#Gaylinda upland

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

Guys it’s them😱

[liongrl321]

this is one of my fav gelphie fanarts, its just so beautiful..

they are so beautiful fr

wow

#repostober Day 20

More Wicked things

[goodwitchycaro]

GLINDA CALLED ELPHABA "MY ELPHIE"?????

gay people are real guys (and Glinda is the gayest

[violetintheroses]

*Me, listening to Wicked the hundredth time knowing full well what the ending is*

Galinda and Elphaba: *don’t get together*

Me:

[ironicandpunny]

I love listening to Wicked after a long day. I don't know why, but it feels like coming home.

[liongrl321]

weird wicked tags ive collected so far:

elphacado

egglinda

gaylinda

snelphie

Hi! A snail gelphie for you :)

SNELPHIE LETS GOOOOOOOO THEY ARE IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

love this so so so much ty carson <3

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

I FOUND PROOF OF MUSICAL UNIVERSE BOQ/ELPHABA/GAYLINDA FRIENDSHIP

[the-quiet-winds]

Of Yarn and Wool

[My assignment for my creative writing class (I changed the names). Angsty. Definitely AU.]

Help Wanted. 

The sign hung in the town square catches Katherine’s eye as she wanders, scrounging for food and maybe lifting a new shawl if the vendor wasn’t looking. 

But the sign is a new one, so she pulls to a stop and reads it over.  

Jane, the woman’s name apparently is, is searching for an apprentice for her spinning work, as well as, if possible, help in caring for her new son. 

Katherine takes down the paper and reads it over several times before rushing off to the house described. It’s a smaller shack, set away from the main square, but it looks nice enough. 

She knocks. 

A kindly-looking older woman answers, a broom clutched in her hands. She sets it aside when she sees the bright-eyed young woman standing in front of her, almost smiling when she spots the paper in her hand. 

“You must be here for the apprenticeship,” she says. She extends a hand. “Jane. Sorry about the broom, I thought you were that witch next door.” 

Katherine brushes off the odd comment – there's no witches in this part of the land, obviously just some sort of exaggeration. She introduces herself to say more but is interrupted by a high-pitched wail. 

“Oh,” Jane says, inviting Katherine in and closing the door, “that must be Edward.” She bustles into the next room of the small house, Katherine following. Jane lifts and swaddles a small bundle into her arms, cooing softly down to the infant, who squirms and wriggles in his mother’s arms. 

“He’s adorable,” remarks Katherine. “Moves a lot for such a little one.” 

“He can be like a little worm sometimes,” Jane whispers, chuckling behind her words. Once he’s soothed, she sets him down again and turns back to Katherine. “So, you want to be my apprentice?” 

“I need the extra money,” Katherine explains, “but this seems to be a better option than most for girls my age.” 

Jane gives a solemn nod – the brothels in town were occupied with girls around Katherine’s age. 

She begins to show Katherine the ropes of spinning, and she’s surprised with how quickly the girl picks it up. Her fingers dance naturally with the wheel and wool and she’s spinning better than most seasoned spinners Jane knows. 

One afternoon, maybe two months into their working together, Jane sends Katherine to market with their reapings to trade for food as she stays home with Edward. 

As Katherine adjusts the breads, cheeses, and vegetables in her basket, she spots the last vendor on the street, selling baby goods. She offers the last of their wool to the woman selling, but the elderly lady simply shakes her head. But Katherine can’t help staring at the small baby’s raddle on the edge of the cart and imagines Edward thrashing it around in his little hand, her and Jane watching him play. Against her better judgement, she slips it into the basket and walks off. 

She doesn’t get far, however. A cold hand grasps her wrist and forces her to turn. The elderly woman hasn’t moved, and Katherine nearly jumps as the invisible hand drags her back to the cart. The woman looks at her, steely gray eyes seemingly boring straight into her soul. One slim, nearly nonexistent eyebrow is raised. 

“You are Jane’s little workdog,” the woman states firmly. 

Katherine shifts uncomfortably, but nods.  

"You are a liar and a cheat, Katherine.” 

Before she can ask how this woman knows her name, Katherine finds herself being dragged into dark and cold before finding herself outside Jane’s doorstep, the woman’s magical hand still gripped tightly around her wrist. 

The woman knocks. 

Jane answers the door, a restless Edward in her arms, and pales dramatically when she sees who is waiting for her. 

“Evangeline,” she says thickly, swallowing hard, “what brings you over?” 

“Found this one stealing from my cart,” the old woman hisses. She throws Katherine forward and Jane catches her with her free hand before she falls over.  

“Why would you steal from her?” Jane asks, her voice as calm and maternal as it always was, even with the tense present situation. 

“I wanted to get something for Edward,” Katherine admits, “but I had nothing to trade for it.” 

“You want something for the baby so badly?” The old woman is taunting now, and Jane can nearly smell the magic in the air. She quickly hands Edward off to Katherine and stands protectively in front of them.  

But over Jane’s shoulder, Katherine can see what’s coming. 

“Here’s my baby gift, dear Jane. I hope you enjoy it.” 

Before anyone can react, there’s a flash of magic, and Jane is no longer standing protectively in front of the pair of children. 

But in her place on the ground is a doll, yellow yarn hair and pale blue eyes and wearing an apron. A spitting image of Jane. 

The witch looks satisfied. “Don’t ever steal from me again, neighbor,” she hisses, before walking past Katherine. 

“Neighbor...?” Katherine repeats, but remembers what Jane said on their first day. 

“Sorry about the broom, I thought you were that witch next door.” 

Katherine delicately picks Jane up off the ground, brushing the dirt out of her yarn hair. Edward is wailing again, but the sight of the doll calms him immediately.  

She had torn apart a family and now had to raise this boy on her own. She owed Jane that much.  

Tears well in Katherine’s eyes as she realizes exactly what she had done. 

Maybe she should have just gone to the brothel instead. 

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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 @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @delilahbrixrwoods​ @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[the-quiet-winds]

Innocence is Beautiful to See, Won’t You Box it Up for Me?

[It ends as it began.]

Frankly, Katherine Howard had never been so afraid in her short life.

In that heated, dark moment, all she can see is Thomas Culpeper himself, a malice in his eyes as he backs away to reveal the executioner waiting for her outside, holding a sharpened ax that simply radiated hatred and evil. He stands atop a stage, a block by his knees as he watches her with cold, unfeeling eyes.

She does her best to hide her trembling as she is led to his feet, Henry and Thomas standing a mere few paces away. Katherine is forced to her knees before her king. Every muscle in her body is screaming, and she can feel a burning in her neck as she knows what’s coming.

“You filthy, wretched little whore,” Henry spits. “I hope you burn in Hell.”

Katherine doesn’t even have time to respond before a blindfold is roughly tied around her eyes and her head is forced onto the block, but it’s so unlike she had practiced the night before. She’s not even allowed to address the crowd. She waits.

She hears the swordsman raise his blade.

Then nothing.

“Katherine Howard.”

She hears the crowd roaring, some from anger and some from upset, but a soft voice cuts through.

Katherine lifts her head off of the block. “Mum?”

She can’t see, not with the blindfold, so if Jane nodded, she doesn’t see it. She continues, “they’re going to hurt me, mum.”

“I know.”

The voice is calm, too calm, as if she doesn’t care at all.

“Please help,” Kat pleads.

Something happens that she can’t see, signalled only by the roaring of the crowd. 

Jane’s voice cries out, “off with her head!”

The crowd falls absolutely silent, enough so that Katherine can hear the executioner move the ax in his hand before hefting it up.

And it descends towards her neck.

With a mangled sort of cry, Katherine immediately becomes aware of the bed around her, sheets soft and warm. She bolts upright and comes face to face with Jane. The real Jane. Her legs, on instinct, shoot out and force her back against the headboard, and she hangs her head in shame.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she mumbles. 

“It’s no problem, love,” Jane assures her. She puts a light hand on one of Katherine’s knees. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, so Jane just patiently waits. Katherine’s breathing hasn’t slowed since she realized there was in the room, which her mother notices, of course. “Kat,” Jane says quietly, moving closer, “I’m not going to hurt you.” She brushes some of Katherine’s hair out of her face and looks at her kindly. “You’re safe here, you know that, right?”

Katherine blushes, a bright red stain spreading through her cheeks, neck, and ears. She avoids eye contact, looking at messy sheets instead. Jane quietly clicks her tongue then reaches out, a hand coming to rest on Katherine’s warm cheek, pulling her to make eye contact. “It’s okay, love,” Jane assures her again. “I just want you to feel a bit better, yeah?”

A flicker of a smile, so quick and fleeting that Jane thought it must have been a sleep-deprived mirage, flashes faintly across Katherine’s lips. Before she can stop herself, she launches forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Jane’s waist and burying her face in her neck. 

Jane, of course, catches her, pulling her close. “I’ve got you, love,” she whispers. “You’re safe here.”

Katherine gives a tiny whimper and presses closer. “They were going to hurt me,” she whispers.

“They can’t-”

“You were there too,” she says. The reminder of this causes her to pull away, nearly scrambling back across the bed to escape. “You were going to hurt me.”

“It wasn’t real,” Jane tries to soothe her. “It wasn’t me.”

Somewhere deep in Katherine’s mind, she knows this. It wasn’t the real Jane - not the woman who knows when she’s scared and reassures her she’s safe or who likes to playfully torment her with dotting kisses all over her cheeks until Kat is squirming to escape.

“I’m here,” Jane whispers. “I’m real.” She slowly moves closer until she can gently move some of Kat’s disheveled hair out of her face and cup her cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.”

Katherine manages to nod. “You won’t hurt me,” she mumbles.

“That’s right,” Jane encourages. “I won’t. Not now, not ever.”

As if Jane was the only life raft on the sinking ship, Katherine throws herself at her mother, holding her tight around the waist.

“I know. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Jane’s whispered promises reach her ears and she smiles, just barely, into Jane’s neck. Tears well up in her eyes as she feels the familiar sensations of Jane’s fingers in her hair and the soft kisses pressed to her temple.

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Katherine detaches from Jane for long enough for them both to shuffle beneath the covers, but as soon as Jane has finished adjusting the comforter around them, Katherine is latched to her waist again, tucking her head under Jane’s chin and settling her ear over her mum’s heart. She gives a tiny, content sigh as she closes her eyes again, surprisingly calm after such a vivid nightmare. 

“I’ll keep you safe,” Jane promises, her voice soft as velvet as it meets Kat’s ears. “No more nightmares, not while your mama is here.”

Katherine giggles, a barely there thing, and snuggles closer. “I love you, mama.”

Jane kisses the top of her head so softly. “I love you too, my little Seymour, and I always will.”

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tag list: @spookabeth @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 @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

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Six months ago today, I posted the first part of It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn. For every day since, I have posted writing, and, to my surprise, you all ate it up. I can’t remember the last time I felt that, if ever. I’ve been writing for six years now, and I have never had fans and friends like the lot of you.

This isn’t a goodbye, or even a see you later. It’s a thank you, for all of the support and love you all gave on a daily basis.

Drop an ask, send headcanons and fics, I’m still here. 

And keep your eyes out for some new fun.

-Julie, the-quiet-winds, the proclaimed Queen / Mother of Six Fanfic

[the-quiet-winds]

Watching the Dust Go Clear

[for @qualquercoisa945]

Summer, 2019

“But I’ve never told you that before.”

“I have my sources.”

Katherine frowns. “Anne told you, didn’t she.”

“Maybe.”

“Mum,” Katherine groans. “I told her not to tell.”

Jane smiles innocently. “That’s not my problem.” Her cheery facade drops as she shifts closer to her daughter. “Now why don’t you tell me more.”

“You’ll just make fun of me,” Katherine mumbles toward her lap.

“Katherine.”

At the utterance of her unhinged first name, Katherine snaps to alertness. “Yes?”

Jane takes her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’ll never make fun of you for anything, okay? You can tell me anything, as long as you feel comfortable.”

There’s a long silence between them, and Katherine very nearly contemplates letting it linger longer, not telling Jane anything at all.

But she sighs.

“When I was little,” she mumbles out, not meeting Jane’s eyes yet, “I would dream about being a princess. I knew it wasn’t going to happen,” she concedes with a chuckle, “at least when I got older, but when I was a little girl, it was nice to think about.”

Jane squeezes her hand again, urging her to continue.

“I only ever met Anne once or so, I think. I remember her picking me up. I couldn’t have been older than four or five, and I was so excited to see her hoods and her jewelry. I thought-”

“-You thought she was a princess,” Jane concludes softly. Katherine nods.

“I asked her if she was, she said no.” Katherine laughs quietly, a twinge of bitterness behind it. “I just… I wanted what she had. I wanted to be royalty.” 

Jane sees where this is going, how could she not, but doesn’t want to cut Katherine off again.

“That’s how I let myself get caught up with him,” Katherine says. She gives a single sharp laugh. “I never saw it coming. I was too stupid and naive-”

“Stop with that,” Jane interjects. “You are none of those things.”

“But-”

“You want what I think?”

Katherine is a bit taken back at Jane’s sudden change of demeanor. She had been half-expecting more soothing and comforting, not a sharp, out-of-nowhere question. “Sure,” she mumbles, looking down again, ready for the telling off to begin.

“Maybe Katherine Howard didn’t have the most world experience,” Jane admits, and Katherine looks up at her in confusion. “But Katherine Seymour… now she is the smartest and most talented girl I know. She’s brave and witty and clever and the light of my life,” she continues.

Katherine can only stare at her mother for several moments, before lunging to wrap her arms tightly around her waist, clinging tightly. She buries her face in Jane’s shoulder, trying to hold back the tears that so desperately want to escape.

“And I mean it,” Jane murmurs, slipping her arm around Katherine’s back, gently teasing at the tiny baby hairs at the back of her neck. “You, Katherine Seymour, are all of that and more. You’re the strongest girl I know, sweetheart. I want you to hear that.”

Jane feels the feeblest nod against her shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile, and she pulls her daughter tighter against her.

“I love you, Kitty-Kat.”

Katherine giggles softly, so softly, at the nickname. “I love you too, mama.”

---

Christmas Day, 2019

When it came to Christmas morning, Anne and Katherine were nearly worse than two six year olds already on a sugar high from sucking candy canes all night instead of sleeping.

It was barely past seven when they were dragging everyone out of bed. Well, everyone being Cathy and Anna. Aragon and Jane had already left for Christmas morning mass, promising they’d come back and put their pajamas back on to open presents.

Cathy and Anna start on breakfast as Katherine and Anne sip hot chocolate at the table, not-so-discreetly looking under the tree to see what presents were addressed to them.

Their excitement only grows when Jane and Catherine, hair dusted in pristine white snow, shiver their way back through the door. The pair are immediately escorted upstairs to change as Anna and Katherine divvy up everyone’s presents.

Usually the ladies in waiting spent the holiday with them, but those four had planned a last-minute Christmas trip to the States of all places, so the queens were alone, which, frankly, wasn’t all that bad an alternative.

As soon as Jane and Catherine return, back in their pajamas, Anne announces she’s going first.

They take turns unwrapping presents, thanking each other, then making overly-excited reactions to everyone else’s reapings.

The third time Katheirne’s turn comes, Jane can’t keep it back anymore.

“Do mine next, love,” she prompts softly, pointing towards the silvery plaid wrapped box. Katherine hesitates just a moment before doing as told, gently dismantling the paper as not to rip it.

Under the wrap is a black box, the name of a company she doesn’t recognize on the lid. She opens it and tears immediately flood her eyes.

“Is this really for me?”

“You said you’ve always wanted to be a princess,” Jane says softly. “And you may be a queen now, but now you can be the princess you were always meant to be.”

With shaking hands, Katherine removes the tiara from the box, looking between it and Jane several times, not even hearing the murmurs of the others. She hands it to Jane without a word, and her mother very gently sets it on her sleep-disheveled head.

“There,” she murmurs, tears in her own eyes. “A true princess.” 

Katherine throws herself into Jane’s arms, hugging her so tight and mumbling ‘thank you’s into her shoulder.

Jane presses a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re welcome, love.” She pulls back to look Katherine in the eyes, wiping a tear from her cheek with a pass of her thumb. “My beautiful, perfect princess.”

That sends Katherine into a fresh bout of tears, clinging to Jane like she never had before. Her words are barely syllables now, all but sputtered noises. One phrase rings free, just loud enough to catch Jane’s ear.

“I love you, mama.”

Jane smiles softly.

“I love you too, my little princess.”

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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 @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[the-quiet-winds]

Hiding my Heart Behind a Wall

“Why won’t you admit you’ve been slacking?”

“Slacking on what?”

“Taking care of yourself.”

Jane can’t help the slight widening of her eyes and the heavier set of reddish tint in her cheeks. She fumbles for words, but there is nothing she can say.

She had been slacking, she knows that. But she didn’t think anyone else had noticed.

Jane would admit to late night cleaning sessions, foregoing sleep to avoid the garrish dreams and instead focus on a book of some sort, even fighting to keep herself awake, even as Katherine’s soft warmth in her side or against her stomach tried to lull her to sleep as the girl sought middle-of-the-night cuddles.

It’s a vicious cycle, Jane knows, and it’s hurting her more than she probably can admit. 

But it’s easier. 

It’s easier to stay awake than risk the dreams. It’s easier to do the housework in the dead of the night when no one would bother her. 

It’s easier to ignore her problems and pretend they don’t exist.

“Jane.”

Cathy’s soft voice snaps her out of her reverie. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Jane says automatically, as she had trained herself to do for as long as she can remember. 

“Jane,” Cathy says. “I’m not letting you evade this. You need to take care of yourself. This,” she gestures to Jane’s current state, “isn’t good.”

“I’m fine,” Jane repeats, shooing Cathy towards the bed. “Just fine.” 

Cathy opens her mouth to protest, but whatever she was going to say dies on her tongue as Jane begins to make her bed.

“Jane this is ridiculous,” she states.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Jane assures her.

“I never said that.”

“I’ll see you later, love,” Jane says, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead and ignoring whatever is being insinuated.

Stubbornness is a trait that runs deep in Seymour blood, Cathy had remembered with Thomas, now evident with Jane too. 

Jane closes the door behind her and heads downstairs, pretending not to notice the wooziness in her head or the flickering of black across the edges of her vision.

“Hello, my love.”

Her heart stops at the voice, rugged and lust-ladden.

“H-Henry?”

The king moves closer, his hands planting themselves firmly on Jane’s waist, sliding seductively up and down her sides. A shiver runs through her at the contact

“It’s me, darling. We can be together again.”

“How are you-”

“Does it matter?” He asks. “How did you lot come back?” He laughs, deep and dark. “But I am here, and so are you, and I think we have a few things to catch up on.”

“No,” Jane says, that former stubbornness burned out to ash. “I won’t.”

“Come on, my love,” he murmurs, lips pressing to her neck as his fingers slide down then in, nearing the apex of her thighs.

For the slightest millisecond, Jane loses herself in the pleasure.

Then she jumps back. “No,” she repeats. “I won’t-”

“Jane?” 

She turns, and Anne is standing in the kitchen doorway. “What’s going on?”

Jane frantically points at Henry. “He’s back!”

“I don’t see anyone, Jane,” Anne says.

“He’s right there, he-”

She’s cut off by his hands on her again, roaming her back, her shoulders, down toward her backside.

“Jane, there’s no one here.”

“Do we have company?” Aragon asks, entering the room next to Anne.

“She says Henry is here,” Anne murmurs.

“He’s right there!” Jane cries, pulling back again. “How can you not see him?”

“Henry isn’t here,” Aragon tries to soothe.

“Don’t listen to them,” Henry croons. He kisses her, and she’s frozen. “We can be together now, just give in.”

“I don’t want to,” Jane mumbles.

“But you’ve missed me,” he says. “I know you have.”

Vaguely, as if they were underwater and miles away, Jane can register the voices of not only just Aragon and Boleyn, but Cathy, Anna, and, maybe, her darling Katherine.

But they don’t seem real. All that seems real now is the very real Henry in front of her.

“Come on, my love. My queen,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down her forehead to her cheek to her jaw to her neck. “Let’s go.”

Jane closes her eyes with a soft whimper and falls into oblivion.

---

“Hallucinations?”

“She was awake for three days or so. It’s common.”

“She was convinced it was real.”

“Again, that’s common.”

As Jane slowly comes too, she hears voices first. It’s Aragon and Parr. 

Then she feels the weight around her. There is at least one human on each of her sides, and possibly a cat on her stomach, who can tell.

“How long was I out?” She mumbles, eyes half-cracked.

“Jane,” Anna breathes. “We were so worried.”

“A few hours,” Cathy answers her question. “And you won’t be leaving this bed until tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Mama, listen to Aunty Cathy.”

That voice, spoken from the girl huddled under her right arm, might just be the thing that convinces her. 

“What happened?”

“You slacked,” Cathy deadpans. She softens a moment later, then, “you were hallucinating. You said Henry was here, then you passed out.”

“Almost slammed straight into the floor,” Anne quietly quips from her position under Jane’s left arm. “We all managed to catch you and bring you up here.”

At the reminder, Katherine gives the tiniest whimper.

“I guess I should thank you-,” Jane starts, but is cut off.

“You can thank us,” Aragon says with a raised eyebrow, “by not leaving this bed.”

“I’m staying here with you,” Katherine declares, snuggling further into Jane. “We can cuddle and I’ll make sure you don’t leave the bed.”

Jane, despite her exhaustion, manages a weak chuckle and kisses Kat’s head. “I think it might be nap time first,” she mumbles.

“We’ll leave you be,” Anna says softly. 

“Thank you,” Jane finally says, “for getting me out of that.”

Anne clambers into an upright position as she mutters out, “anything to get you away from that creep. Even if he was just in your head.”

Jane nods forlornly before dropping her head back against the pillows and squeezing Kat for just a moment.

Once they’re alone, Katherine leans up to kiss Jane’s cheek. “I love you, mum,” she promises softly, “and I want you to get better.”

Already falling back asleep, Jane whispers a laugh. “I have you, darling girl. What more could I need?”

Jane’s asleep by the time she finishes the sentence, and misses Katherine’s blushy smile as she curls closer to her mum.

There’s a slight tremble to Jane’s frame as she sleeps, and Katherine finds herself holding her a little tighter.

“I’ve got you, mama,” she promises. “You’re going to be okay.”

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[sixabschp]

@gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands has a really good one about Seymour and Parr! I'm blanking on the name

Jane Seymour + ships

(”/” means romantic relationship, “&” means friendship) 

/Catherine of Aragon

help me unravel my latest mistake by @lailaliquorice​

It was often joked that Catherine and Jane were the mothers of the household.

&Catherine of Aragon

looking where the light pours in by LailaLiquorice 

When not even the might of Catherine of Aragon can stand up alone against the flu.

Solicited advice by jane_fucking_seymour

Jane wants to be a good mum to Katherine. She seeks advice in the wrong places.

&Anne Boleyn

Everything Else Is My Fault by notenoughcoffee

It’s totally Anne’s fault.

&Anna of Cleves

Consequences and Biscuit Dough by CynicalRainbows

In which Jane takes care of a hung over Anna.

&Katherine Howard

we keep this love in a photograph by LailaLiquorice

Jane and Kat have an emotional conversation about what exactly they mean to each other.

/Catherine Parr

H & B: The Matchmaking Team by beeskneeshuh 

Katherine and Anne take it upon themselves to set up Jane and Catherine on a date.

Seymour’s culinary disaster. by Lee but spelt Li (three_amongst_these_tens)

She really wants to bake something for the Queens whenever they wake up to surprise them and make them happy - it does not work out as planned.

&Catherine Parr

some memories never leave your bones by LailaLiquorice 

When a case of food poisoning brings back memories that Jane Seymour would rather forget.

  ‘Til Sleep Comes Around by a_slightly_cracked_egg

The 5 times Jane Seymour helped Catherine Parr after falling asleep in strange places/positions + the 1 time Cath returned the favour

[the-quiet-winds]

Hear the Confession Lost in the Wind

“Looks like someone did her homework last night.”

The comment, meant as nothing more than a gentle quip, stings Anne. She immediately flushes pink. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for knowing the harmonies,” Joan chuckles. “Makes my job a little bit easier.”

Despite the reassurance, Anne looks down at the sheet music in her hands and doesn’t look up again, save for the slight lift of her chin to sing her parts.

Rehearsals sucked sometimes. 

Especially when it came to stuff like this.

She was good at music. It was something that came naturally to her. So learning the harmonies for all the songs, the melody for her own, even the high notes she was supposed to hit dotted all over the place was really, stupidly easy.

And it scared her.

She remembers what happened last time she was the smartest in the room, and a tiny ripple of sensation races across her neck as to not ever let her forget.

The piano starts slowly again, Jane taking the lead as they practice her song, and Anne purposefully sings just slightly off-pitch from her assigned notes to make up for her mess up earlier. 

“Anne,” Joan says softly, cutting off Jane. “You’re sharp. You know this,” she encourages, and the pit in Anne’s stomach just nestles deeper.

On the next rep, she sings far too quietly. Her high soprano is cut cleanly off by Aragon’s mezzo and Cleve’s alto as they back Jane, and the group is cut off again.

“Anne,” Joan repeats, “you were doing it right just a few minutes ago. Are you okay?”

Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on her, and Anne feels smaller than she’s ever felt before. “Yeah,” she promises, “just fine.”

She sings louder, more on key the next time. Obedient and docile, she follows Aragon and Cleves through the ascending notes, which she holds out just a little too long as Jane tries to close the song.

Joan studies Anne for a short minute, before telling them all to take a break, reconvene in fifteen.

Anne bolts for the hallway with as much subtlety as she could muster in the moment (which wasn’t much), and takes the stairwell to the roof of the theater. 

The bitter December air slices at her face as soon as she’s outside, but she pretends not to feel it as she begins to pace along the roof, trying to clear her head.

“You’re doing fine, you know.”

Anne is so startled her feet completely leave the ground. As soon as she’s regained her bearings, she turns to her visitor.

“You could’ve given me a heart attack, Margaret.”

Maggie raises an eyebrow. “It’s Maggie now,” she reminds her. “And I just came to see how you were.”

“I’m fine, you said it yourself,” Anne says, not meeting her eyes, even adding a huffed half-laugh at her own sarcasm.

“You’re not,” Maggie says bluntly. “I know you well enough to see that.” She steps closer to Anne, folding her arms to try and build warmth. “So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Anne scuffs her shoe against the barest dusting of snow on the concrete, then sighs. “I showed off,” she mumbles with a shrug. “I didn’t mean to, but…”

Maggie steps closer again, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You can tell me,” she promises. “I’m here for you.”

“I can’t let them know I’m not… empty-headed, or whatever. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m the fun one, not the smart one.”

“That’s not all,” Maggie says wisely. “I know there’s more here.”

Anne turns away from her friend, shrugging off the hand on her shoulder. She moves closer to the edge of the roof, a sudden, harsh breeze fighting to claw her hair out of the buns. “How I died,” she mumbles to the snow-covered stones. “Because I was smart. I was a threat.”

Maggie swallows a harsh lump as the memories of Anne’s execution flash across her eyes. Her last words to the crowd, the pleading of God or Jesus for forgiveness… all of it burned into her mind like a tragic painting that will never age or decay.

“He didn’t like that,” Anne continues, snapping Maggie out of her thoughts. “That I was intelligent. Clever.” She sighs. “I can’t let them see it.”

“They’re not him,” Maggie points out.

“Maybe not. But he wasn’t awful at first either.”

Maggie may disagree, but she doesn’t vocalize these thoughts. Instead, “I’ll be by your side the whole time. No matter what happens.”

Anne does finally turn around at that to look at her oldest friend. She smiles, a snow-dusted, barely-there thing, complete with red and watery eyes and a nose twitching from cold.

“Come on,” Maggie chuckles. “Let’s get somewhere warmer.”

Anne allows herself to brought back into the warmth of the stairwell and finally back to the hallway. Then she blinks and finds herself in Maggie’s hold, warm and sure.

She sinks into it. 

“We’ll be okay,” Maggie promises softly.

We. Both of us. Together.

Anne holds onto her friend, her former lady in waiting, now a true friend and musician. She rests her chin on Maggie’s shoulder.

“Together,” she mumbles. “As long as we’re together.”

Maggie gives her the slightest squeeze. “As long as we’re together.”

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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 @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[the-quiet-winds]

For Miles and Miles and Miles

“Why are you awake right now?”

Katherine blearily blinks the sleep out of her eyes, squinting through the dark haze at the figure in her doorway. “Cathy, is that you?”

The figure creeps closer, and the slivers of moonlight trickling in through her window betray a mop of hair, tostled and tired.

Definitely Cathy.

“What are you doing here?” She asks softly, rubbing at her eyes. Usually, if Cathy woke up in the middle of the night (or four in the morning, as it currently is), she went to Jane or Aragon. 

Never Katherine.

Still unspeaking, Cathy moves closer to Katherine’s bed. Her steps are slow, heavy, like she herself is still asleep.

She isn’t, Katherine can tell. Her eyes are open, she knows what’s happening, and knows she sits down on Kat’s bed.

Katherine reaches over to pull the bedside lamp cord, bringing a soft yellow glow to the room-

And that’s when she sees the tears, tracks lingering on Parr’s softly sloping cheeks, still welling from the source.

“Cathy?” She asks softly.

The older woman sniffles, seemingly waking up a little more, wiping at the tears on her face. “Bad dream,” she mumbles.

Katherine moves closer. “Do you… want to talk about it?” She offers, trying to recall how Jane would comfort her after her own nightmares.

Cathy just shrugs.

“Hey,” Katherine murmurs, taking her hand. “What’s going on?”

She pulls away, Cathy does, keeping her hands folded neatly in her lap. There’s a nearly tense moment of quiet, then Cathy moves to her feet. “I shouldn’t have come-” she mumbles out, but is stopped by a hand taking hers again.

“You can talk to me,” Katherine says again, “I’m here for you.”

Cathy stares at her through the tears and yellow haze, then slowly sits again. “I dreamt… I dreamt of you.”

A small part of Katherine in surprised at the revelation - Why would Cathy dream about her? She definitely would have expected an obscure mention of Mary, despite the fact she could count on maybe one time she’d ever heard Cathy mention her daughter, a miniscule number compared to Jane talking about Edward, Aragon talking about her own Mary, and, as of more recently, Anne talking about Elizabeth.

Katherine squeezes her hand reassuringly. “What happened?”

Cathy sighs. She should have seen this question coming. Truthfully, she doesn’t really want to answer. But she opens her mouth and starts to wind the story of how she had seen Katherine, so young and innocent she was when married to Henry, being seduced by the notorious Cupeper.

Katherine can’t help the flinch, cringe, and spike in her heart rate that come with the revelation, but she gestures for Cathy to continue.

“I couldn’t do anything,” she admits softly, “I was just watching it all. Then suddenly we were at your execution.” They both swallow hard the same breath. “They had me behind you, h-holding you down-” her voice starts to break as tears start to flow again. “You were screaming… yelling at me that it was m-my fault-”

Whatever is left of the story to tell, Katherine doesn’t want to hear it. She lunges to pull Cathy into a hug.

“It wasn’t real,” she mumbles into Cathy’s shoulders, both to herself and her aunt. “You didn’t hurt me, never have.” Craning her neck slightly, she leans to press a soft kiss to Cathy’s cheek. “You’re the best aunt I could ever ask for.”

Cathy clings to her, as if not doing so would cause the horrible, vivid nightmare to come to pass. As if releasing Katherine would condemn her back to that cursed block, her slim, trembling shoulders being pressed down by Cathy’s blood-soaked hands.

She holds Katherine just the slightest bit tighter at that thought. 

Katherine feels it. “It’s okay,” she promises. “I’m here.” She pulls back, just enough to look Cathy in the eyes. “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?”

Finally, the tiniest spark of a smile. “I’d like that.”

As soon as they’re under the covers, they’re holding each other again, Cathy’s trembles still wracking through her at lightning speed.

“Let’s try to sleep,” Katherine tries to assure her, still thinking an endless loop of, ‘what would Jane do?’

Sleep, go back to sleep. That’s what Jane would say.

Her own eyes are starting to drift shut again, but she forces herself to stay awake until it seems that Cathy might sleep peacefully now.

It takes a while, but she does, and Katherine can finally breathe again.

She forces the description of Cathy’s dream and the thoughts of her own execution from her head, and is very near sleep again when a soft weight joins their party. She doesn’t even have to crack her eyes to know it’s Argyle, here to protect his mistress and her family.

With the fierce lion to guard them, Cathy’s apparent lack of nightmares, and the soft warmth of the arms around her, Katherine finally succumbs to exhaustion, and the pair peacefully sleep until the late morning.

Jane cracks the door at half past ten, after finding Cathy’s bed empty. As soon as she does, Argyle shoots past, in desperate need of a trip to the litter box, but her sister and niece remain dead to the world.

Let them rest, Jane decides, they don’t have a matinee. 

And with Cathy’s bad sleep schedule, God knows they could use it.

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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 @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[the-quiet-winds]

Nothin’ But a Sinner (part one)

[A Six US based multichap? It’ll probably only be two parts but... we’ll see. TW for alcohol use]

[Part 1: Hypocrite]

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

“Alright, Mom,” Anne hums softly. “Come on, open up.”

Jane looks at her through half-lidded eyes. “What?”

“I have the soup now, remember? And I think you’re far too weak to feed yourself.”

“‘M’kay,” Jane mumbles, allowing the soup to be spooned into her mouth.

Through her exhausted, sickly delirium, Jane is blissfully ignorant to the flash of pain that crosses Anne’s eyes, specifically at the mention of death.

Death, frankly, is her least favorite topic. Ever.

Between the pale scar across her and her cousin’s necks, as well as the reminder of Jane’s premature death every night during the show, it’s always around her.

She knows Jane just means it as a joke. Just a joke. A sleepy, somewhat-delirious joke.

Still, Anne knows, it stings a bit.

She swallows this sadness in time with Jane’s swallowing of the soup.

“Can you eat some more?” Anne asks softly. “There’s still half the bowl left.”

Jane gives her a half-quirked smile that barely traces pale cheeks to sunken eyes, and nods just once.

Anne lifts the spoon again and offers it again and again until the bowl is empty and Jane looks like she may fall asleep at any moment.

“Do you want me to stay?” She asks softly.

Jane makes a very non-committal noise, and Anne can’t help the soft giggle that follows. She looks down and softly asks again, “do you want me to?”

This time she gets no response, so she looks up, and Jane is very much asleep.

Anne presses a soft kiss to her mom’s cheek and flicks off the bedside lamp on her way out, collecting the empty soup bowl and bringing it with her back to the kitchen. Jane’s Canada apartment is about the same size as the one in Boston, cozy but not cramped, and it feels just as much home as it did in Massachusetts.

She already know that Jane won’t be doing the show tonight. Even if she is awake, her fever has her delirious (Anne has to chuckle to herself at the thought of her mom, looking and acting like she was high out of her mind, trying to do her solo, let alone the whole show.)

The call time of the show creeps closer, and Anne slips into the room to check on Jane before she leaves. Of course, Jane is still passed out. 

Anne knows that Jane won’t know what to do when she wakes up, so she moves on silent feet to set up the medication she’d need to take, even leaving a little note with instructions.

And, as she logically would, she had to sign it as, ‘Anne, your favorite daughter.’

After, she heads to the theater. Alone.

She had called in Jane’s sickness-induced-absence hours ago, so by the time she arrives, Mallory is already prepping herself in one of the open chairs.

Anne sits down next to Katherine with a tiny, slightly forced grin.

“How is she?” Is the first question out of Katherine’s mouth.

“She’ll be okay,” Anne promises. “Just a little touch of flu or something.”

“And I bet you’re taking great care of her, of course,” Katherine teases.

“I’m doing my best.”

“Are you alright?” Katherine asks, turning her chair to face Anne more fully.

“Yeah,” Anne says, albeit half-heartedly.

“You’re lying to me,” Katherine says. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“She just…,” Anne sighs, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly. “She said something about dying, and it just… I don’t know… stuck with me, I guess.”

Katherine puts a hand on Anne’s wrist, squeezing lightly. “She’s going to be fine,” she says, slow and sure. “You’ll go home after this and it’ll be just fine.”

Anne keeps Katherine’s words on a loop in her head. She’s going to be fine.

Logically, Anne knows this. It’s just a touch of the flu, or maybe just a bug. It’s not the sweat, or the plague, or whatever killed her in the first life.

With these thoughts in her head, she puts on the best face she can and goes to perform.

All throughout the show, Katherine, Mallory, and Anna send her reassuring glances. She returns them all with smiles she can’t help - at least, for the most part, she’s supposed to be happy on stage. 

Once the show ends, once they’re done dancing and have made a theatergoer’s night by taking their phone and recording themselves dancing, Anne is so genuinely happy the tiny, black, nagging cloud in the back of her mind seems nearly nonexistent.

“We’re going to get drinks,” Anna tells her once all of the fans have left and the cold Edmonton air is biting at her skin. “Wanna come?”

Anne nods. “Sounds great.”

In that moment, honestly, she forgets about her sickly mother at home. She goes with them, Mallory and Nicole included, and they drink, and dance, and drink, and dance. 

By the time she leaves, she’s a little tipsy, admittedly. Aragon, their designated driver, drops her off at her apartment, and she passes out as soon as she hits the bed.

She wakes up the next morning to a pretty decent headache that nearly keeps her from fishing her phone out of the jacket she had thrown on the floor.

But she pulls it out, and what’s waiting for her sobers her and shatters her heart.

“Where are you?” One of Jane’s texts from the previous night reads. “Come back, please,” another pleads, and Anne can practically hear Jane’s soft words through the screen.

There are a few more messages too, a voicemail or two, but an overwhelming sense of guilt settles in Anne’s chest like her own sickness.

Nope, that’s hangover.

As she digs through her medicine cabinet for something to take, she knows she has to fix this. 

Especially having seen Jane’s most recent message.

“I’m so sorry, lovebug.”

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tag list: @spookabeth @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 @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @philopeanut @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

[liliocelotepremium]

BEHOLD

(gif by @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands )

I don’t know how Genesis and Aimie coped with the original aywd choreography, like we’ve all seen THAT gif of it

It’s because they’re professional gays and we are all highly unprofessional gays