her cheeks, she just gave one good look at herself.

“I’m alive again? How? This isn’t possible, it has to be witchcraft or something. Maybe this is all a fever dream, right?”

The chatter from the lower floor was telling that this indeed was NOT a fever dream.

“I’m actually alive. This looks like the future, I swear…”

Well, Cleves, you’re not wrong. You’ve found yourself in what’s the future to you, but modern day to the rest of the world. This isn’t old age England anymore. With a sigh, the fourth wife finds herself a bit defeated. “The possibilities of this happening are… next to none. Wait… Amalia!” The thought of her sister came rushing into her head. Amalia had to be alive if she was… right?

The fear began to set in.

Amalia of Cleves surely had to be alive.

Her beloved sister surely had to be alive with her. Why would Amalia not be with Anna?

Opening the door to her room, Cleves almost frantically began to look around the top floor. Aragon and Parr were the names on the other doors. The hope was slowly beginning to drain from her eyes. Could it be so that her sister wasn’t alive after all? It took a sinking moment, but her chest immediately collapsed under its own weight. The tears silently fell from the red queen’s eyes, her hand tightly gripping to the railing of the stairs. A few sniffles were the noise she let out. Angry was a good way to describe her, but saddened was another one. The Cleves sisters, both sought out by the king, and Anna was the one to have gone to England.

“N-Nein, das kann nicht wahr sein! Amalia kann nicht tot sein…”

A bit of a broken voice. While she was happy to have been given a second chance at life, this… this was not what she wanted. “Sie kann es nicht sein, oder? Aber… vielleicht ist sie es. Und vielleicht kann ich nichts dagegen machen.” In a dark way, she was right. There wasn’t much she could do about being the surviving Cleves sister. And while this broke her heart, the fourth wife had to buck up and compose herself. She needed to investigate the noises coming from the bottom floor.

The slight rustling from the stairs got the attention of the other wives.

“Did somebody else wake up?” Anne Boleyn raised an eyebrow, the mug of tea in her hands being set down on the table. Catherine Parr and Catherine of Aragon both exchanged glances, unsure of who was the person coming down the stairs. When they saw the fourth wife, all three of them raised their eyebrows. Anne Boleyn was the one who managed to get anything out. “That’s… that’s the other door on your floor. This must be another one of his wives.”

“Wo bin ich?” She knew English, she however, did not want to actually speak it until she was sure that the three ladies in front of her were to be trusted. Catherine of Aragon’s face immediately dropped upon the realization that this was the other wife that she and Anne had discussed just the day she woke up. The German wife. With a sigh, Aragon shook her head.

“Do any of you speak German, by any chance?” Catherine Parr pulled on the collar of her shirt. It was a safe bet to say they did not speak German.

“Was sind eure Namen? Mine Name is Anna von Kleve.”

“Cleves. Anna of Cleves! That’s the fourth wife of us. So, we’re missing… the third and the fifth, apparently?” Boleyn’s eyes look the woman up and down. “Cleves is your last name, right?” A rather simple “Ja.” was the response.

“Do you speak any English, Anna?”

“Nein, ich spreche kein Englisch.”

“She doesn’t speak English,” there’s a defeated sigh from Catherine Parr. “We have a problem. We can’t talk to her if she doesn’t–”

“Es war nur ein Witz!” The German let out a laugh. “I do speak English, I’m just pulling your leg. I’m Anna. But I did want to know, who are you ladies? You seem to be good friends.” A bit of a smile from the German. Anna knew she had to hide the fact she was grieving over her sister’s death from centuries ago.

“Catalina de Aragón, but I’m called Catherine in English. I was the first wife.”

“Anne Boleyn, and I speak French, not German. I was the second wife.”

“Catherine Parr. I wrote books, psalms, and meditations. I was the sixth wife.”

“We all share one thing in common then. We’re all Henry’s wives. I was the fourth wife. Shipped over from a foreign country to marry the man. A surprisingly interesting experience. Anyways, where exactly are we? I’m a bit lost.” Anne motioned for Anna to join them, and she did. “We’re in modern day London. Everything is… so different. We have a Queen, and she’s seen more as a figurehead and not a political influence. Can you believe it?”

“It’s crazy how things change in such a span of time. But, the best thing of it all… is that we get a second chance at life!”

“It’s truly a miracle. I might be able to write another book.”

Cleves seemed to remain silent. Her mind was quite fixed on the fact she did not have her sister. The sudden positivity in the room became worry as the red queen said not a word, and the blue one was the one to spark up the conversation. “You seem like you have something bothering you, Anna. Almost like you’re not too excited to be alive.”

“I didn’t exactly think I’d be coming back to life without my younger sister,” her gaze looks up. Cleves did look quite defeated in a sense. Boleyn herself nodded, sharing the sentiment but on a different scale. “I only thought about myself, I’ll be honest with you. But I didn’t realize Elizabeth wouldn’t be alive, either. I miss my daughter, really…” The look in her eyes sympathized with Cleves. “But I read really, really great things about her. And… it’s the fond times that matter, Anna.”

Aragon was not as lucky to say her daughter was… as good as her sister. Parr just pulled on her collar and looked away. She was having a moment herself.

“We all have one thing in common aside from Henry, and that’s the fact we all have someone we miss. And life is going to suck without them, but… y’know, I think we can always move along with it so long as we remember those people in our hearts, right? That’s got to count for something,” Boleyn’s expression began to turn into more of a smile. She stood up, and gave glances to the other three women. “I know! How about we all go out today and explore London? See how the place has changed and maybe if we find where our loved ones are buried, we go pay our respects?”

The other three ladies seemed to have perked up at that idea. Even Cleves, despite the fact that she’d have to head to Düsseldorf a day on her lonesome.

“And Anna, where did your sister live? In Germany?”

“Amalia? Yes, she did.”

A smile from Anne Boleyn, and smirks from the Catherines. “We’ll go to Germany one day. And we’ll go visit her resting place. All of us! We’ll go as a group and be there for you. How does that sound?”

The German queen just smiled, feeling at ease with her newfound friends. “Das klingt wunderbar.”

Welcome to the modern age, Anna of Cleves. A woman of rather humbling circumstances and power. Now, that woman is here to show others how to keep trucking through the hard times. Two of you remain to wake up. Will the mother to the throne, Jane Seymour, be the one to arise? That answer is to come soon. But, you all have such an important and greater purpose in this life. You’re one of a kind, no category. Too many years, lost in history. You’re free to take your crowning glory for five more minutes. You’re SIX.

[oh-boleyn]

catherine / infamy

words: 5733, one shot, language: english

anne / jane /  katherine / catherine

this was posted on ao3 some days ago and I have been since debating to post it here or not. except for this series I will stop posting here probably, and just move to my ao3

TW: I think this one only has as tw Catherine's story (kidnapping, dying in childbirth, etc) plus self deprication... if anyone thinks this one needs more tw please tell me 

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Catherine Parr

Catherine Parr will always be known as the queen who got away.

(…)

Her breath is heavy, the air denser than it should be.

But it slowly gets better, to the point she opens her eyes and the light doesn’t hurt. Sitting, she can recognize Katherine Howard, the girl for who she was a lady-in-waiting. Anna of Cleves is also sitting, a lost expression on her face. A woman with blonde hair that makes her think of the various portraits she saw in the palace. Just by counting the people in the room, she can easily assume who the rest of them are.

After all, she was the last of them.

(…)

Catherine’s father died when she was five years old and so her education was left to her mother, who educated Catherine to a high standard. 

(…)

Catherine never loved moving.

Usually she got too attached to a place, and changes were definitely not her favourite thing.

(Moving centuries felt like a torture – not that she would ever admit it out loud.)

Their new house was small, smaller than any castle she ever lived in. She had to share a bedroom with her godmother with whom she never had a relationship, and the third queen, mother of the kid she saw getting the crown.

Sometimes at night the house made her think of Snape Castle. Of nights fearing for her life. Being the survivor didn’t mean her life was any easier. Those nights she preferred to avoid sleeping in case the faces of John and Margaret might appear in her dreams.

Instead she would just scroll through articles and articles on her phone, trying to understand any actual device that was out to the public, or what did spot on meant. At least being productive made her feel less useless. After years of new information missed, she could really use new research.

(…)

Sometimes alternatively spelled Katherine, Katheryn, Kateryn or Katharine.

(…)

Catherine can’t help but feel powerless when thinking about Katherine Howard.

She was just a child. A teen, who Catherine couldn’t save. Her mind didn’t work fast enough to help the girl, who died such a tragic, grotesque death, leaving Parr her place as queen. Maybe if Parr was smart enough, she could’ve done something else.

But she wasn’t.

She loved to lie, to make everyone believe her, but deep down she knew nothing more than that, a lie. An elaborated act that took years to construct. A character, a fake line, an improvised scene that went day after day. Because Catherine didn’t think of herself as intelligent, just a very good actress, fooling everyone into thinking she was smart.

She wished it was true.

Instead she had to live with the guilt of knowing what she did. She was not the hero, not the survivor, not the scholar queen.

Catherine Parr was a fool who couldn’t save Howard, nor Margaret, nor Elizabeth, nor Lady Jane Grey. Her hands were filled with the blood and tears of all the girls at her care; she never had the chance to rescue, instead just assisting to their downfall. And her mind won’t stop her from repeating the names time and time again.

(…)

Catherine was known for her love of learning and for her fluency in languages such as Latin, French and Italian.

(…)

“What do you want to know?” The last queen questions.

Her godmother had been moving the whole night, buzzing around her. It was almost becoming annoying, except that there was a warmness, an incapability of getting mad knowing how close her mother and the woman once were.

“What makes you think I want to know something?” Aragon retorts.

“You seem nervous, if you want to know something just ask ahead. I won’t get mad.”

She internally prays for Aragon not to ask her something about Spanish, or worse, Latin or Italian. Languages felt more complicated and overwhelming in the twenty-first century, featuring strange mixes between them.

(Apparently, Spanglish was a thing.)

She is not sure if any other question would be good, at all. Catherine is supposed to know all the answers, to be educated, to distinguish, to be useful. Since arriving in this century her mind has been confused, mixing up languages and dates. Blocked, broken.

“Curiosity is not such a good trait.” The older woman speaks, almost robotically, just repeating words she probably heard time and time again.

Catherine would be lying if she said that was the first time she heard those words. Her curiosity was not exactly an attribute in her past life, but she maintained it through the end of her days, always looking forward to learning. A craving for intelligence heavier than the one for safety.

“It’s alright, really.”

“What happened when I died?”

The question comes out quickly, making Parr hold a breath.

“When you died…” She starts, trying to remember only important details. “Anne and Henry were still married, but she lost the pregnancy. She had three miscarriages. You can imagine how Henry reacted.”

Catherine nods, aware of Anne’s thick scar.

“Jane went next. I can’t remember a lot from her reign, for it was short and I wasn’t at court at the time,” she winces, trying not to show her stiffness when talking about it, “Henry asked for her to be painted in every family portrait, even after she died. He really tried to secure the line of succession for Edward, what a shame he died so young. In his attempts to have another son, Henry married Anna. She wasn’t bad, just probably a lot for him to handle.”

“She seems like a lot.” Catherine speaks, judging tone in her voice.

“Don’t say that, she is actually sweet. Henry couldn’t kill her, politics involved, so they settled for an annulment. Then Katherine came. She was naïve, a child. I was a lady-in-waiting for her, and it is true she might have been childish, but she was –is, I suppose– a good person.”

“I feel like all of them know more than me,” Aragon explains, “but I don’t want to read about them, it’s like invading their privacy.”

“I did. Most sources are from after we died, none of them completely true.” Catherine admits. “We should be able to tell our story.”

“We should.”

(…)

Catherine is known for reuniting Henry’s children with their father and bringing them back to court. 

(…)

The opening night for the show is nerve-wracking to say the least.

Anna almost cursed at Catherine because, after all, it was her idea. Parr stays silent, knowing that the fourth queen is nervous to her very core. She also knows that the show has to be done.

They could only live off doing interviews for some time. She learnt that the internet worked in mysterious ways, and nothing stayed new for too long. People grew tired, and interviews were less and less often.

But after the play, it feels right. Even her godmother is smiling, her own reluctance to create the play long forgotten. People cheer around them, the band still firm on their spots but clapping their hands.

For a moment it feels good to be in the spotlight.

(…)

Catherine was an attractive and intelligent woman, who combined the intelligence and wit of Anne Boleyn with the prudence and diplomacy of Catherine of Aragon.

(…)

“Anne, wake up.”

Boleyn opens her eyes. Her hands were still holding her phone. That little technological device that holds so much information about everything. Catherine wonders what she was doing, what could have been so important that she didn’t go to bed.

“You should go to your room, Kat and Anna might be waiting for you.” She says with a soft voice, trying not to wake anyone else in the house.

The second queen has big, bright green eyes. There is a sparkle of wit that Catherine can’t shake her head off. She looks like Elizabeth, the same curiosity shining through. The way she carries herself, as if she still was the queen. The secrecy, how every word holds another meaning.

Anne stood up, going to her bedroom.

“Goodnight Anne.”

“Night, Parr.”

Elizabeth is dead, and they aren’t. Catherine never had a chance to amend their problems, instead she died. Never getting to see Elizabeth as queen was going to be something she would always regret.

The internet said she was a great queen, and it didn’t surprise Parr at all.

(…)

Elizabeth was won over by Catherine’s warmth and intelligence.

(…)

Catherine Parr was never a protagonist, and she prided herself on it. Being a writer was more important to her. Narrators lived long enough to tell the heroes stories. She was observant. Silent, but good at knowing all the gossip. Being invisible was an advantage, it could keep you alive.

(That is if you didn’t die because of childbirth, obviously.)

Even in the play, she made it known. Her make-up in earthly tones, and she wears a blue costume. Blue was serene, trying not to be noticed. She didn’t talk as much as the other queens, relegating her story just to her last verses.

Catherine Parr was a narrator, not a protagonist, and she was aware of it.

That was why, when watching the queens, she felt so inclined to give them as much attention as she could. Catherine wouldn’t write their stories, that would be not okay if she tried to keep the fake peace that reigned the house, but she could surely find striking inspiration at any moment.

She discovered that none of them were having the best time in their new lives. They didn’t treat it as a brand-new chance to be happy, instead they were bonded to the past, to their own time. It felt like whatever brought them back just did it so they could act as robots half of the time, not trusting each other to talk seriously for more than a couple of minutes.

Catherine wonders if the other queens also notice how much she is struggling.

(…)

However, the quick-thinking Catherine Parr managed to save her head by pleading with Henry and persuading him that she had only argued with him in an attempt to help him forget about the pain caused by his leg ulcer and to learn from him.

Henry forgave her.

(…)

They move. Again. She knows it’s for the better, but she can’t help feeling weirded out by the new house. At least it allows them each to have a room of their own, a privacy she certainly craved.

She takes the basement, which is the colder room in the house. It feels comfortable, after all the years of living in palaces makes you feel that way about cold, big rooms. Her bed, even if it is double size, doesn’t fill more than a quarter of the room, leaving her space for a big desk and a bookshelf.

Catherine counts all the books once before starting packing, twice after saving them and another time as soon as she arrives. The feeling that she probably lost one doesn’t disappear, even if she doesn’t know what book she lost.

(Maybe because most of her books are destroyed after five hundred years of not caring for them.

Not like those books are useful anymore.)

(…)

According to Foxe, she began “frankly to debate with the king touching religion, and therein flatly to discover herself; oftentimes wishing, exhorting, and persuading the king.”

(…)

Doing research is exhausting to say the least.

The bright white screen makes her eyes ache after watching it for a while, and her hands don’t work quickly on the keyboard. She can’t even write as fast as she could in her old life, her letters clumsy and often having problems with gripping the new pens.

What makes it the worst, is that she feels so stupid when trying to do it. Languages vary when time progresses, that much she always knew, but trying to read an article sometimes becomes impossible, with words such as quantum entanglement or Newtonian physics. It infuriates her, not being able to understand.

Once upon a time she knew it all, about God, history, languages. But now it felt as if her brain just stopped working. Everything went faster than she could, leaving her behind, useless to a new world into which she never asked to be brought.

Sometimes she hates modernism and its complexity.

Still, Catherine puts on an act every day, talking about penicillin and ibuprofen, explaining history to Anna and focusing on appearing smart. Because, after all, that was all she ever knew. All she ever had was owned for being smart, to know how to play a King’s game, and getting away with it.

If she wasn’t smart, she was nothing.

(…)

Catherine certainly believed herself to be in danger and, had she not acted decisively, it is likely that Henry would have allowed her to be arrested and, perhaps, executed.

(…)

“Cathy, por favor, ayúdame con esto.” Her godmother asks, while going through some files. “I know you were good at Spanish.”

Parr holds a breath. She once could speak it fluently, but lately it’s pained her into having problems with it.

“I was reading this book, and wondered if della and del were still being used? Or is it old Spanish?”

Catherine didn’t know the answer at all. How was she supposed to? If she could barely understand it. She wanted to scream, to explain that she had no actual clue. She wanted to pull away her façade of being smart and just admitting that it was too hard for her.

“I think it’s safer to use de la instead of a contracción.” Cathy says, praying to be right.

“Gracias querida.” Aragon winks at her.

Parr was really hoping she was right.

(…)

Catherine Parr - The Scholar Queen.

(…)

Catherine was a writer, she even went as far as publishing books under her name, the name of a queen, in a patriarchal society.

Catherine Parr was a writer because it was all she had ever done. Every reason why she wanted to be remembered was because she was a writer. She didn’t care about her husbands, not even Thomas who she truly thought she loved. She didn’t want to be remembered as a queen, only as a writer.

(She sometimes thought that if being a writer was enough for her, in that case, she would’ve lived longer, but of course she needed to have a man in her life.)

Talking about her past as a writer gave her the peace of mind she didn’t have for standing behind men her whole life.

Behind a great man, there is always a great woman.

Except that she was behind John Neville, a distant catholic cousin who’s actions ended up with her being kidnapped; Henry the VIII, an egomaniac poor excuse of king who got as far as killing two of his wives (almost her killed too); and last but not least, Thomas Seymour, a power starved moron.

Was she just like them? Was she the only one guilty of her past life? An egomaniac who couldn’t save Katherine Howard? A power-starved former queen who let harm come to her most loved stepdaughter? Or just a moron who couldn’t protect anyone, not even herself?

Catherine was a writer, because thinking about her own mistakes was harder than just doing what she always did, telling other people’s ones.

(…)

Catherine Parr was in fact the cleverest and most passionate of Henry VIII's six wives, says Derek Wilson.

(…)

Catherine wasn’t a big fan of the rain.

She didn’t mind it, and enjoyed the sounds of the water drops when she was writing, but being in closed spaces sometimes became too much, too claustrophobic. She loved walking just a little every day, going to the theatre in the afternoon or to the grocery shop, but with the weather it wasn’t possible.

Usually on days like that she would just get herself isolated from the queens, her anxiety building up as she tried to behave and not explode. Try to pass as if she doesn’t even exist, guarding her feelings and nerves to herself.

She told the queens she would be writing in her room, and to just call her when it was time to eat. No one checked up on her. No one gave her tea, or coffee. Even when the clock hit the time for dinner –she had been staring at it for the last five minutes, hyper aware of the time being–, they called her up three minutes and fifty-two seconds later than what she would have liked.

(…)

In her will, dated 23 March 1545, Margaret stated that she was unable to render Catherine sufficient thanks 'for the godly education and tender love and bountiful goodness which I have evermore found in her Highness'.

(…)

It feels harder on her than the rest of the queens. The feeling of not belonging, of not understanding. Even with Jane their relationship is not close — not that it can be, the third queen always storming off or barely talking.

She feels like an outsider, not knowing where she is standing.

Catherine has always been cordial, but there’s a thought in the back of her mind that says that it is only out of duty. Of an old debt to her mother, and not real love. Even after long talks over tea, and trips to the mall, Cathy feels that their relationship is still empty. Out of place, fake.

Parr can’t help but dream about feeling loved again, truly loved, something that she has not known for a long time. But it scares her, Margaret ended up dying young, Elizabeth had to suffer, Jane Grey had a horrible death.

Maybe she didn’t need their love, because each time someone loved her, they ended up dead.

(…)

Catherine enjoyed a close relationship with Henry's three children and was personally involved in the education of Elizabeth I and Edward VI.

(…)

She enters the kitchen, just to see Anne and Anna with an apple pie in the middle of the table.

“I want pie.” She states.

“Magic word?” Anne teases her, a smirk on her lips.

“Je t'aime beau cul.”

Boleyn laughs, in a way that it makes her stomach turn. It’s mocking, clearly not laughing with Catherine, but rather at her.

“What? What did I say wrong?”

“You pronounced the last part wrong, it’s beaucoup, no beau cul.”

Catherine can feel her face turning red, almost burning. Of course, she was going to mess up pronunciation after years without trying. Now Anne was mocking her, and she felt ridiculed, uncomfortable.

“Why is it so funny?” Anna interrupts, maybe picking up the humiliating situation, “she just messed up pronunciation, it’s not that bad.”

“Instead of saying ‘I love you so much’ she said “I love you, nice ass’.”

Parr chuckles painfully, dreading Anna’s giggling.

“Don’t worry, mon petit chou.” Anne grabs a plate and settles a slice of the pie. “A sweet, for a sweetheart.”

She winks an eye to Parr, easing the air around the writer.

(…)

The dowager queen promised to provide education for her.

(…)

Catherine tries to get it out, to calm herself down after a nightmare.

She takes some paper and a pen, even though it feels uncomfortable in her hand, and tries to write about it. Catherine forces the memories on her brain. Attempts to remember every detail, the face of fear Margaret held, frustrating not to confuse it with the face of the girl dying. Parr thinks of John, of the aggressive men he became.

And she writes messy and clumsy letters, focusing only on what she has to say and not how she says it. Working hard distracts her for almost the whole night, finishing with a good amount of paper in possession, and her hand smeared with ink.

Catherine considers reading it, but ultimately decides against it, walking to the kitchen as fast as she can.

She lets it burn, page by page, word by word. Parr lets it burn as if she never cared for it, something so personal that it won’t be good for even her to read. She knows that the queens will ask the next day, but she can’t help herself to care. She lets it burn.

(…)

She loved fine clothes, jewels and intelligent company.

(…)

Catherine wishes she had a real idea of when to stop, but apparently, she wasn’t born with it.

Most of the time, the queens won’t shush her, instead acting as if they hear what she has to say. Acting being the key word. Once Cathy was so into her monologue, she would discover how uninterested her eyes looked, wandering around the room and just humming in response instead of talking actual real words. In that moment she would try to cut herself short, wrap the idea quicker than expected.

Anna would try to keep up, being amicable enough, but the inadequacy was something the survivor couldn’t shake off. Even when the fourth queen tries to talk, Cathy will already anticipate the truth. She pitied her, knowing how her life was and ended, and it was just a way to show it. She pushed Anna away, not telling her any weird facts. She didn’t want to be a poor fool.

(…)

In 1543, she published her first book, Psalms or Prayers, anonymously.

(…)

“I’m just… so afraid to talk sometimes.”

Catherine thought that, but the words didn’t come out of her mouth, but rather from Boleyn’s.

“I got killed for that, and I can’t help it. I feel like I need to control everything.”

“But you don’t.” Parr confirms. “Also, you can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can control yourself, with whom you hang out, you can control things such as the tone of your words, but if someone wants to hate you, they will. You can’t control nature, not yours, nor from others.” Catherine ponders.

She wishes that she could follow her own advice, but it’s hard. That doesn’t mean that Catherine is not hoping for Anne to do so, to be happier than she is. Maybe that if she can help the woman, Parr can redeem herself.

“Thank you, I think I needed to hear it.” The green-eyed talks.

“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”

She brushes off the guilt of being egoistic that tries to settle on her mind.

 (…)

According to biographer Linda Porter, the story that as a child, Catherine could not tolerate sewing and often said to her mother "my hands are ordained to touch crowns and sceptres, not spindles and needles" is almost certainly apocryphal.

(…)

Catherine wants to give up writing, knowing that it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Everything is too personal, too old, too weird. Old languages long forgotten mixing with new ones, words that haven’t existed before now complicated to use.

Apparently, Shakespeare by himself invented around a thousand seven hundred words. Just by one person.

The idea of the new vocabulary overwhelms her mind. So much she doesn’t know and is not sure if she ever will. But a part of her longs for it, for the feeling of release that writing could sometimes bring. Catherine has faith about being able to be valuable, to tell stories, to do good, to give something to the world.

Parr decides to just take her time, to write as best as she can. She can’t do more than her best.

(…)

Between October 1536 and April 1537, Catherine lived alone in fear with her step-children, struggling to survive.

(…)

“Are you okay, Catherine?” Kat asks.

It was her third attempt at it. Nothing she wrote felt right. There was just so much missed, so much to do. She couldn’t focus on the paragraphs.

“Yes, just can’t seem to get this done.” She straightens her spine.

Did always sitting hurt as much?

“What is it about?” The teenager wonders.

“Just about Spain history, and the colonies.”

“Can I read?”

“Yes. I will make tea.” Parr handles the computer to the girl.

She stretches her spine and goes around preparing the drink.

Catherine is not sure if she would let any other queen read what she wrote. Katherine is different, had always been. Even in her time as queen, even when it all happened. She was smart, but not outspoken. Polite yet truthful.

“It is good, really.” Howard says.

“I can sense a “but”.” Catherine laughs anxiously, dreading the critic.

“You are only taking one side; you should know how Spain sent a lot of people from the church on missions to re-educate the natives. Las misiones Jesuitas. Politics and religion were more connected than what this made it look like.”

“That’s… Very true.” She feels bad about not emphasising it as much but brushes it off for the sake of the conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in history. It’s great,” she insists when Katherine looks at her with big eyes, “if you ever want to work together, you know where to find me.”

(…)

Her second book was a success and widely praised.

(…)

Organizing was never her favourite thing to do. She loved to be messy, scattered paper all around her. Pens out, in the most unexpected places, just in case creativity strikes unexpectedly. The way her manuscripts could look so good, better now that she gave herself time to practice her letters surprised when people saw the chaos in the one she wrote.

Jane was the opposite, neat, having high expectations of finding whatever she left in the place she left it. She was exigent, hard on herself to be organized, in places where Catherine couldn’t care less. That was until everything became way too much and she had to just clean a little. Parr admired Jane, appreciated how much she did, how smart and balanced she had learned to become.

With her papers settled, her pens saved, she gives a look at her room. It feels quiet, harmonized.

(…)

The popular myth that Catherine Parr acted more as her husband's nurse than his wife was born in the 19th century from the work of Victorian moralist and proto-feminist, Agnes Strickland.

(…)

Someone knocks the door to her room twice, and Catherine gets surprised. Almost nobody came to her room, it being almost the farthest one from the rest of the queens. She also never gave any indication of having nightmares like Katherine, so no one would check on her.

“Come in!” She says, despite her wonder.

“Hey there.” Aragon greets. “I just got Kat to sleep.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Yes, but those are getting better, I think. Therapy is helping.” She explains. “But I wanted to check on you.”

Catherine makes room for her in the bed, which she quickly understands. The divorcee sits in the bed, and the survivor wraps herself, getting comfortable in the hug. It’s familiar, an old memory from court in a past life, but a good one. A peaceful, tranquil moment before knowing better.

“Oh, hermosa.” The first queen squeezes her goddaughter. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just… so tired.” She confesses.

She doesn’t precisely know of what she is tired. The intrusive thoughts of hundreds of years, Thomas and how she was a fool. Of hiding her silliness, trying to be better, always better, but never reaching an end. She is tired of feeling bad, of feeling locked into her own expectations. She feels tired of trying to be happier, to be smarter, to be liked.

And there are so many feelings that she just breaks, sobbing into her namesake’s arms.

“Even geniuses need sleep, amor.”

“Don’t call me that.” Cathy bickers.

“Call you what?”

“A genius. I’m not.” She cries. “I want to be dumb; I want to stop overthinking for a second. I’m not smart, I promise you I’m not but please stop expecting things from me I can’t be a disappointment.”

“Mi vida.”

Aragon makes a pattern on her back, trying to soothe her. It doesn’t precisely work, instead she just continues sobbing, letting lots of tears that she has saved for such a long time flow freely. She sniffles out of pure frustration, of having so many thoughts that she can’t even process them.

“I love you, so much.” She affirms. “You have literally blown me away. I know I might not say a lot, but you were always special, since you were little.”

“Don’t say that, I don’t want to be.”

“But you are, and you have surpassed all my expectations, always. You can breathe now; you get to take a break.” She kisses her forehead. “I love you, and would still love you if you are the smartest person in the world or the stupidest. You are so smart, you don’t have to always stick out, or be good at everything. You deserve to just fool around sometimes, and that won’t change who you are.”

When Cathy collects the courage to look her in the eyes, she can swear that there’s a sparkle of pure love and affection in the eyes of her godmother. A sparkle directed at her.

(…)

Biographers have described her as strong-willed and outspoken, physically desirable, susceptible (like Queen Elizabeth) to roguish charm and even willing to resort to obscene language if the occasion suited.

(…)

She doesn’t know how, but something in the air feels lighter, it feels better. Life becomes easier, the house now slowly becoming a home, with the six queens slowly getting better. Catherine can notice how much cooler it turns out to be once they started learning more about each other, understanding something no one else would.

(After all, nobody else was a five hundred years old reincarnated Tudor queen.)

Parr wishes for it to mean that she could live her life relaxed, joyful. But instead she cries every time she notices how lucky she was, the guilt of knowing that she hurt so many people she cared for. A heavy backpack she won’t ever be able to get out.

She doesn’t think that she deserves forgiveness for her acts. And it pains her, hoping for a reality where she was good, for one where she was just the survivor, to one not full with the tragedy her life was.

Each time she says gold star for Cathy Parr, she feels numb. With a bit of luck, she convinced the audience she merits it.

(…)

Catherine's good sense, moral rectitude, compassion, firm religious commitment and strong sense of loyalty and devotion have earned her many admirers among historians.

(…)

There is a silence, and for a moment they stay like that. But the survivor speaks up: “Did you love him?”

“Yes.” Anne states easily. “Or no. I probably didn’t, and he most certainly didn’t either, but I think we both believed we did.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, do you?”

“Never did.”

“Be careful, your neck is quite delicate… I don’t think it would be hard to cut with a sword.”

Catherine tries to mask her thoughts, releasing a faint “Funny.”

Anne probably doesn’t know; she is aware of it. With all the fake comments about the second queen that were a lie, she had decided to not look for much information about her fellow queens, and Catherine was not willing to tell her about how her life nearly ended. It felt selfish, it was just a close call, not a real one like Anne’s or Katherine’s. Still, the idea of her head being amputated from her body followed her, like the ghost of a broken promise. The thought of her life in danger of ending still at the back of her mind.

“Did she love me?” Anne asks, surprising Parr.

“I think she did.” Catherine waits for a moment, before continuing. “I’m sorry for what I did to her.”

With those words she breaks down, trying to hide her tears. She has no right to cry for her own wicked acts, to be comforted by Anne, but that’s what is happening now.

“It’s fine.” Boleyn says, her voice just above a whisper. “I forgive you. She forgave you. We were different people back then.”

“But I did it. No matter what you say, I did it.”

“And I wasn’t an angel either. I acted the wrong way because of my fears. To gain and maintain power. I’m not proud of it,” her eyes, that until that moment were lost, now staring intensely Catherine, “but if you keep living in the past you can’t become a better person in the future.”

(…)

Parr is usually portrayed in cinema and television by actresses who are much older than the queen, who was in her early 30s when she was Henry's wife and was about 36 years old at the time of her death.

(…)

Catherine wished her story was better, for it to have a happy ending. To say that she married Thomas after Henry, and that it was like a dream, that they had children and grandchildren, grew old together and she was loved until the end of her days. She longed to say that she could remember her baby's face, or her first steps or words. Desires to tell everyone that she taught her everything she knew. But in reality, it was not true.

Catherine Parr never had her happily ever after like a queen from a children’s book.

The survivor indeed never had her happy ending, not even when coming back to the modern times. She still put more pressure on herself than what she should've. Tried to always be trusted, to always be useful and to help her everyone. Pushed herself to the edge, trying to be the best version of herself. Got more stressed than necessary, stayed up sometimes too late for her liking, drank more tea and coffee than she should’ve.

Her life became a bittersweet one, a balance found between her tragic story, the guilt she would always feel, and the chance of a new beginning.

Some days were happier than others, some talks were lighter. Freedom and restriction battling over, but giving her enough cheerfulness to go back when things got harder. Working with Katherine over the history they both knew and missed, discussing the newest scientific discoveries with Anna and Jane, grabbing lunch with Anne and tea with Aragon.

Her life was not happy, but it was relaxed. It gave her the chance to just let herself feel emotions, the good, the bad. To write without deadlines. To be calm, to live this new opportunity fully. To learn about herself, to be the protagonist of her own story.

To be loved.

[catherine-parr-1512]

Dramatic Twist Chapter 1

It was Friday which meant that Cathy Parr, Catalina Aragon and Jane Seymour were walking together to their joint drama class with Mr Cromwell. It was their last year in school and they all took that class because of their love for theatre. It was a great class even if their teacher was sometimes creepy. They took their usual seats in the middle of the class, the three of them sitting next to each other. They always came 5 minutes before the class was supposed to start as they didn’t want to be late. As they talked for a few minutes, Mr Thomas Cromwell came into class and started preparing materials for today’s lesson. The other students also started filling in and taking their seats. After 2 minutes, dangerously close to the start of the class, the last people came into class - Anna Cleves, Katherine Howard and the unbelievably annoying Anne Boleyn.

 Anne Boleyn and Cathy Parr didn’t like each other at all, they hated each other. This started in primary school when Boleyn would sometimes pick on Parr for liking to study a lot. As the years went by, the two became even more aggressive towards each other to the point  that even the teachers would make sure that the two would not be sitting close in the classes. It worked but that didn’t change their relationship at all. It was as if they were polar opposites - where Parr was quiet and studious, Boleyn would make herself the centre of attention in any room she walked in and she barely passed her classes. Boleyn would be seen with many boys, all adoring her but Parr would not be seen with any girl around her and she didn’t speak to any of them in a romantic sense. No matter what aspect of their lives someone would look into, they could see the two on opposite sides of a spectrum.

 Boleyn, Howard and Cleves made their way to the 3 free seats at the back of the class, talking quietly and not caring about the class around them. This made Cathy a little bit angry - she didn’t have anything against Howard or Cleves and blamed their bad behaviour on that temptress and gremlin also known as Anne Boleyn. When the three ‘queens’ finally took their places, Mr Cromwell started the class.

 The whole lesson went smoothly without much interruption from the class as they studied a script before them (except for the chaotic three at the back of the classroom). At the end of the class, Mr Cromwell gave them team homework.

 “Everyone, in pairs that will be chosen at random, you will all play out a simple scene I will give you when we will sort out the pairs. Each pair will have a different scene to act out and you cannot change with whom you are working with - you don’t get that choice in the real world.” He said, looking at everyone in the class closely. Everyone nodded, not having much choice with the whole thing.

 Cromwell took out two pieces of paper from an already prepared bowl with names of people in the class. He looked at them quickly.

 “Abby Hunter and Isabella Stone.” He then took more pieces of paper and read out the pairs, the pieces of paper quickly disappearing from the bowl.

 “Jane Seymour and Catherine Aragon.” Cathy smiled at her two best friends, happy that the two of them would be together.

 “Anna Cleves and Katherine Howard.” Those were the next two names Cathy cared about, two-thirds of the chaotic trio were together. Leaving Boleyn to torment some poor student with her loud ways, thought Parr.

 As more and more students were chosen, Cathy realised that neither she nor Boleyn had a partner yet. A feeling of dread filled her. ‘Please don’t be Boleyn, please don’t be Boleyn’.

 4 names were left in the bowl - Cathy, Boleyn and 2 other boys. Mr Cromwell took two random pieces of paper and read the names that were there, loudly so that a whole class could hear him.

 “Catherine Parr and Anne Boleyn.”

 Cathy felt as if her world was slowly crumbling around her. She was just put into the same pair with the person that she hated the most in the entire world. She couldn't believe her 'luck' - there were 24 people in the class (including her) so she had a 4.3% chance of being paired up with her and yet, here she was. They would have to work together to get a good grade but Cathy knew 2 things - Boleyn had a terrible work ethic and there was no freaking way that they would be able to not fight for even a minute.

 Mr Cromwell gave all the pairs their scenes that they were meant to act out next Friday - giving them a full week to complete their 'project'. When the class finished, Cathy quickly approached Boleyn, wanting to make arrangements for the two of them rehearsing for their scene.

 "Boleyn," She said sharply, getting the attention of the other girl who started making her way out of class to who knows where

 "Parr." Replied the other girl coldly, clearly not happy about being approached by Cathy but Cathy didn't care. They had work to do.

 "Be at my house tonight at 7 o'clock," said Cathy, handing Boleyn a piece of paper with her address on it. " We'll be rehearsing our scene."

 "You don't even care if I have any plans for my Friday night?" Asked Boleyn with a grimace, taking the paper and putting it in her pocket without looking at it.

 “If you call getting drunk and passing out with some guy at a party as plans, then yes - I don’t care if you have any plans.” With that, Cathy turned around to catch up with her friends. Boleyn did the same without a word being said.

 It was 7:15 and yet there was no sign of Boleyn around Cathy’s house and she was getting quite angry about it. She hated it when people were late and it didn’t help that it was Boleyn with her mischievous green eyes that was late. ‘No, Cathy. You are NOT attracted to Boleyn’ she thought to herself, a grimace present on her face when she had to face her thoughts. She jumped when she heard a doorbell ringing. Cathy rushed towards the door and opened it, revealing Boleyn. Boleyn who looked dazzling.

 She wore black jeans and a green shirt which was in the same emerald green as her eyes. She applied some green eyeshadow that made her eyes glimmer and her signature red lipstick was also present. If it would be any other girl, Cathy would surely be attracted to them at that moment but she had to remind herself that it was that Boleyn girl, Anne Boleyn. The one girl whom she hated with a fiery passion.

 “Boleyn,” Started Cathy dryly, not showing the other girl that she liked the way she looked tonight. “You are late.”

 “Well, it’s a good thing that I don’t have to explain myself to you then. We are just project… partners. Nothing more.” Responded Boleyn with a smug smile on her face, clearly enjoying angering Cathy who just shook her head and reluctantly invited her inside.

 “My mother is at work but she will be home at 8.30 so that’s the latest we can do our rehearsals.” She mentioned as she led Boleyn towards the living room.

 “Sure nerd, I’ll let you have your bedtime.” Joked Boleyn as she jumped on the sofa, not bothering to take off her shoes which made Cathy huff but she knew that the fight would be lost there. Cathy always chose which battles she wanted to fight. Boleyn wasn’t finished. “Have you read the script?”

 “I didn’t have time yet.” Replied Cathy, getting her stuff ready.

 “You were busy with your books? Pretty nerdy if you ask me.” Teased girl in green with a sneer.

 “I was with my friends if you really wanted to know but it’s none of your business. Now, I think both of us should read the script by ourselves and then we’ll work on it.” Cathy started full-on school and work mode. Boleyn surprisingly just nodded at that and they both read in silence.

 Cathy read the script quickly, having experience in quick reading from all the books she had read. The whole scene was simple enough except the last part which made her stop breathing for a few seconds. She had to kiss Anne Boleyn at the end. She had to kiss her biggest enemy… The same enemy she might have a small crush on.

 The Parr girl looked at Boleyn, studying her face as she finished reading. She saw her shock as she read the last few lines. Boleyn girl looked at her with an unreadable expression.

 “Well, if we want to have a career with drama, sometimes we have to do things we don’t actually like.” She said simply and Cathy nodded in silent agreement.

 The two started rehearsing and Cathy saw how the two of them worked great together, both knowing what the other would do without the need for words. An instant connection. Sure, they had to work on some things but Cathy had to agree that working with Anne (not Boleyn anymore out of respect) was in some aspects way better than working with either two of her best friends - Jane and Catalina - with whom she worked within the past. Cathy also made sure to not appear too friendly with the other girl (they were supposed to hate each other after all) but she knew that if she were to spend more time with her, she might eventually like her. That was a thought that would make past Cathy gag but present Cathy simply loved it.

 The two of them were nearing the kiss part of the scene and just before they could begin it, Cathy saw that it was almost 8.30. If Boleyn had come those 15 minutes earlier, they would still have time but now they had to finish for today. A part of Cathy was glad, not being ready for this but her other part, the gay one, was whining for missing out on kissing a girl she likes. Yes, she said it. Catherine Parr likes Anne Boleyn. Cathy would do anything to kiss those red lips that were Anne’s trademark.

 “It’s almost 8.30. We should finish for today.” Cathy said softly. Boleyn looked at her phone as if to confirm the time and nodded vigorously.

 “It really is! I have to say you were not as bad as I thought nerd but I think we will have to do another study session. Are you free tomorrow?” Asked the girl in green clothing that made Cathy’s mouth water slightly, just slightly.

 “I am but we will be unable to be in my house for it - my mum is having friends over tomorrow for most of the day.”

 “We can use my house, Parr. My mother and father are away until next Thursday so I’m alone there and have a free reign over it.” Offered Boleyn, packing her stuff into her bag, not organizing them at all.

 “Yes, that would be great. Just give me your address and tell me the time.” Answered Cathy with a small smile, happy to see Boleyn next day.

 “I’ll text you, Parr. Thanks anyway for having me here today. Bye.” Said Boleyn and headed towards the door. Cathy offered her own goodbye and closed the door behind the girl. She cleaned the living room and headed towards her bedroom. She sat on her bed and after a few minutes, she received Boleyn’s address and “be at my house at 6 nerd” after it. She simply smiled, excited for tomorrow.

Note : if you have any idea for prompt and you like my writing style, message me :)

[caddyheron]

Deck the halls

LATE CHRISTMAS FIC AND IT HAS BARELY BEEN EDITED IT IS 3:30 IN THE MORNING I HAVE TO BE AWAKE IN THREE HOURS, pls help/

Overdue fluffy fic that needs proper editing haha i’m tired

Words: 1189

----------------------------

Reds and blues and yellows shone fervently into the living room, shining directly into Katherine Howard’s eyes. At any regular time, Katherine disliked Christmas and the discussion of Christmas, but the brightly shining tree which Jane insisted on having increased her agitation. Jane’s joyous cheer was oddly irking Katherine – it wasn’t how she felt, so she didn’t want Jane to either.

Sitting, soft white blanket wrapped around her, Katherine sulked. Even to the delightful scent of Jane’s ginger and chocolate cookies. She wasn’t sure why she was sulking, but she was annoyed. Everyone else had bright smiles plastered on their faces, constantly chatting about how excited they were to have their second non-Tudor Christmas. But Katherine? She couldn’t find the same joy, and she was annoyed at that.

“Hey, love,” Jane beamed, dusting off her hands on her apron branded “queen”.

“Hi,” the younger girl stated bluntly.

Jane screwed up her face to the bluntness of the youngest queen’s words, mild worry filling her. She softened her features and cocked her head to the side before sitting down beside Katherine. “Not excited?” Jane asked, a tender pondering.

The youngest queen turned away from Jane, frustration brimming. She wanted to be excited like everyone else! But it just wasn’t what she wanted. The traditions of the Tudor Christmas were so much nicer. Even if it was her second Christmas in the modern era, Katherine had barely remembered her first as it was filled with anxiety and trust aversion, that she simply found it had been impossible to enjoy.

“What gave that away, hm?” Katherine bit, unintentionally a little harsher than her intentions were.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to find it exciting, enjoyable or entertaining…” Jane trailed off, unsure. “If,” she pondered once more, truly wondering if now was a decent time to open up to Katherine. “If it wasn’t for you lot, I… I very much doubt that I would be celebrating it myself.”

The reaction which came from Katherine was an intrigued and a little nervous look; she turned back to face Jane. “Hmm?” Katherine queried, almost sure of the answer, however.

Jane swallowed, quite obviously still unsure if it was really her place to speak. Christmas was meant to be about joy and family coming together to celebrate, to love each other and be thankful for what they have. It shouldn’t be a time for focusing on upsetting pasts and hurtful memories, Jane was sure.

“What is it, mum?” Katherine asked again, her tone a lot lighter than before, body fully turned to Jane. Katherine relaxed more and more in the presence of Jane

The word mum, even if Katherine had been calling her mum for months, filled Jane with unimaginable glee; she had to stop herself from smiling so wide it hurt. “It’s Edward,” Jane began, testing the waters to see if the warm feeling would falter. It didn’t. “I never got to spend a Christmas with him. Christmas, with all the mums and their children, it makes me think of him, even if I try not to. If I didn’t have you girls then I certainly wouldn’t even consider celebrating…”

Without a second consideration, Katherine tackled Jane into a hug, a little Christmas cheer filling her suddenly. “Christmas is about family,” Katherine nodded, still deep in hug with Jane who had received it happily. “Christmas is about family an- “Katherine attempted to reiterate, but before she could, she was cut off by two voices.

“Course it is babes… and presents!” The first voice spoke, distinctly the voice of Katherine’s older cousin, Anne.

And a second voice: “Hugging without me?” a mock offended tone, very obviously Anna of Cleves.

Smiling, Katherine momentarily pulled away from Jane, who’s eyes were beginning to well up with the happiest tears in a long time. Swallowing them down, Jane laughed. “Lady Anne Boleyn, I’ll have you find that if you say Christmas is about presents, then Santa won’t come!”

At that, Anne burst out in a fit of laughter, barely able to contain herself for such mock offense on Jane’s face. “Right, I’ll go plead with our fairy them and explain how I’ve been such a good girl this year!” Anne spoke between gasping breaths of laughter.

Before Jane or Anna had time to retort, Katherine quickly dragged Anna onto the sofa with herself and Jane, cuddling up in the middle of them both, a smile happily plastered on her face, Christmas spirit filling her. Jane smiled too, warmth filling her chest once more, head filled with happiness, rather than thoughts of her son.

“Come onnn,” Anne whined, once more, faux offended. “Can I get any cuddles around here?”

Little did Anne know that the chaos of the living room had attracted the attention of the other two Catherine’s, the youngest one using Anne’s remark as the perfect opportunity to pull her backwards into a hug.

Which did not go as planned. Both Cathy Parr and Anne fell backwards onto Catherine of Aragon, who had had just enough time to make herself a lovely mug of hot tea, before it was promptly spilled. All over her. Because Anne and Cathy fell.

“I swear to Heaven above you-“Catherine began before Anne had a chance to stand up.

“Oh Catalina!” Anne quipped, sarcasm biting her tone as she laughed. “My ever so sincerest apologies for donning your such wonderous gown in that foul liquid one calls tea! How could I ever have been so clumsy?”

The mild tension caused by tea spilling, was suddenly interrupted in mountains of laughter – even from Cathy who had felt quite awful at making her godmother spill scalding hot tea all over herself. The awful feeling quelled significantly when noted that Catherine was also almost to the floor with laughter from yet another famous Anne Boleyn quip.

Once the laughter had all died down, Catherine had put on something not tea stained, and everyone was in the living room, sporadically placed from the sofa to a chair to Cathy Parr  sitting cross legged on the floor, blanket wrapped around her cosily, hot chocolate in her left hand.

“Let’s watch Elf!” Katherine beamed suddenly, sitting straight up between Anna and Jane, so close to spilling the hot chocolate which everyone voted on Anne making for the ruining of one of Catherine’s dresses.

Smiling, Jane agreed. “Certainly!” They hadn’t seen the movie for some time, and they had nominated it best 21st century movie last Christmas.

For being in best view of the television, Catherine grabbed the remote and pressed play. The chattering fell silent as they all watched with happy contentment, sipping hot chocolate. Katherine Howard wasn’t sure what had been missing earlier, as she sat alone, aggravated by the cheer spread by everyone else, but she was sure this was how she was meant to feel now. Loved and warm, filled with family and Christmas spirit. For Jane (and both Catherines and Anne admittedly) the thing they knew they were missing were their children… but it felt right, even without them now. Happiness was present in all of the queens, hearts filled with joy.

[chicha3maddy]

Queens part 1: Ex-Wives

I had this idea to write up a fanfic with the same format that the show uses... so at that rate this would be the first chapter of 9. It’ll have some flashbacks and some references to the soundtrack, but really it’ll tell the story of these lovelies meeting and putting their show together. :) Thoughts are very very valid and appreciated!  tw: assault (implied)  ... Catherine Parr sat on the sleek leather couch in her studio, watching the clock and waiting. She had her hands folded carefully in front of her, curtailing the urge to rub them against her pants or- even more likely- reach for the journal on the little table beside the couch. The analog clock hanging on the living room wall read 12:57: the other girls could be here any minute. 

It had been just under one year since Catherine Parr, sixth wife of Henry VIII, had closed her eyes, breathed her final breath, and woken up almost five centuries into the future. As if not being dead weren’t enough of a shock, she had suddenly had the modern world to contend with: cars, blenders, iPads- hell, even things like lights and toilets- had been completely unfamiliar to her. With no memories of this timeline to speak of, no evidence of friends or family in the beautiful studio apartment she apparently called home, Catherine had had to start completely from scratch. She had cobbled together what she could from things found in her apartment: an ID that put her at 28 years old, a newspaper that listed the year as 2019, a planner that informed her in her own confident handwriting that she had gigs booked all month in the lounge down the street. Within the haze of shock in those first few days, Catherine had drawn the dumbfounded conclusion that she was, as of very recently, no longer dead; that the world had popped her out of existence in the early sixteenth century and landed her here, amidst the hustle and colour of modern-day Britain. She had been given, for whatever reason, a second chance. A new start, with no ugly, diseased Henry or ruthlessly effective patriarchy standing in her way. (As a young woman of colour she learned quickly that the patriarchy wasn’t gone for good, but hey, at least she was allowed to headline her own show and pen things in her own name here.) 

It took her almost six months to even wonder about the other wives. They might never have crossed her mind, if she hadn’t been scrolling through Instagram one day to see a viral video of a gorgeous woman rapping her heart out to a Kanye song. Stage name: Anna of Cleves. And just like that a wild idea was born. 

Fists hammering against the door snapped Parr back to attention. Her heart in her throat, she stood and opened the door. A green blur burst into her apartment, muttering curses and shrugging her jacket onto the floor. A woman wearing a red T-shirt and black cutoffs followed slower. This one Parr recognized; Cleves, her short black hair still in the distinctive style of her Instagram concert vid. Parr stared at them, trying to curb her surprise; she hadn’t expected anyone to arrive together. 

“You had better explain yourself right now.” The other girl, who if Parr had to guess must be slightly younger than her and Cleves, glared daggers at her, her long dark hair whipping as she stuck her face up into Parr’s. “You call me out on Insta, tell me all these things no one should know, and then send me money to fly here, no explanation, no background, no nothing! And my bus was delayed, and traffic was murder, and overall it’s been a shite day, and now the one who’s supposed to have all the answers is just standing here gaping like a fish!” The girl pointed accusingly at her, eyes still narrowed in dislike. In spite of herself, Parr smiled slightly. The girl hadn’t had any pictures of herself up on her Instagram, but with an attitude like this she really could only be one person. 

“Anne Boleyn?” she tried. The girl’s face, already balled up in anger, became dark as a thundercloud. 

“How do you know my name.” 

“I’ll explain, I promise.” Parr ushered them further into the apartment. “Please sit. I promise I’m not a serial killer, I- I have a very good reason for all of this. We’re just still missing people, and I need them to get here before I can explain myself.” Boleyn didn’t look at all happy about this pronouncement, but for the time being she kept her mouth shut. “How…” Parr began again, “How do you two know each other?” 

Anna of Cleves raised one eyebrow. “We don’t.” she said flatly. “We met on the way up here.” 

“We didn’t really ‘’meet’.” Boleyn huffed. You never gave me your name.” 

“Wasn’t sure if I should trust you,” Cleves said coolly. She stared calmly back at Boleyn as a new silence stretched, making it clear without saying another word that she wouldn’t be offering her name now either. Boleyn leaned back into the couch, exasperated. 

Another knock at the door. Parr opened it, coming face to face with a fourth woman. She was dark-skinned and tall, owning the doorway like it was her job. She eyed Parr carefully, giving Parr the distinct feeling that she was being searched. “Are you the incredibly unprofessional young woman who decided Instagram was an appropriate way to request an unexplained audience with a woman she had never even met?” 

“Yes,” Boleyn answered, suddenly right at Parr’s shoulder. She jumped. “And don’t expect any answers, because she’s been mum so far as to what any of us are doing here.” 

The woman blinked in confusion. “There are more of you?” 

“Don’t group me in with her,” Boleyn scoffed. “We’re in the dark, just like you. Scary Internet woman gave us an address and money to come here and meet her, sound at all familiar?” 

Parr, trying to maintain her composure, ignored Anne and offered a smile. “You must be Catherine of Aragon. Please, come in.” 

Aragon didn’t budge an inch from the doorway. “I must be?” she repeated, crossing her arms. “Why must I be?” Parr took a breath. She had known that this would be an uphill battle, but seeing all these angry suspicious faces in the flesh was an entirely different matter. 

“I know you all took a leap of faith coming here, and I’m grateful to you for that-” Parr began, but was interrupted by huffing and puffing from behind Aragon. Aragon turned on her heel and both women watched a fifth straggle up the hallway, dragging an enormous set of baggage, and blowing her blonde hair out of her face.  “Sorry for being late- I got lost-” she sputtered. 

“Late?” Parr glanced at her clock, which read 1:01. The blonde woman stared miserably between her and the clock, offering a pained shrug as if to say “I have no excuse.” Parr decided to pick her battles; at least one of them had a vested interest in being punctual. 

“We’re actually still waiting on one, so you’re all good-” 

“Another one?” Boleyn interrupted incredulously. “How many flights did you pay for?” 

“By the looks of it, five,” Cleves deadpanned from the couch. 

“Actually I walked here, I live just down the street,” Aragon added. 

“And I took the rail from Northern,” Jane, still a little breathless, chimed in. 

Boleyn, looking a little like her head might pop off, opened her mouth again, only to be cut off by Aragon. 

“-So, we’re still waiting for one?” she prompted Parr. Parr nodded gratefully. 

“And then I’ll explain everything. I promise.” She ushered the girls inside. Cleves moved over on the couch and Aragon sat beside her, while Boleyn opted to perch on the leg of an armchair opposite. Jane slumped down in the chair, luggage crowded at her feet. 

“I’m Jane,” she said to no one in particular. “Nice to meet you all.” As the other women mumbled greetings, Cleves suddenly frowned. 

“Hold on…” she said slowly. “Jane Seymour?” Jane started and stared at her. 

“How did you know my last name?” Cleves ignored her, gesturing to each woman in turn as she went on. 

“And you said she’s called Catherine of Aragon, and she’s Anne Boleyn…” She looked sharply over at Parr, understanding dawning on her face. “We’re the wives.” 

The room went dead silent. Four pairs of eyes landed on Cleves, and then drifted over to Parr. 

“What do you mean we’re the wives?” Jane asked tremulously. “I’m not anybody’s wife.” Even to this room of near-strangers, Jane was not a very good liar. 

“I thought I was the only one.” Cleves said, disbelieving. “When I woke up here after I died. I thought I was crazy, or I’d imagined it, but… I didn’t.” She looked around the room again, new understanding in her eyes. “We’re Henry VIII’s five wives.” 

This time, the room exploded into activity. Boleyn stood up, eyes wide, and snarled- “Wait, you’re the actual Catherine of Aragon?!” Aragon growled back at her, also jumping to her feet. Jane made a noise of relief, crying “I thought I was the only one!” while Cleves demanded “But why? Why are we here?” All four voices overlapped and climbed over each other, fighting for attention. Parr, not knowing what else to do, put her fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. All four women stopped; Jane put a hand up to her ear while Boleyn glared at Parr. 

“I know it’s a lot,” Parr began, and put up a hand when Aragon and Boleyn opened their mouths to interject. “We all died. And we all woke up here, with no understanding of where we were or what happened. We’ve all made lives since, thinking we were alone, not knowing how or why we were younger, and looked different, but were still unequivocally ourselves.” She paused. Cleves was nodding, slowly. “But we’re not alone anymore. There are five of us here now, and we’re going to talk this out together. Work this out, together. That’s why you’re here.” Silence again. And then: 

“Six.” said a quiet voice from the doorway. Parr started and turned around. There stood a slim teenager, tall and lanky, clutching a backpack to her chest. Parr’s heart immediately melted; this must be Katherine Howard. “I heard what you said.” Howard picked up her voice a little, looking from woman to woman. “You’re really… them?” 

“We’re really them.” Parr said warmly, motioning for Howard to come inside. She walked in slowly, uncertain, and perched on the very end of the couch, eyes still drifting around the room. 

“I can’t believe this. This can’t be real.” Boleyn shook her head. “I won’t believe it.” 

“Did it seem real enough when you woke up from your execution to find yourself in the future?” Parr countered calmly. Boleyn’s fists clenched, but her eyes were filled with doubt. 

“You were executed?” Aragon said incredulously. “After all that?” 

“Yeah, you just missed it,” Boleyn drawled, faux sympathetic. “I’m sure you’d have loved to see my head removed from my body.” 

“I bet it would have added another decade to my life!” Aragon shot back. Hunched on the couch, Howard’s hands shook. Cleves’s eyes flitted over, she noticed, and she interrupted the two bickering queens a second before Parr would have. “Knock it off,” she said firmly. “This isn’t productive.” 

Aragon, her hackles still raised, forced her eyes away from Boleyn. “Fine.” She said eventually. “So I was the first. Of…” 

“Six.” Parr finished for her. Aragon mouthed this to herself in disbelief, making a face as if the number tasted foul. Jane, silent for some time on the couch, raised her voice. 

“Henry was already getting up in years when we married…” she said hesitantly. “Why were there three more? Who are you, what happened to you?” 

Parr brightened, sensing that they were finally getting somewhere. “Yes. Aragon, Anne, Jane, I think you all know each other, at least vaguely.” Boleyn nodded tersely. Everyone knew that there was bad blood among the first triad of wives, but there would be plenty of time for scrapping. “And we three know what happened to you, but you don’t know what happened after you. So… why don’t we start there.” 

“And why do you know so much about us all, little miss-” Boleyn abruptly ran out of momentum, realizing she didn’t know Parr’s name. 

“Parr.” Parr shrugged. “It’s in the history books.” 

“We’re in the history books?” Jane whispered, slightly in awe. 

“Well… it’s mostly Henry. But we’ll get to that.” Parr leaned against the wall, knowing better than to attempt to squeeze onto the already crowded couch. “For now… Cleves, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” 

Five pairs of eyes fixed on Anna of Cleves, who shrugged one shoulder. “Not much to tell. She-” she points a thumb at Jane- “died, and Henry wanted another wife quick.” Cleves breezed on, not registering the deep hurt that fell across Jane’s face. “He had me sent for from Germany because he liked my portrait. Turns out I’m not so pretty in person.” Cleves’s voice, nonchalant before, coloured with the slightest hint of bitterness. “We lasted six months before he divorced me. I negotiated a castle though, so no harm no foul.” She leaned back into the couch, met with silence. 

“That’s it?” Boleyn finally said. 

“Hm?” 

“I said, how the hell is that the end of your stupid story? Did you at least die of something terrible later?” Cleves shrugged, but something in her eyes gave away how little she appreciated Boleyn’s tone. 

“Anne, it’s not her fault she wasn’t beheaded,” Jane interjected. “I think it’s amazing that someone got a good deal.” Boleyn tensed, but relaxed again with visible effort.  “It doesn’t matter. If you’re done let’s hear from number five.” She looked to Parr, and then to Howard. “Which of you is it?” 

Howard had been slowly shrinking smaller as Cleves told her story. Now she looked up and offered what was probably meant to be a breezy smile, though it came off more as a grimace. “It’s me.” Everyone waited. Howard cleared her throat and adjusted herself on the chair leg, sitting a little straighter. “Well. I was a lady-in-waiting. And then his Majesty- um.” She looked down. 

“Apologies, but....” Aragon spoke. “Would you mind telling us your name, child?” 

“Oh- sorry- Katherine Howard.” Howard swallowed again. Boleyn’s eyes widened- she recognized the name. 

“My little cousin.” She said slowly. Howard nodded. The two had never met, but they were first cousins. How ironic that their lives ended in the same way, Parr thought to herself. 

“Thank you. Nice to meet you. Go on.” Aragon nodded for her to continue. 

Katherine played with a length of her hair and cleared her throat.  “So we got married. And then this courtier-” her voice began to shake, and she stopped. 

“Take your time,” Parr said quietly. Katherine shut her eyes. The other women shifted, uncomfortable, knowing where this story was probably headed. 

“Well we- slept together. And then everyone- well the king found out about- other men. So I was beheaded.” Katherine had tensed, her shoulders rising as if to protect her neck. In spite of her submissive posture, she looked towards the other girls challengingly. “The end.” 

“That blows,” Boleyn was the first to say. Aragon and Cleves nodded, while Jane’s eyes had filled with tears. “Is there a reason you got aged down so much in this reboot?” Boleyn asked. Howard looked at her, confused. Boleyn clarified ungracefully: “I mean we’re all younger than when we died, but you look like a kid.” 

“I didn’t get aged down.” Howard said, still confused. Boleyn screwed up her face, uncomprehending. 

“How…” Jane looked as if she could barely stand to ask- “How young were you when you… married the king?” 

“Sixteen.” Howard answered promptly. 

“And… when you died?” 

“Nineteen.” A collective rumble of disbelief and anger went around the room. 

Jane stood, the tears spilling over her cheeks. “Is it okay if I hug you?”  “I- I guess-” Before Katherine could finish, Jane rushed over and wrapped her in a hug. Katherine hugged her back uncertainly as Anna shook her head in shock and Cleves muttered darkly to herself. After a few moments, Jane hopped up on the couch and positioned herself beside Katherine, squashing Cleves and Aragon up against each other. She nodded at Parr. 

“Your turn. Tell me it isn’t as bad as being beheaded at nineteen?” Parr shook her head. 

“Not even close. I married him, it was fine, I even outlasted him in the end.” She shrugged. “It was fine.” 

“You said that,” Boleyn said, but without any fire. All six women, to some extent or another, understood that “fine” could mean any number of things. Parr was downplaying her misery, the same way that Cleves had downplayed her humiliation and Howard had downplayed her assault. Already, they were protecting each other. A feeling of solidarity settled across the room; an hour ago, they had been alone against the world, with no one to understand their fears or their pasts. Now… well, that was the question. All the six of them had in common, really, was one man and a time period, but there was a shared pain too that had just been accidentally unearthed. No one was quite sure where that left them. 

“So… why did you call us here?” Aragon addressed Parr squarely. Parr steeled herself: this was the moment of truth. She reached carefully over to the end table and grabbed her notebook, which she opened and laid onto the coffee table. Boleyn came over and peered from the side, and all four girls in the couch leaned in to read the words, written in Parr’s meticulous handwriting. 

Welcome to the show, to the historemix

Switching up the flow as we add the prefix 

Everybody knows that we used to be six wives 

Raising up the roof till we hit the ceiling

Get ready for the truth that we’ll be revealing

Everybody knows that we used to be six wives

But now we’re 

Ex-wives 

After another long silence, the girls turned to Parr, who was smiling a secret smile. “Queens, let’s make a band.” 

[the-quiet-winds]

Sure to Outlast this Catastrophe (part two)

so a lot of you loved the aragon content! which is good! because @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i worked hard on this one! (i say that every time because it’s always true)

things start to... heat up.

[part one]

[Part 2: Spend the Rest of Your Nights with the Lights On]

when she reaches the house, she is surprised the living room isn’t empty. jane is laying on her couch, under a blanket, watching some house show and occasionally sipping tea. she gives aragon a small wave as she enters. 

“you were supposed to be asleep,” aragon deadpans. 

jane just shrugs. “couldn’t.”

aragon shakes her head in mock disapproval. “i’m going to take this to anna,” she says.

anna is already asleep by the time aragon reaches upstairs, so she leaves the cough medicine on the bedside table along with a medicine spoon.

she heads back downstairs and settles down on the couch next to jane, looking over at the woman.

aragon comes over, gesturing for jane to move. jane lifts her head as begins to scooch down the couch, but aragon stops her. she puts the pillow jane had been using in her lap and gently pushed jane down to lay on the pillow, trailing her fingers lightly in and out of blonde hair.

“let someone else be mum for a change,” aragon says with a mock huff of annoyance, and jane gives a weak laugh.

“i’m not purposefully being difficult.”

“i know, jane,” aragon smiles softly.

they fall into a companionable silence as the tv buzzes quietly, the host of the programme showing the couple of the day around a large farmhouse.

aragon’s mind drifts back to caroline, and her breath catches in her throat. that looked like her girl. it looked so much like her girl that it hurt. 

jane looks up at her. “what is it, love?” she whispers. 

“i... uh...” aragon stammers out, “i thought i saw mary at the supermarket, that’s all.”

jane doesn’t say anything for a moment, but her eyes encourage aragon to carry on.

“and it was stupid because i know it couldn’t have been her. i just... i got my hopes up anyway,” aragon admits.

she’s glad it’s just jane in the room; if boleyn had heard this bit of vulnerability then who knows if she’d ever have let it go. or maybe aragon wasn’t giving boleyn enough credit.

“do you want to talk more about it?” jane asks quietly. “i can tell you some more about her.”

aragon nods shakily. “if you’re up for it.”

“she was the smartest girl i’ve ever met,” jane says softly, nostalgically. “loved poetry. we went to mass together often.”

“she’s always been smart,” aragon says quietly, a faint smile on her face. “i could never hide anything from her, even when she was young. and when she was older, well...” she trails off, voice dying in her throat. mary was well into her teenage years by the time henry decided to cast her and aragon aside, and even before any official announcement aragon knew mary had her suspicions.

jane reaches up a shaky hand, the pads of her fingers drifting over aragon’s cheek. “i know, love,” she rasps out. “she knew i was pregnant before i even told her.” jane chuckled softly. “she said i was glowing and she just knew.”

aragon nods. 

“she loved you,” jane continues. “she spoke so highly of you, you know that?”

“we were close,” aragon barely whispers. “she was so strong even though she was so young.” she swallows, then looks down at jane. “thank you for looking after her when I wasn’t there.”

“of course,” jane nods, voice weak.

aragon looks back to the tv, trying to push images of mary away and resuming her soft ministrations in jane’s hair. 

it isn’t long until jane succumbs to the soft warmth of the moment and drifts off to sleep again, and aragon is left alone with her thoughts.

aragon’s mind drifts into her memories, of mary when she was young, so vibrant and full of life. she’s just recalling a ball when mary was eleven or twelve, the first one she was allowed to stay up for, when she hears a fresh wave of hacking coughs from upstairs.

she gently extracts herself from the couch and heads up the stairs, trying to work out which room it was coming from.

her first instinct is anna’s room. but when aragon gets there, she is still peacefully passed out. 

the coughing continues. 

from next door. 

anne. 

aragon gently opens the door, surprised to see anne sitting up, coughing into her fist. 

aragon sits down next to her and rubs her back as anne coughs. 

when she pulls her fist back, there are traces of blood on her hand.

“anne,” aragon half-gasps. “anne, are you okay?”

“‘m fine,” boleyn begins, but then she coughs again. aragon pulls her phone from her pocket.

“i think we need to call an ambulance.”

“i’m fine, aragon, seriously!” boleyn wheezes.

aragon helps boleyn stand. “i’m taking you to the hospital,” she declares. 

anne stumbles down the stairs, aragon holding on to her. 

jane is on the couch, no longer looking quite as sickly. 

“annie?” she asks. 

“we need to take her to the hospital, she’s really unwell,” aragon says, not stopping her movement of herding the wheezing and coughing anne to the door. 

“i’m coming too,” says jane. “i want to help.”

“no,” aragon says, a little firmer than she anticipated. “no, you need to stay here. if one of the others takes a turn for the worse, they’re going to need you here to call an ambulance for them.” she pauses for just a moment, locking eyes with jane. “they need you here. we’ll be okay.”

jane falters, but nods. “i’ll keep an eye on them.”

aragon thanks her, and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “i’ll call you.”

anne giggles stupidly and delusionally as aragon pulls her to the car. 

“come on, you,” aragon mutters as she gets anne situated. “you need help.”

“/you/ need help,” anne replies immediately, then coughs violently again. aragon sighs and buckles anne’s seatbelt.

the drive is mostly punctuated by boleyn’s coughing fits and slightly delirious muttering, and when they park in the car park aragon rushes to get anne inside.

they are forced to sit and wait for far longer than aragon would like, if she’s being quite honest. can’t they see anne is hacking up her lungs?

just as she’s about to say something, nearly half an hour later, some doctors come and sweep anne off into a testing room.

just before they make it, she makes a horrible retching noise and empties the meager contents of her stomach on the floor, and even from her position, aragon can see blood.

the doctors say something far too quickly for aragon to catch, then anne is being whisked off to another part of the hospital. aragon tries to follow but she’s stopped.

“sorry, the doctors need some space,” the nurse kindly tells her, before leading her off to a smaller waiting room for friends and family.

aragon sits restlessly, her knee bouncing rapidly as she waits for news about boleyn’s condition. 

she and anne may never have been the closest of friends, not like aragon was with jane or parr, but she still very deeply cared for her fellow queen. 

if something bad were to happen... aragon doesn’t know what she would do.

aragon is so wrapped up in her worry she misses the fact her phone is buzzing in her pocket, and when a doctor steps into the waiting room she jumps to her feet. she sits shamefully back down again when he makes his way over to a man in the corner of the room instead, and she again focuses her attention on waiting for news about anne. her eyes are fixed on the doorway the first doctor came through in case anyone appears looking for her, except for the occasional glance over to the clock ticking away on the far wall.

—-

jane hisses in frustration as her call goes to voicemail again. either aragon was busy with anne... or...

had something happened to aragon?

she couldn’t worry about that now. katherine is battling an absolutely raging fever, nearly 39 C, and is seemingly trapped in some sort of nightmare as she writhes and sweats. 

it absolutely pains jane to watch as she puts an ice filled towel on her head and her neck, crying softly as she prays that whatever horrid illness this is doesn’t take anyone with it.

cleves appears in the doorway, still coughing but standing much more solidly than before.

“what’s happening? is she okay?”

her eyes are filled with concern and jane shakes her head, close to tears.

“she’s-” jane begins, but she’s cut off by katherine thrashing around in her bed, sounds of distress filling the room.

jane’s tears stream down her face as she continues pressing the iced towel on kat’s face and neck. 

“come on, kitty-kat,” jane mumbles. “it’s me, love. it’s mama. wake up, sweetheart.”

katherine doesn’t make any indication of having heard her. 

“anna,” jane says suddenly, “can you check on cathy? make sure she’s alright?”

cleves nods gravely and heads out of the room. jane can hear the door to parr’s room open, then cleves saying something quietly.

katherine whimpers in her distressed state and jane redoubles her efforts in trying to soothe her.

“kitty-kat, please,” she half-chokes. “i need you to wake up so i can help you, love.”

but katherine doesn’t wake up. her eyelids flutter and twitch - whatever fever dream she’s having is far from pleasant - but she doesn’t wake up. 

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13@tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians@thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess@beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo  @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify

[lailaliquorice]

one more chance; one more breath

alternative title: NEW PARRLYN ANGST IS HERE so this was meant to be the same length as the last one, and here it is at pretty much double the wordcount. but I absolutely love these two and how soft they are. this does make the odd reference to ‘our lungs are full’ but you don’t really need to read that to understand this, if you’d like to then it’s listed in my writing masterpost :)

TW: a little non-graphic blood

It wasn’t often that Cathy slept deeply enough to dream. Her style of functioning was to stay up late enough and make herself tired enough that she would fall asleep the minute her head hit the pillow every night, her imagination too worn out to keep on working overnight. Then she’d wake up the next morning still half-asleep and exhaust herself again over the course of the day so that the same cycle would repeat again and again.

She knew Anne had nightmares though. It had been a few weeks since their first conversation about Anne’s coping mechanisms, and since then she’d confided in Cathy about her occasional night terrors that no-one ever heard due to her having the attic bedroom. Kat’s were a lot more frequent, often prompting Jane to check on her in the night when they were at their worst, but Anne would just stay awake writing for the rest of the night whenever they happened for fear of reliving her death again if she fell back asleep. It explained the dark circles that Cathy would see under her eyes and her unusually quiet demeanour some mornings.

Cathy had promised Anne that she could come down into her bedroom if she was woken by a nightmare, joking that it was more than likely she’d still be awake to reassure Anne that she wouldn’t be disturbing her. She hadn’t needed to for a couple of weeks afterwards, but when Anne came down with a mild cold Cathy had made sure to repeat her promise in case her fever made the nightmares return in full force.

As she’d been anticipating, a timid knock on Cathy’s door at 2am caught her attention from where she’d been writing non-stop for a few hours. Upon opening the door she was faced with a barely kept-together Anne Boleyn, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and scared eyes shining bright with tears. “Can I come in?” she asked almost inaudibly, looking as though she was about to cry.

“Course you can,” Cathy said, standing back to let Anne shuffle past her into her bedroom. After shutting the door she sat down cross legged on her bed and patted the duvet for Anne to join her, waiting for her to sit down before she asked “Do you want to talk about it?”

Anne shrugged, sniffing and wiping her sleeve underneath her nose. Cathy leaned over to her bedside table for her box of tissues and offered it to Anne, who took one with a quiet murmur of thanks. She was quiet for another minute or so before she mumbled “I dreamed- I dreamed I was back in the Tower again. And it was really hot and the walls started closing in and no-one came when I was shouting. No-one came to let me out.” Her voice became more and more wobbly as she spoke, her breath hitching as she first tears started to fall.

“Come here,” Cathy murmured, and Anne practically threw herself into Cathy’s arms the minute she had verbal permission. There was no distraught sobbing like the last time Cathy had held her as she cried; the only sign she was upset at all was how much she was shaking in an effort to stifle her sobs, making Cathy wonder how many times she had cried alone in a desperate attempt not to wake anyone else up. She didn’t try to quiet her with gentle shushing, just let Anne hold onto her for as long as she needed to.

Just like the first time, she’d begun to wonder whether Anne was falling asleep before she heard a quiet “Can I stay here tonight?” from over her shoulder.

“Of course love,” Cathy said, her hand moving of its own accord to stroke Anne’s errant hair as she felt her finally relax. “Do you want to try and sleep again? I’m not done yet so I can wake you up if I think you’re dreaming again.”

Anne hummed indecisively as she sat back down, taking another tissue to wipe her tear-stained cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said quietly at first, wringing her hands as she looked up to meet Cathy’s gaze. “You sure I won’t be bothering you?”

Cathy shook her head. “Never. Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Pulling her blanket with her, Anne crawled over to the other side of the double bed and wriggled under the duvet as Cathy fetched her notebook and pen. There was fear in her eyes as she looked up at up, obvious terror that she was going to see the inside of her prison as soon as she closed her eyes. “It’s alright, I’m right here,” Cathy said, smoothing Anne’s hair away from her forehead and feeling her temperature at the same time. She was still running a slight fever but it was nowhere near bad enough to cause her concern.

Anne nodded, her chin trembling for a second. “It’s always worse when I’m not well. I know if I’m overtired then it’ll be bad.”

“I don’t think that’s surprising, and it’s not your fault either,” Cathy said softly, squeezing Anne’s hand when she blinked back tears at her second point. “That’s why I mentioned earlier that you’re welcome to come in here if you need me.” She paused for a moment then before adding “If you’re still not feeling right tomorrow then would you like me to sleep in your room? It might stop the nightmares if you know someone’s there with you.”

“That’d be really nice,” Anne whispered. A stray tear rolled down her cheek which she quickly rubbed away, just about managing to smile up at her.

Cathy returned the smile, repositioning her own pillow against the headboard so she could lean back comfortably. “That’s what we’ll do then. Now try and get some sleep, I’ll be right here next to you.”

Anne nodded again, rolling onto her side facing Cathy and hesitating only a moment before she closed her eyes.

It wasn’t long before Anne’s rhythmic breathing indicated she was asleep again. Cathy kept on working by the light of her bedside lamp for another hour or so, watchful for any change in Anne’s peaceful expression that could indicate she was having another night terror. Only once did Cathy need to intervene when her brow pinched and she let out a soft whimper in her sleep, but she only had to cradle Anne’s hand in her own and call her name a couple of times for her to relax again.

When the clock on her phone read 3:30am she opted to call it a night, checking on Anne one last time before carefully settling down next to her. Anne’s sense of personal space had never been particularly strong but Cathy was still cautious to leave a decent space between them. Even though Anne had taken the leap of trusting her with her insecurities she didn’t want to infringe on her boundaries by sleeping too close, and if Cathy was honest with herself she didn’t know how she would react to waking up with Anne curled around her. She had always been fairly tactile since her reincarnation but with Anne it seemed to send her heart racing in a way she couldn’t understand.

But Anne didn’t seem to have moved at all when Cathy woke up a few hours later, still sleeping soundly with her blanket and Cathy’s duvet pulled tightly around her shoulders. With a fond smile, Cathy carefully slipped out from under the duvet and left a post-it note on her bedside lamp to tell Anne she’d gone down to the kitchen. She’d already been scheduled a day off from the show so Cathy was in no rush to wake her, happy to leave Anne in her bed until she woke up of her own accord.

As promised, when Cathy and the other Queens got home from the show that evening she changed into her pyjamas and took her makeup off before heading up into the attic.  Anne was sat in bed reading when she peered her head around the open door, but looked up with a smile when she saw Cathy looking in. “Hey you,” she greeted her, throwing back her duvet and jumping to her feet. She too looked as though she was ready for bed, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts with her hair plaited loosely down her back. “Come in, make yourself comfy. How’d the show go?”

“Brilliant thanks, everything went off without a hitch. We missed you though,” Cathy said as she closed the door behind her, the second comment slipping out without her realising it. “How are you feeling?” she added in a desperate attempt to cover her slip up.

Anne smirked, most likely at the blush that Cathy could feel creeping across her cheeks. “Aww, thanks,” she said, “And I’m doing alright. Ready for bed though, I can tell you that much. I’d have probably fallen asleep hours ago I wasn’t waiting up for you.”

Cathy glanced at her phone, noting with surprise that it was only 11:30. “I normally wouldn’t think about going to sleep for hours yet,” she admitted, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Anne.

“Really?” Anne asked, laughing when Cathy gave a sheepish nod. “Don’t know how you do it, I really don’t. Aren’t you always tired?”

It was a question that Cathy was used to answering, but there was a note of genuine concern in Anne’s voice that made her smile. “Nearly always,” she replied honestly. “The key to success is taking random naps during the day. I’m surprised you don’t walk in on me curled up on the sofa more often.” She laughed as she finished, recalling the few times when she’d been woken to the sound of Kat or Anna dropping something and ending their well-meant attempts to stay quiet.

“Jane bans us from the living room whenever she knows that you’re asleep,” Anne explained, and Cathy made a note to thank their resident mum friend for safeguarding her nap times with her iron will. She was brought back to the present when Anne yawned widely and added with a grin “I think I might need to go to bed.”

“You might be right there,” Cathy agreed. “Perhaps it’ll do me good to get an early night too for a change, though I might be awake at 6am because of it.”

Anne laughed, crawling back into bed and pulling her duvet back up. Cathy stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed for a moment before Anne patted the pillow next to her, asking “You coming to bed?” as Cathy smiled and got in beside her.

As she’d expected, Anne was fast asleep within a few minutes of saying goodnight. Cathy was lying down scrolling through an article in her phone, expecting that she wouldn’t begin to feel sleepy for a while yet, but she was surprised when Anne suddenly rolled over in her sleep and rested her head in the crook of Cathy’s neck. For a moment she froze, very aware that she was only wearing a vest top and low-slung trousers, but then she relaxed under the gentle weight of Anne’s head and her arm slung across Cathy’s stomach. The text became blurrier and blurrier until Cathy’s phone clattered to the floor and she fell asleep.

And for the first time in a long time, Cathy dreamed.

She recognised the place she was in as a home from her former life, but her hands were still the warm brown she had become accustomed to in her new body. For a reason unknown to her she felt compelled to pick up her heavy skirts and start to run down the corridor, her heart starting to hammer from both the running and the fear that she couldn’t put a label on. As if her instincts knew that something terrible was about to happen. But her feet didn’t drive her towards the King’s chambers; instead she practically flew down the castle staircase into the courtyard.

The sound of shouting only drove her to run faster, careening around a corner to see a familiar face struggling to free herself from the grasp of several armed guards. Anne It was the face she knew in the dress of their past, but the furious swearing was a sure sign that this was her friend’s twenty-first century compartment rather than her Tudor self. She managed to elbow a guard in the face and kick another’s shin to grant herself a second’s freedom, but just as she was about to bolt she glanced upwards and locked eyes with Cathy. Her anger faded for a moment as she paused for a moment too long.

The guards were on her in seconds. “Cathy help me!” she screamed, her voice panicked, and Cathy immediately moved forwards to help her only to find she was glued to the courtyard floor. She cried out Anne’s name as she tried desperately to reach for her, but Anne’s frantic efforts came to nothing as she guards multiplied from nowhere to surround her.

There was a flash of metal, and then Anne sunk to the floor with a guttural scream. The guards dispersed to reveal her hunched over with blood pouring from her neck, staining her pale skin and pooling in the material in her dress. Cathy could still do nothing but watch in horror as Anne struggled to stem the scarlet river to no avail, hardly recognising the sound of her own desperate shouts as she watched her friend struggle for her life. She fell to her knees as her legs gave away, screaming and sobbing as Anne called her name in a broken voice.

“Cathy!”

She jolted forwards into a sitting position, chest heaving to pull air into her lungs as she clawed at her throat. Her skin was clammy and cold, face streaked with tears and forehead beaded with sweat. The suffocating darkness left her feeling completely untethered with no idea where she was, until a light was turned on and she was suddenly faced with an incredibly worried-looking Anne.

Her legs stilled from where she’d been trying to kick back the duvet tangled around her legs. Then she surged forwards and flung her arms around Anne’s neck. “You’re alive,” she sobbed out repeatedly, burying her head in Anne’s shoulder as she shook uncontrollably. Somewhere beneath the adrenaline coursing through her veins she felt gentle hands rub soothing circles into her upper back.

“Course I’m alive silly,” Anne whispered in her ear, waiting for her trembling to subside a little before she let Cathy sit back. “You just had a nightmare hun, you were shouting my name and thrashing around like mad. I’m alright, ok?”

Cathy hummed as she nodded, still feeling incredibly shaken as the dim lamplight shone illuminated the scar around Anne’s neck. “Yeah,” she said in a hollow voice, roughly wiping her eyes.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

On one hand she didn’t, wishing she could forget her dream had ever happened and banish the image of Anne bleeding to death from her mind’s eye. But her mouth was moving and words were pouring out before she had a chance to shake her head. “I was at Hampton Court I think, can’t really remember. And I was running into the courtyard and you were there fighting the guards, they were trying to drag you away and I couldn’t move or do anything. Then your neck was cut and you were screaming and bleeding and I- and I-.”

Anne pulled her into another tight hug as her voice failed her, murmuring sweet nothings as Cathy clung to her like a lifeline. The feeling of solid arms around her was a comforting one and Cathy could have stayed forever in her embrace, reassuring herself that Anne really was ok and it had been nothing more than a bad dream.

After several minutes Anne leaned back, taking one of Cathy’s hands and brushing the back of her fingers over her scar. “I’m alright, see? Still attached,” Anne said with a smile, reaching out with her other hand to wipe away the fresh tears that spilled down Cathy’s cheeks. Cathy couldn’t remember crying so much since her reincarnation but felt no shame as she leaned into Anne’s touch, the lingering fear from her dream making her desperate for any physical contact that proved her friend really was still there and within reach. Her fingers on Anne’s neck felt somewhat intimate, humbled by the enormous step her friend was taking by letting her touch her scar when she kept it so carefully hidden from everyone else.

“Come on,” Anne murmured, moving to lie back down beneath the duvet. Cathy was about to just lie next to her when Anne tugged on her wrist and pulled her closer, snaking an arm around Cathy’s back as she hesitantly rested her head on Anne’s chest. “You hear that?” she asked, and when Cathy stopped focusing on her voice she heard and felt the gentle pulse of Anne’s heartbeat beneath her skin. “Long as you can hear that I’m still alive and I’m not going anywhere.”

The repetitive sound was enough to calm her own racing heart, understanding why Anne and Elizabeth had always found it such a comfort. “Sorry,” she said without thinking about it, forcing herself to continue even after Anne shook her head. “I came in here to help you with nightmares and now look at me.”

“S’alright,” Anne murmured in a voice impossibly gentle, her hand finding Cathy’s and her thumb gently smoothing over her knuckles. “Happens to the best of us eh?”

“Yeah,” Cathy breathed out with a muted chuckle. She was already becoming sleepy again, Anne’s unspoken repeat of her own promise the night before banishing the misgivings from her mind and pulling her back towards unconsciousness. “You’re warm,” she whispered after a while, aware of the fever heat being emitted from Anne’s skin.

Anne laughed lightly. “I’m not well,” she reminded her, adding on “I’m cold and you’re a good blanket though so don’t you dare move.”

Cathy hummed in agreement as Anne reached over to flicked the lamp back off, but the dark wasn’t so scary when Cathy had Anne’s touch and her heartbeat to keep her anchored into reality. When they eventually fell back asleep, they both had the most peaceful night of rest in each other’s arms than they’d had in a long time.

[nix-needs-coffee]

Asking for a Lot

Prompt: "Can you just act normal for this evening? It's all I ask of you." "You're asking for a lot then."

Boleyn and Aragon go to a party and deliver some vigilante justice.

I don't even know anymore. Thanks @casual-crispy for suggesting more moments between these two and giving them a common enemy.

AO3 Link

“Can you just act normal for this evening? It’s all I’ll ask of you,” Catherine pleaded. She already knew what Anne’s answer would be before she voiced her request, but felt it was necessary to do so anyways.

“You’re asking for a lot then.”

Catherine sighed and shook her head, knowing that the evening was going to be a long one if Anne was going to pull her usual antics. They were already later than was considered fashionable for the party due to Anne’s incessant need to try every combination of outfit, hair, and makeup before she inevitably returned to the first set that she had put on.

She wasn’t even sure how she was the one that got landed with accompanying Anne that night. The other girls had all taken off in the first taxi while she was the one stuck providing feedback for everything Anne owned.

By the time they arrived at the party, everyone had left sobriety long in the past and was teetering on the dangerous side of tipsy.

“Can you believe they’re serving wine in plastic cups?” Anne asked incredulously. She eyed the bar with disbelief, “Oh my God, that’s Champagne. Catherine, they’re serving Champagne in plastic,” she frantically batted at Catherine’s arm and the alarm on her face was as though civilization was collapsing around her. “We need to leave. Immediately.”

Catherine didn’t entirely disagree, though because it was Anne, she rolled her eyes and tugged her toward the bar to pick up their own offensively served drinks.

“An insult to the entire northeast region of France. Cheers,” Catherine tapped her plastic cup against Anne’s and tried not to flinch at the dull, unsatisfying, thud of a sound.

Anne’s lip curled in distaste as she brought her cup up to drink. She scrunched up her nose and squeezed her eyes shut as she took a sip. To her surprise, the disdainful presentation did not alter the taste of the contents, and with a few more sips, she had forgotten about the packaging.

Catherine was about to take her leave, knowing that the more alcohol Anne consumed, the less she wanted to be around her -- even less than she usually wanted to -- when a man’s voice caught her attention.

“Oi, would you look at that! Go on, talk to her. With a face like that she ain’t gonna turn you down.”

“Ah, no way, mate. Not even with a paper bag,” his friend laughed. “You have the history with dogs, you get in there.”

The first man gave him an encouraging shove in the direction of the woman at the center of their attention. His friend stepped around and pushed him the same way. Beer sloshed over the sides of the cups and onto their trousers, and before their roughhousing could get too out of hand, Catherine and Anne moved themselves away from the scene.

As they stepped away, the woman they were referring to came into their line of vision.

Anna.

Catherine’s heart wrenched in sympathy. It wasn’t that she thought Anna was missing out on a catch with either one of the troglodytes that now had each other in headlocks. It was the narrow conventions of beauty that seemed to exclude the friend that she found to be breathtaking.  

So caught up in despondency, Catherine almost missed Anne lunging at the men with her fists raised in the air. Thankfully, she was able to catch Anne around her torso and pull her away from the scene before she could draw any attention to herself.

“Let me go! Didn’t you see who they were talking about? They’ll need the paper bags when I’m done with them,” she hissed in protestation as Catherine dragged her behind a column and out of view.

“Have you not spent enough of your time jailed?” Catherine looked back at the men, noting that their beers had been replaced and they were still giving each other little jabs in the shoulders, laughing obnoxiously. “I have a better idea.”

***

Anne was leaning over the bar, her face brought down to her cup still sat on the ledge. The carbonated bubbles tickled her nose, and she took a careful sip. It was filled to the brim with Champagne after she combined a few other servings, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to wrap her hand around the flimsy plastic and pick it up without sacrificing some of her beverage.

Finally at a level she deemed as safe, she picked up her cup and grimaced as the action caused some of it to overflow. Exactly what she was trying to avoid. She stumbled a bit as she made her way from the bar and collided right into the back of one of the men that had been talking about Anna.

“I am so sorry,” she slurred, throwing an arm around the man’s shoulders but directing her apology to his friend.

“That’s alright, darling. Here let me help you,” he responded while slipping an arm around her waist to steady her. He pulled her close to his side and dropped his hand a little lower to Anne’s hip, where his fingers tightened uncomfortably.

“Are you gents here by yourselves tonight?” Still not acknowledging the man whose grip was growing tighter.

“Not anymore, we’re not.”

Anne gave a petulant expression laced with disappointment. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriends. I’ll just go.”

“No. What I meant was now that you’re here, we’re not alone anymore,” he explained condescendingly while bending over to try to make eye contact with her.

Anne feigned, rather ostentatiously, to catch on.

Catherine, watching from nearby, could not have rolled her eyes any further back if she had tried.

Anne deliberately avoided making eye contact with the first man by keeping her gaze locked with the second. She gave him a shy smile, tilting her head slightly, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. When he returned the smile, she bit her lip and let her eyes drop down to the hand on her hip, trying to convey her discomfort at the contact.

It seemed to have worked, much to Catherine’s surprise as she looked on. She thought for sure that at least one of them would have picked up on the swindle. She discreetly pulled her phone from her bag and started to video the show.

The second man reached out and took Anne by her elbow, attempting to pull her closer to himself and out of the grasp of his friend. “Here, love. Why don’t we go get you a top up?”

Anne eyed her cup, still full to capacity and dribbling down the the side as her arm was jostled. “Yeah, I could really use a top up,” she agreed.

Catherine was all but floored by Anne’s ability to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She was certain that it was a first for the girl. She watched as Anne tried to step away from the first man and join the second toward the bar, but the first man did not relinquish his hold on her waist. Instead, he pulled her back in.

“I’ve got a top up for you right here, baby,” he said salaciously. Anne tried not to gag as he put his other arm around her, spilling some of his beer down her back.

“Hey man, she was going with me,” his friend yanked at his arm, sending even more beer down Anne’s dress.

“She came on to me first.” He prodded at his shoulder making enough room for Anne to slip out from between them.

“Mate, she walked into you. She’s been making eyes at me.”

“Making eyes at you? She’s all over me.”

“Are you blind? She ain’t interested in you,” he shouted, squaring up to him so they were nose to nose, chests puffed and fists clenched, staring and breathing heavily.

Anne, not even bothering to try and be inconspicuous, strutted over to Catherine while chugging the rest of her Champagne.

The men started trading shoves and jabs again, much like they had earlier in the evening, but this time there was none of the good-humored nature to it.

Alcohol now addling her brain, Anne howled with laughter as their aggression escalated. She clutched at Catherine’s arm to keep herself standing while Catherine continued to record the aftermath of Anne’s meddling.

“You were right. This is so much better,” she cackled, wiping tears from her eyes.

A little less steady on her feet, she held onto Catherine as they went to find the rest of the girls again.

***

Nursing a severe hangover the next day, Anne had not moved from the place she dropped in the couch after she had forced down the breakfast Jane had made. Catherine was in the arm chair next to her, just as worse for wear.

“Did anyone know there was a fight at the party last night? I guess it was pretty bad too. They had to call the cops. Someone has put the end of it online. Have a look,” Anna said to Jane in the kitchen.

“I could swear that is Anne cracking up in the background,” Jane replied as the tinny sounds of Anne’s joy sounded through the phone speaker.

“Catherine was with her all night. She wouldn’t have let her anywhere near a fight.”

Catherine snorted. Anne smiled into the cushion.