#aragon needs to learn how to comfort children

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Rabies

how’s Mags gonna live this one down

TW: Destructive stimming, vomiting

———————

        Aragon found the poor girl collapsed in one of the theater bathrooms, halfway huddled under the sink with blood oozing from a reopened bite mark in her wrist. The pure look of terror in Maggie’s eyes broke the queen’s heart and that natural motherly instinct inside of her flared, urging her to help this terrified child.

She wished she just would have gotten Bessie.

When she got close, Maggie flinching away and making a warning noise of sorts should have been enough for her to not push into her comfort zone, but Aragon’s maternal side wouldn’t let her leave. She reached out to try and get the girl to stop hurting herself, and Maggie lashed out.

In one jerky, but swift moment, Maggie is biting Aragon.

To be honest, the scene could almost be humorous if it wasn’t for the strength Maggie was clamping down with. She had the side of Aragon’s hand with the thumb in her mouth and looked as feral as a wild dog as she grinds her teeth in deeper. Aragon hissed in pain and grabbed hold of her wrist, like it would block the sensation from traveling to the rest of her body.

   “What the fuck?!” She cried on instinct to the absurd action.

That only made it worse.

Any thought about releasing Aragon was now gone. All Maggie was seeing was someone who hated her, who wanted to hurt her.

She had to harm them before they harmed her.

Aragon considered pulling Maggie’s hair, but knew it wouldn’t help at all. It would also make Bessie angry, and that wasn’t something the first queen wanted to deal with right now. So, she had no other choice but to stay calm.

   “Maggie,” She called out, “Maggie, let go. You’re hurting me.”

Maggie doesn’t respond. She isn’t even looking at Aragon, rather the floor with eyes too wide and too glazed over. It was like she was in a trance.

It was like she had rabies.

Aragon took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain that kept flaring through her hand. She released the grip on her wrist and inched closer, as the current position they were both in was a little awkward because of the distance. Maggie allows it and they’re soon facing each other, with Maggie having her knees to her chest and Aragon not really caring about where her legs went because her hand was in a kid’s mouth and that’s the only thing that mattered right now.

   “Maggie,” Aragon tried again, “Maggie, please let go. That hurts. That really hurts, Maggie.”

Nothing.

Pulling Maggie’s hair is back on the table, but as Aragon looks into Maggie’s eyes, she realizes the poor thing is just terrified. She was so caught up in being bitten that she hadn’t even realized how badly the girl was shaking or that she was making little whimpering noises every few seconds.

   “Maggie,” Aragon said, but this time her tone is much more tender and warm. It makes Maggie finally look up a little, “Can you hear me, love?”

Maggie nods a little.

   “Good. That’s good.” Aragon said, “Alright...do you think you can let go? Please?”

Maggie doesn’t respond. Her eyes flick down again. Aragon follows her gaze and realizes she’s looking at her own hand, which is bloody and bruised. The queen’s heart aches for the girl.

   “Oh, love...”

She felt hot tears drip down onto her hand. Maggie screws her eyes shut, a gargled whine worming out from her throat. Just looking at her like this makes Aragon feels bad for being angry at her.

   “Alright, Maggie,” Aragon said, “I just want to help you. Can I do that? Is that okay?”

Maggie hesitated and then nodded.

Aragon thinks for a moment and then extends her other hand. Maggie flinches away a little, but then pressed her head into Aragon’s palm like she was a cat seeking affection. Gently, Aragon threads her fingers through the girl’s hair, hoping the action would bring her enough comfort to calm down.

It seemed to be working. The grip on Aragon’s hand was starting to loosen little by little until the queen was able to pull herself free.

Such a jerky, sudden movement was very stupid.

Maggie bit down hard and Aragon couldn’t stop herself from crying out in pain. The fingers tangled in the girl’s hair tugged, only making it worse because that made Maggie even more frightened.

Aragon’s skin finally breaks open and blood starts to drizzle free. She watches as thin red trails drool down her flesh, and yet Maggie is still latched on like a leach. There’s visible nausea in her eyes, but she isn’t letting go.

   “Maggie-” Aragon grunted, her voice pitching a little when teeth grind deeper into open flesh. “Maggie, please. You need to let go of me.”

Maggie doesn’t hear her. Or maybe she ignores her. Either way, she doesn’t listen.

Aragon was sure her thumb was going to come off if she didn’t do something quickly. She started going over ideas in her mind and they all came down to one thing.

Hurt the girl.

It would work, but Aragon refused to bring harm to this poor child who was only scared. If it were Parr biting her, she would have never thought about something like that.

Looks like she had no other choice, then.

   “You’ve got me down on my knees

Please tell me what you think I’ve done wrong.”

Maggie’s eyes snapped up. She was now staring at Aragon expectantly.

   “Been humble, been loyal, I’ve tried

To swallow my pride all along.”

All at once, the eagerness to be sung to drains from Maggie. There’s deep shame and guilt in her eyes from the lyrics that hit way close too home with the current situation they’re both in.

   “If you can just explain

A single thing I’ve done to cause you pain, I’ll go.”

Maggie whimpers as tears start to flow from her eyes at a quicker pace. Her shoulders shake with the intensity of her sobs. She finally becomes aware of the blood flowing down her throat.

   “...No?” Aragon whispers.

Maggie’s mouth snaps open only because she had to run to one of the stalls to vomit.

Aragon immediately pulls her hand back to her, cradling it against her chest. She grabs some paper towels to wipe away the blood (which there is an alarming amount of). Then, she looks to the stall Maggie disappeared into and frowned. The sound of the girl’s sobbing and wailing practically rattled the entire bathroom.

Slowly, Aragon stands up. She washes her hand off first and winces at how deep the marks in her flesh were, but decided to ignore them for now. She had a guitarist to tend to.

Maggie was huddled over the toilet, coughing violently. Aragon peeked in just in time to watch as she shoved her fingers down her throat and she immediately leapt into action.

   “Woah, hey!”

Aragon grabbed both wrists, causing the girl to spasm like she was being electrocuted. She whined sharply, struggling but ultimately way too weak to break free from the queen. She hunches down, almost cowering beneath Aragon.

   “Shh, shh,” Aragon whispered, “Deep breaths, love. It’s alright.”

Maggie grits her teeth and jerked backwards. Her spine hit the toilet with a painful-sounding thud and Aragon has to tighten her grip to keep the kid from harming herself further.

   “Stop!” Maggie shrieked, “Stop!!”

   “I’m trying to help you!” Aragon snapped, accidentally raising her voice. “So just calm d-”

   “Let go!” Maggie cried, even louder, “Let go, please, let go!” She wildly whips her head around in every direction, kicking out her legs, but missing each time.

Aragon has no idea what she’s freaking out about until she looks down and sees the red oozing out from under her hand. She splays open her fingers a little and sees multiple bruises and bite marks she had been squeezing in what could have only felt like an iron grip to Maggie. Guilt pangs her heart.

   “Oh, honey...” She murmured, but mainly because the sight broke her heart. She couldn’t believe she had never noticed this before.

Maggie rips her hands away, scrambling backwards against the wall. She takes a few heaving breaths, but it doesn’t stop her oncoming panic attack. Her wide eyes dart everywhere until they land on Aragon’s hand. The bruise could already be seen, despite the queen’s darker skin tone.

   “Love, I’m okay,” Aragon said quickly, “You need to get washed up, th-”

She’s cut off by Maggie leaping to her feet. The girl apologizes rapidly, even cursing herself a few times, before fleeing. Aragon yells after her, but she could only watch the girl sprint out like a frightened deer.

Aragon wasn’t quite sure where Maggie went after she ran out, but she liked to think Bessie and her family comforted her. However, she did know that Maggie didn’t forget what happened between them.

It’s been two weeks and Maggie is still refusing to make eye contact. She flees by any means possible every time Aragon gets near and pretends to not hear or just ignores anything the Spanish queen says to her.

Aragon’s bruise is starting to heal, but more are just appearing on Maggie.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal Households and How they Work

When I say Households, I mean the entourage that follows around the royal family. The household went everywhere with them to care for their needs from the people who would empty their chamber pots to their noble companions. Most royal households are basically the same as noble ones, only on grander scale. Every royal had a household and an entourage as well as every noble at court.

Palace Personnel ~ The Commons

The commons were an intregal part of every household. They made up perhaps 80% of the work force. Royal courts were often on the road and never spent more than a few months at every palace. The court was constantly moving. Some positions were not permanent, meaning certain servants did not travel with the court because they were employed at the palace only. They would be paid by the Monarch's paymaster.

Scullion: The scullion was a relatively easy position to fill so they were often changed as the court went from palace to palace. They would be responsible for scrubbing and cleaning the servants quarters and the kitchens. They would scrub floors with lye, scour pots with sand, sweep put the fireplace and clean up after the other servants. They were the first to rise in a castle and tasked to light all the fires in the kitchens. Scullions would just be employed to the palace and serve a multitude of chambers

Laundress: The laundress was responsible for the cleaning of anything made of fabric in the household. Since they are handling unmentionables, they knew what happened behind closed bedchamber doors. They knew when the King visited the Queen or hadn't, they knew when marriages were consummated or not and they knew when the Queen and royal women were not pregnant. They often sold secrets to pad their pockets. Laundresses might be permanent staff but sometimes not.

Minstrels: The minstrel was a commoner hired to play an instrument or sing for the entertainment of the royal. A royal might staff a few at a time but they would always have one on hand. The minstrel would likely come with their masters as they travelled. The minstrel might serve the main royal household but a royal might retain their own.

Cook: The cook was one of the most important servants in the household. They would have the task of overseeing the running of the kitchens and keeping supplies in order. They would likely be on call at all times. Henry VIII's cook was often woken in the night because his royal master wanted a midnight snack. The cook was a valued member of the household and would have been highly sought after if they were a very skilled cook. They would have travelled with the joint. Cooks were apart of the greater royal household but often royals retained private cooks for their own use.

Maidservant: The maidservant cleans the castle. She would sweep the floors, scrub them, empty the chamberpots, get rid of the ashes from the fire and ready the fire for later. She would make up the bed or strip it for the laundresses. She would wash anything that needed washing including furniture and ornaments. She was likely not a travelling servant and would be strictly employed at a single palace.

Jester: The jester was the hired entertainer. Working under the master of revels, the jester had the daunting task of making the monarch and their family laugh. They would tell jokes, tell stories, cause havoc in the court for laughs and lighten the mood. The most successful jester of all time was Will Somers, jester to Henry VIII. Will broke bad news to the infamously bad tempered monarch and got away with things that would have sent others to the block. Will survived most of Henry's reign, his head intact. Jesters would be apart of the main household though each royal might have one of their own.

Positions within the Royal Household ~ Noble

Nobility were always welcomed at court. They eat at court, slept at court and were cared for by the monarch. Some nobles had to sing for their supper and most were hired as royal servants. They weren't exactly scrubbing floors and would be paid handsomely with land that would generate wealth for them

The Steward/Seneschal: This person was the head of the royal's staff. They would have the task of running the lands and servants their master or mistress. The steward served as a backup and assistant in all the tasks even representing their master or mistress when they were unavailable. Would be a high ranking noble. Each royal household would have them.

Treasurer of the Household: The treasurer was the accountant and pay master. They would be in charge of ensuring debts were settled, wages were paid and the household was running within the budget. This was a coveted position because it gave the treasurer insight into the financial situations of the royals. Such info was wroth its weight in gold. Each royal would have one.

Usher: The Gentleman Usher would be in charge of escorting guests into the royal chambers and into the royal presence. They would act as a go between their royal master/mistress and the guest often going back and forth with messages. It was just as coveted as the position of chamberlain but with less responsibilities.

Master of Horse: The Master of Horse was in charge of seeing to the horses of their master. They would oversee the grooms or the stableboy/hands who were employed at the stables to actually care for the horses. The master of horse would ensure that the stables were in order and the horses were up to parr in order to bear royalty across the kingdom. Each royal would have one but there would a main one who acted as overseer.

Master of the Wardrobe/Mistress of the Robes: These are the nobility who are employed to look after the clothes of the royal they serve. This would mainly involve a managerial position, overseeing the inventory of the royal wardrobe (a warehouse like building that housed the clothing) and placing orders for new clothes. It was a tidy job that rarely involved getting the hands dirty. Each royal would have one.

Chamberlain/Valet: The chamberlain is employed to look after the Lord's bedchamber. This was the most sought out position as they effectively were the gateway into the royal presence. Their main task was making sure their boss was comfortable and happy. Could be a well born commoner or a noble. Each royal would have one.

The Page: All royal households had pages. They would be a young noble boy about seven years old sent to their royal master. He would be in charge of tidying up after the lord, carrying messages to other servants and occupants of the castle and serving him at meals. Unlike others on the list, the page would not be paid. His experience was his payment as he would learn the running of a court and how to be courtier. Each royal would have one.

Squires: Squires were like pages though they only served the men. They would accompany their royal master to battle, look after his armour and mail, ensure that his lord's horse was saddled, caring for their master's weapons. The squire would always be a young nobleman on the cusp of becoming a knight.

Governess: The governess is a noblewoman woman employed to oversee the Monarch's children's household. She would be the first teacher a royal child would have and would oversee the nursemaids who would have care of the physical person of the child. She would be appointed when the child was four or five. Notable governesses include Katherine Swynford (wife of John of Gaunt and mother to the Beaufort line), Margaret Pole (wife of Tudor Loyal Sir Richard Pole, sister of the last York heir Edward of Warwick, daughter of George Duke of Clarence and niece to King Edward VI and Richard III), Kat Ashley, Margaret Bryan, Madame de Maintenon and Baroness Lehzen. Most unmarried Princesses retained their governesses while Princes generally outgrew their governesses after they were breeched.

Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber: They were the male companions of a King or Prince, sort of like ladies in waiting but manly. They would accompany the King or Prince everywhere they would go and shared duties with Groom of the Stool (royal toilet paper dispenser) and the Chief Gentleman of the Chamber (overseeing the staff and maintaining the chamber). They would help their master get ready, serve him at the table and organize hunting and games to keep him entertained. Gentlemen and companions where often chosen for their connections as well as their master's own opinion. Henry VIII's gentlemen included: Sir William Compton (ward of Henry VII and heir to rich lands), Sir Henry Norris (the grandson of William Norris who fought with Henry's father at Stroke and a relation to the Yorkists Lovells), Sir Anthony Denny (son of Sir Edmund Denny Baron of the Exchequer) Sir Michael Stanhope (brother in law to Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset), Charles Brandon (ward of Henry VII and son of Tudor Loyalists)

Ladies in Waiting and Maids in Waiting or Maids of Honour: These are the female attendants to the Queen or Princess. Ladies in Waiting were married while the Maids were unmarried. They would have to attend their mistress wherever she went, help her get ready, keep her chambers in order, write letters for the Queen and maintaining her honour. They were chosen for their connections. Using Katherine of Aragon as an example, her Ladies in Waiting included: Maria de Salinas (daughter of Juan Sancriz de Salinas secretary to Isabella, Princess of Portugal and a Spanish courtier in the service to Katherine's parents, wife of Baron Willoughby de Ersby), Elizabeth Howard (the daughter of Thomas Howard, 2nd Duke of Norfolk, sister to Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk and wife to Thomas Boleyn, ambassador to France), Anne Hastings (daughter of William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings, wife to George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury and Lord Steward.), Agnes Tilney (wife to Thomas Howard, Earl of and 2nd Duke of Norfolk.), Elizabeth Scrope (wife of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, a loyal Tudor lord), Margaret Scrope (wife of Sir Edmund de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk cousin to the King), Anne Stafford (sister of the Duke of Buckingham, married Sir George Hastings, Earl of Huntington and daughter of Henry Stafford, 2nd Duke of Buckingham (cousin to the King) and Lady Katherine Woodville (sister of King Henry VIII's grandmother and his great aunt by her marriage), Elizabeth Stafford (sister to Anne Stafford wife Robert Radcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter and Earl of Sussex around). Their connections are what got them their places and you can see why they were chosen.

Accommodation

Accommodation can be a difficult thing to sort both as a writer and a steward. You might have a palace of 200+ bedchambers in which you must house a staff of 500-/+, a varying amount of nobles, the royal family (of a varying amount) and their own households. When assigning rooms it is best to think of a Russian nesting doll. Start from the inside and work your way to the outside.

The best rooms go to the monarch, their consort and their children/siblings/parent(s). These chambers would include the bedroom, a drawing room/ common area, a privy, a closet (a small chamber that can be used for prayer or work). They would be furnished with the best cloth, the best candles and whatever furniture brought by the resident since most royal courts travelled from palace to palace. They will also have chambers for their personal servants such as ladies in waiting and grooms.

The second best set of rooms would go to the highest ranking nobles/people in the court. These rooms would be less fancy and a little smaller. These would be given to from titled nobility descending from those of Ducal rank (Dukes/Duchesses) or even members of the council such as Thomas Cromwell in Tudor times.

The next set would be considerably smaller, perhaps minus a closet or a drawing room. Given to lower nobility.

The next level of chambers would be smaller perhaps only the bedroom and a common area given to minor nobles.

The last set of rooms would be small and only hold enough room for a bedroom. Servants would have to sleep on the ground on pallets beside their masters.

Any other guests at court would have to stay at off-site locations around the palace in the city. Some nobles at houses around major palaces just in case they arrived late or were kicked out of court.

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

This is a short oneshot about what happened when Mexico first arrived in Madrid. One quick note: The Kingdom of Aragon later becomes Catalonia, but in this period of time he was still relatively separate from Castile.

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When Aragon emerged from the kitchen, the little boy was sitting at the table, tugging uncomfortably on his shirt. He looked like he had a special dislike for the piece of cloth. He was pulling at his right sleeve and occasionally digging at the fabric right under the shoulder. It seemed that he found the seam uncomfortable against his skin. 

It was not surprising. From what Aragon had gleaned from his brother’s letters, the New World was tropical. The child was undoubtedly used to being much warmer, and possibly wearing much less. He also looked like he had slept very little. 

Aragon had been excited for the arrival of another colony, since the others were charming children. It made the house feel more comfortable to have the sound of children playing echoing in the halls. He preferred it that way; the silence had the tendency to be oppressive, especially when Spain was away. And he had been gone more and more often as he found more territory to conquer.

The new addition still seemed uncomfortable. He had his knee pulled up to his chest, and looked like he was searching for something to fidget with. He decided on picking at the shirt sleeve some more. 

Spain had settled himself at the head of the table and was watching the boy. Aragon placed a dish of custard and a plate of pastries in front of the child. Then he sat down, and waited for the boy to try the sweets. 

Spain said, skeptically, “You’re spoiling him already.” Aragon shook his head, and turned to speak to Spain. He replied, “It is just a pleasant welcome. After all that he has been through, he deserves a little treat.”

He was certain that Spain had hardly thought about it. When he was on campaign, he tended to think very little of indulgences. But, he was certain that children enjoyed sweets. He had made a point of scheduling time to bake so that he could provide something to brighten the boy’s day. 

To his slight disappointment, the child was staring at the food with suspicion. He didn’t seem to realize that it was a treat. His eyes then flitted up to Aragon’s face. 

For a moment, he realized that if he made himself friendlier, it would make it easier to trust that he meant well. He smiled at the boy and said, putting his hand to his chest to make his point clearly, “My name is Jordi. I’m the Kingdom of Aragon.” 

He saw the boy’s eyes light up at the smile, though his suspicion wasn’t gone entirely and he did not move to touch the sweets. Spain responded, “And his name is Alejandro. That’s what I baptized him. His title is New Spain.” 

Aragon tried not to get frustrated at his brother and his insistent need to speak for others. He said, “And can he speak for himself?” 

He hoped that his brother caught his pointed tone, and stopped feeling the need to intrude. But, Spain answered him, “He does not know very much Spanish, and Cortez made off with my translator. Until another comes, I will have to speak for him.” 

Aragon knew the routine, since it had happened with each of the colonies so far. They arrived with a tenuous grasp of the language, and started to learn to communicate. But he could not shake the feeling that this one was different to Spain. He usually dropped them off with a team of tutors and immediately left for another adventure. 

But, Aragon could not say for sure that he was treating the boy differently. He did not feel like starting a longer conversation with his brother when there was a young child who deserved some attention. 

He turned to New Spain to see if he had tried any of the sweets. He had not, and was looking mildly irritated by the conversation that he could not understand. To give him some encouragement Aragon took the spoon and dipped it into the custard. He was certain to not take too much, just enough to show that it was intended to be eaten. He put it in his mouth to demonstrate that it was food. 

New Spain seemed to understand his point.  With a look of cautious curiosity, the boy sunk a finger into the middle of the custard. He then put the finger in his mouth to taste the foreign substance. 

His eyes immediately went wide as the sugar touched his tongue. He looked like he was experiencing some incredible revelation. It made Aragon wonder if he had ever had sweets before. 

He looked absolutely amazed, and immediately took another swipe of custard with his index finger. The smile on his face was absolutely radiant. No matter what had happened in the New World, he looked like any other happy child.

Aragon pointed to the plate of pastries and said, “Try one of these.”

He knew that the boy might not understand the words, but he would comprehend the gesture. As he expected, New Spain took one and took a bite out of it. Aragon could see the way his eyes sparkled at the joy of discovering marzipan. His joy was contagious and delightful. Aragon found himself smiling as he watched New Spain devour the rest of the sweet. 

Spain spoke, apparently growing bored of just watching, “You should see where he comes from. I have never seen anything like it.” Aragon was not necessarily interested in war stories; he often found them distasteful. But once Spain started, it was difficult to stop him. 

All it took was a subtle nod from him, and Spain continued, “The others were just islands. They have land, but have done little to develop it. But this was something else entirely.” 

He paused for a moment like he was trying to collect his thoughts to convey the magnitude of what he had seen. Aragon was far more interested in watching New Spain as he finished the sweet that he was holding and reached for another.

Spain finally decided to say, “He is a little prince and his mother was something to behold. She had such sprawling cities full of gold and riches. I am going to be the richest man in Europe with all that I have conquered.” 

Aragon couldn’t help but think that the callous talk of gold would be utterly tasteless in front of a grieving child. But, since he could not understand, Spain was free to be as glib as he pleased. 

Aragon responded, “Not with the way that you spend.” 

Spain raised an eyebrow at him. He asked, in a way that was supposed to be a warning, “What do you mean by that?” 

If Aragon had ever feared the other half of the kingdom, he might have backed down. But, Spain did not scare him, and he had an answer. He said, meeting Spain’s glare, “I was looking through your books while you were gone. You need to learn how to budget no matter how rich your husband is.” Spain scoffed, “I don’t need a lecture from my little brother.” 

Aragon was about to respond when New Spain said a single word in Spanish, “Hot.” 

Aragon’s attention immediately snapped back to the child. New Spain had leaned against the table like he was very tired, which was a marked change from his earlier demeanor. It seemed like his energy had suddenly ebbed. There was also a flush in his cheeks that indicated he felt very warm.

The room was not hot, so Aragon made the next logical guess. He leaned forward and put his hand on the boy’s forehead. His skin was incredibly hot to the touch. Alarmingly hot. 

He said, trying to stay calm, “Antonio, he’s burning up.” 

There was a clattering as Spain bolted out of his chair. He swept the child into his arms. He felt the fever himself, and then pulled New Spain’s shirt off of his shoulder. 

There was a rash blooming where New Spain had been scratching. Spain drew in a sharp breath. And Aragon felt his own heart drop. They both knew what that meant. 

Spain said, “He needs to rest.” He sounded worried, and he had every reason to be.

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Can I please ask for a Lord of the Rings ship? I am 5’1, with an athletic build, tanned brown skin, dark brown eyes, and medium wavy black hair. I wear purple cat eye glasses and have either one of three styles - tomboy, edgy, or preppy (it depends on my mood). I would like to be shipped with a male. My pronouns are she/her.

I’m an intp-a. Im quite the sarcastic person and have a witty sense of humor. I’m quite cunning and clever person as well. I tend to thrive on my own and am very much a lone wolf. Im very content with living in my own world in my brain and forgetting the existence of reality. That however doesn’t mean I’m quiet. When it comes to a topic I’m interested in I can go off for hours. I’m a bit standoffish when you first meet me. That’s usually due to my intense need to hide my feelings and pretend I don’t have any (oops). As a result I can come off as having the emotional intelligence of a goldfish. But I do care it just takes me a while to open up.

As for hobbies I love art. Ive been an artist since the age of nine and am getting my degree digital art now. As for fine art I love sketching, printmaking, wood carving, and cut paper. As for digital art I tend to stray towards graphic, visual effects and video game design. I also adore art history. My favorite artists to study being Botticelli, Leonardo Da Vinci and Raphael.

I love gaming and watching movies as well. My favorite games are rpg and my favorite movies are either sci fi, historical fiction, historical thriller or fantasy.

Apart from that I’m quite active as well. I adore working out. I kickbox and weight lift most days of the week. It helps me get my stress and energy out.

My preference of love language is acts of service. I’m pretty sure my least is physical touch. I’m NOT comfortable with people (even if it’s my friends/family) giving me physical affection. I just get really awkward and tense up.  

Sorry this is so long I got carried away. I hope it’s okay!

Hello my dear here we have another matchup 💖

For this matchup I ship you with:

Aragon✨

- he is a brooding individual yet deep down he is passionate and very caring of the people he loves.

- he wouldn't exactly know how to approach you at first since he saw you alone in a forest. You were quite Stand offish at first declining his help but eventually he tries to help you out.

- you have wicked battle smarts but you don't show it due to you having a habit of hiding your feelings.

- it was a rocky start at first due to you not trusting him. He wasn't exactly your ideal lover at first stating you would rather die then be with the likes of him.

- he is secretly open to you he normally hides his feelings and knows how you feel.

-often your dates would involve training trying to be active. Your a very good fighter even better then Aragon.

- quiet dates involve you just lying in the forest for peace and quiet. You didn't want to be disturbed just in a peaceful state of mind.

- he would understand your boundaries and only touch you when you allow it.

You: I can't believe training was tiring I need to get better

Aragon: your quite strong enough y/n

You: no I mean *Huff's* I need to learn more

Aragon: possibly *smiles and comes to your side*

You: your pretty strong

Aragon: yeah I am but you also have a beauty to your eyes

You: oh stop you know that never works with me

Aragon: yeah but a warrior as beautiful as you can kill a man

You: hm Mabey I could kill this one *stands there smirking*

- your secret art hobby is quite fascinating to him. Aragon would secretly watch you paint and sketch while he couldn't do it himself. He notices your talented.

- your quite interested in the history of things while he shares the stories he had over travelling.

- your wedding would involve the two of you surrounded by your family. Your children would have your hair and his eyes.

That's all I have for now:

Ta ta💫

[littleorangecactus]

what about,,,, kids content,,,, with ed specifically,,,, maybe 🥺,,, maybe he could be a bit distant?? <- an ask for a wonderful person! @drop-the-curtain-123

It was hard ya know? Having to listen to your mom and your stepmothers perform every night. It was hard for Edward to sit in the wings and watch as his mother told the story of her life and tragic death, with a smile on her face.

He had only been back a few months, and getting used to a new world was really nerve wracking for him. Edward tried to learn as much as he could from his siblings and his mothers, as to what this world really contained. But the biggest issue he was facing was his mom. He grew up hearing about her, and the love she had for him, but he was raised by different women. Either the maids, or Anna for a little while, Katherine was more of a sister, and then Cathy. But at that point, he was estranged from most people, instead spending a lot of time with his father, learning about how to rule.

He spent his very short life preparing to be a leader, and now he is just another common child in a world with no king! That was something that took a while to get used to. Edward spent a lot of time with Cathy in the library, reading everything about anything, it was never enough. He wanted to understand this world and by King George, he was gonna try his best. He spent a lot of time with the other queens too. Catherine would take him with her to church, giving him a bit of solace when he missed his old life. 

Anne played games with him, whether sports, or board games, or video, he loved getting to do that. With Anna, he learned lessons about life, while also starting to relax. She taught him about things from this world, and how to do a lot of outdoor activities. Katherine would take Edward to go get coffee and to the parks, to get a sense of love for nature. He loved getting to spend time with them.

The only person he didn’t spend a whole lot of time with, was his mom. He tried, Edward really tried to be around her. But every time he tried, he would become distant. Hearing how she died because of giving birth to him, the pain she went through, it made him guilty. And while he knew some of the queens from his past life, he knew absolutely nothing about his mother. For her part, Jane tried her best to connect with him and get him interested in things that she thought he would like. But it never lasted long, as Edward would pull away and just hide in his shell.

Today was no different, the queens were practicing for a show and the children were backstage watching the warm ups. Lizzie was laughing as her mom made Aragon “upset” during don’t lose your head. Mary was laughing at the them, it took her a while to understand them, but she got it. Edward was sitting alone, reading, humming along to the songs softly. He liked going to the rehearsals well enough, he just got lonely at times. He was in a room full of people, and he had never felt more alone. Deciding to head outside for some air, Edward stands up with a deep sigh.

“Where you going princey?” Anna asked jokingly, ruffling his hair. He smiled and looked at her, “I’m just gonna go get some air I think.” She nods as he walks to the door. “Eddie Wait!” Turning around Edward sees his mother walking quickly towards him. “Can I join you please?” Jane asks with a soft gaze. Shrugging his shoulders, Edward holds the door for her and they go to a bench outside the theater. “I- I just want to check in on you. I know transitioning from the past to now has been difficult for you and I’m so sorry that you had to go through it I want you to know that you can come to me okay? We didn’t get to spend a lot of time together when you were born and I’m sorry for that, I wish it could have been different. I want you to know that I am always gonna be here for you and I love you no matter what. You’re my pride and joy and I hope you realize that you have people here who cherish and truly care about you. Don’t think I don’t notice when you drift away, or sit in silence while everyone is together. You don’t need to be so shut in. I hope you feel comfortable here, and if I can help you in any way, please tell me.” Jane is rambling at this point, but she’s kept it all in too long.

 She needs her baby to know how much he is cared for. Sniffles are heard and she turns her head. There’s a single tear rolling down her precious child’s face. Reaching up to wipe it, she cradles his cheek in her hand. “It’s hard mom. Things are different, people are different. I’m okay a lot of the time, I have you guys around me. But that’s also the issue. I don’t know what to feel when I’m around you.” He says looking away from her. Hurt, Jane replies, “what do you mean?”

“You died!! You died because of me! And you act like me being here is so good but you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t have had such a horrible experience in the past life!” He yells, finally telling her what he’s been keeping for months. Jane gasps and pulls away from him. “Yo-you think that you caused this?” Tears filled her eyes. “I knew what I was risking when I had you. Me and your father found out together and I knew in that moment, I just knew, I would give my entire life up for you. All I ever wanted in this world and the last, was to be a mother. It hurt, a lot. I will not lie about that. But when I got to see you, even for that split second, I knew it was worth it. I always was ready to risk my life for yours because that’s what mothers do. And I’m also glad to have gone,”

 Edward turns his head at this, not believing his ears. “Because I came back. And so did you. And now we have a true and good family. One that loves and accepts us no matter what. And I wouldn’t trade that or the time we spend together for anything. Not even to be married to a king.” Jane holds his chin in her hand, watching the flutter of emotions pass through his face. “You were, are, and always will be my greatest gift and my best risk.” He breaks in this moment, pulling his mom into him. 

Curling his head right above her heart he cries, all the feelings that he hasn’t expressed in so long, all coming forward. “I love you mom..” “I love you to my little king.” Hearing sniffles behind them, the pair turn to see the others standing there with tears on their cheeks. Anne has Lizzie in one arm, the other wrapped around Aragon, who is holding Mary close. Anna has Kat pulled into a bear hug, playing with her hair softly. Lastly, Cathy is holding little Mae, rocking her slowly. Every one of the queens knew and felt those words in their hearts. 

The passing of emotions was always there. “We-we didn’t mean to interrupt. We just wanted to see how it was going!” Kat whimpers our as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “That’s alright. Everything is fine. We all are here and that what matters okay?” Jane smiles at her family and looks at her son. “See, you don’t ever have to feel like you don’t belong there is always someone willing to listen and try to help, in any way we can.” Edward smiles, that smile when you’re crying but you get that happy burst in your heart, and he pulls his mom to her feet.

Meeting with the other queens, a family hug pile commences, a mess of limbs and crying women, but it’s the closest thing to home Edward has felt in a while. And for once, he knows it’s gonna be all fine.

Editor’s note: hi I’m sorry it took so long but there’s been a lot of stuff. But here it is and I hoped I got some of what you wanted to read in here. I really love Edward and momma Jane.

[dreamcatcherfication]

Rotten to the Core

I really wish I had a better name for this fic, but this is the best I could do. (Also yes, I know this fic is messy, but I’m multitasking intensely so please cut me some slack).

Hello everyone! This fic was requested by an anon you can check out here, and this is my attempt at making that request a reality. This fic is supposed to be kind of “the calm before the storm” except we never actually see the storm and I’m never going to write it so HAHA SUCKERS. This piece is short and definitely not my best work, but I still hope you enjoy! If it’s unedited, it’s because I have a lot of stuff I need to get done right now. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I forgot how to breath correctly.

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!

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Trigger Warnings: References to violence (very very minimal)

There were many reasons for Catherine of Aragon to hate Anne Boleyn. Multiple times she had insulted Catherine, seeing her as old and unfit to rule. She had made Catherine seem unappealing in the eyes of the king, ruining her appearance. The most notable of all being how she had turned the king against Catherine, convincing the king to annul their marriage and send Catherine away for the rest of her life. She fought when she could, but ultimately it meant nothing. It was humiliating, but Catherine had bared it all like any respectable lady should. Like any respectable queen should. 

But now, in this new, modern world, Catherine was finding it hard to hold her tongue. There was no king who could hurt her, no country she had to protect. It was her, Anne, and four other women. There was no easy way for them to understand where they were, but one thing was clear - they were stuck together.

It tooks weeks to even get a place to stay, and even then it was small and crowded with the six queens. Everything was strange, and the queens chose to form smaller groups with those they felt comfortable with. Anne, Katherine, and Anna had grown close (although there was still an abundance of awkwardness) while Aragon and Parr chose to enjoy each other’s company. The only queen who didn’t seem to have any affiliation with one group was Jane, who split her time equally between both groups and herself. 

That didn’t mean there weren’t times when the different groups would interact. When the six first woke up in the foreign world, Aragon and Anne had settled on an agreement. They weren’t friendly with each other, but they drew a truce for the time being as they adjusted to things. Neither queen was ready to confront the past, so they did their best to ignore it at all times.

At least that’s what Aragon thought.

Sitting on the small couch in their apartment, Aragon flipped through an old newspaper, reading headlines from a time long past. She heard a shuffling to her side and turned her gaze, eyes landing on Katherine. The teen was shifting on her feet as she stared at the open spot next to Aragon on the couch.

Patting the spot next to her, Aragon scooted to the side and made room for the fifth queen. Hesitantly watching the spot, Katherine resisted for a moment before sitting down. Aragon made a grunt of approval and returned her attention to the newspaper.

They sat in companionable silence before Katherine cleared her throat. “Um… why haven’t you said anything?”

“What do you mean?” Aragon set down the newspaper and put on a soft smile. Aragon pitied Katherine, despite knowing that it was the wrong way to feel. She couldn’t imagine someone so soft and sweet having a story like she did.

Biting her lip, Katherine explained, “Well, Anne told me that you’re rude and uncaring. She said you would yell at me and hurt me for what happened.”

Shooting up off of the couch, Aragon clenched her fists. At the sudden movement, Katherine recoiled backwards. “I would never do that Katherine,” Aragon gritted through her teeth. Taking a moment to compose herself, Aragon let a short calmness wash over her. “I promise, I’m not going to yell at you or hurt you. Anne was lying.”

“But why would Anne lie?” Katherine asked, scratching the couch cushion.

“I don’t know,” Aragon replied. “I thought we had a truce.” She sighed, and put a hand on the couch next to Katherine’s. “I’m going to go talk to Anne. But don’t believe her, okay? I’m not a bad person.” Katherine furrowed her eyebrows, but then she nodded and got off the couch, disappearing into another room (probably to go find Anna).

Making her way around the apartment, Aragon zeroed in on Anne. She approached her successor and intensely galred at her. Anne was sitting in a desk chair, spinning around and playing with a multi-colored cube. For some reason, Anne had become obsessed with these children’s games since discovering them, and it wasn’t uncommon to find her with one. “Anne,” Aragon coughed and gained her attention.

“Catherine?” Anne stopped playing with the cube. “What do you want?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but she did seem annoyed that the older queen was talking to her.

“Why would you tell Howard that I would hurt her?” Aragon spoke levelly, controlling her internal frustration.

Shrugging, Anne returned her attention to the cube. Her fingers seemed to move faster. “I thought you would. You always were a massive bitch.”

Mouth dropping open, Aragon almost physically restrained herself from scolding Anne. It’s not the right thing to do, she told herself. Even if Anne was infuriating, Aragon would stay calm and collected. It wasn’t like her to lash out, so she would let Anne speak her mind all she wanted. “Anne, please don’t tell your cousin lies about me.”

“It’s the truth,” Anne replied, her voice flat. “You’ve always been uptight, and you’re only going to hurt us in the long run. I’m keeping us safe.”

“By pushing me out of the picture?” Aragon muttered. Before Anne could respond, Aragon had left the room, her body straight and still as she traversed the hallways. 

Without even acknowledging any of the other queens she passed, Aragon grabbed a coat and made her way out of the front door of the apartment. It was cold out, but that didn’t bother Aragon. What bothered her was Anne breaking their truce. Aragon never liked it - why would she? - but she still had the common decency to respect Anne as someone going through the exact same situation as her. Apparently, Anne did not have that. 

Aragon had no idea where she was going, but she needed to take a walk and let off some steam. There would be no yelling at Anne, instead silent frustration and betrayal. Why was it so hard to respect Aragon as a person? Shoving her hands in her pockets, Aragon let her feet carry her forward.

“Wait!” a voice called, stopping the queen in her tracks. Spinning around, Aragon allowed herself to relax when she saw it was only Cathy. The queen was huffing from exertion after sprinting from the house to catch up with Aragon’s brisk walk. “What’s wrong?”

Rolling her eyes and scoffing, Aragon controlled her face. “Boleyn’s convinced her cousin that I’m evil and going to hurt her.”

Cathy scrunched her eyebrows. “Why would she do that?”

Shooting Cathy a pointed look, Aragon replied, “She’s like an apple. Rotten to the core.”

Clicking her tongue, Cathy struggled for words. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

“And it’s fair for her to break our truce and lie about me to her impressionable cousin?” Aragon growled.

Clearly, Cathy was uncomfortable and had no idea how to handle the situation. “I don’t think it’s fair to say she’s bad all throughout. Anne’s confused and scared, and you’re the only person she can take her anger out on.”

“So we’re going to let her get away with it?” Aragon sighed.

Cathy’s mouth formed different words before any of them actually came out. “Well, no. But Anne won’t succeed, regardless of if we intervene or not. She’s lying, and the others know that.”

“But Katherine -”

“Has never interacted with you one on one,” Cathy explained. “She doesn’t know who to trust, and if you act like yourself… that girl’s got some great intuition from what I’ve seen. She’ll figure it out on her own. And Jane and Anna already know you aren’t a bad person. They’re smart enough not to believe everything Anne says.”

Watching Cathy, Aragon couldn’t help the pit in her stomach. “And what about Anne, will she hate me for eternity?” She knew it was wrong to ask Cathy for an answer she obviously didn’t have, but Aragon did it anyway.

“Anne doesn’t hate you,” Cathy told her. “I’ve seen the way she acts, and she doesn’t hate you. She’s intimidated by you, if anything.”

“What?”

Nodding, Cathy started motioning with her hands. “You were always more loved than she was. No matter how much she tries to bait you, you never fall for it. Or at least, you never let her see it. Anne isn’t a villian, she’s someone who’s been dropped in the middle of a strange new world, and she’s jealous of how composed you are. So she’s trying to tear you down as a defense mechanism.”

“How do you know all of this,” Aragon asked.

“Sometimes it’s better to watch than engage,” Cathy admitted. “I’ve learned a lot about all of you.”

A shiver went up Aragon’s spine, but she ignored it. “I suppose it’s time for us to go back and pretend like nothing happened,” she lamented.

Cathy shrugged. “We could.” At Aragon’s dejected face, she offered, “Or you could finish telling me what’s wrong. I know you’ve been keeping everything inside.”

“Another thing you’ve observed?” Cathy nodded. “There’s no fooling you.” There was a moment of silence as Aragon prepared her words. “It’s that… we’re here to work together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then why are we always fighting?” Aragon took her hands out of her pockets. “Why is it so hard for us to work through the past? I don’t want to be at odds with Anne! I’m sick and tired of this.” At the end of her sentence, Aragon let out a big sigh. “We are worth so much more than fighting over some dead monarch who wasn’t even worth our time in the first place.”

When Aragon made eye contact with her goddaughter, she relished in the approval on her face. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Yes, but what are we going to do about it?” Aragon groaned and glanced up at the sky. “How are we supposed to move on from years of pain and trauma and abuse?”

Raising her eyebrows with a small smirk, Cathy replied, “We talk it out.”

Again, Aragon was confused by her goddaughter’s train of thought. “What do you mean? We’ve tried that before.”

“But this time,” Cathy put a finger up, “we all do it together. We sit down and force each other to confront everything. It’ll make things worse,” she shrugged, “but then things will get better. We have to try.”

Once more, Aragon sighed. She moved over to Cathy and pulled her into a side hug. “Can we just stand here for a moment before we talk with the others?”

“We can stand here for as long as you want.”

The two of them stood on the sidewalk, arm in arm, relishing in the short moment of peace. There would be a storm to come, and soon. But they were ready to face it. Together. 

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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

[ruffiorocks]

Dany, Drogo and forced marriage in Game of Thrones, a historical perspective.

(Disclaimer, I obviously don't think rape and abuse are in any way OK).

I've been re-reading the first book because it's been a long time since I did and we're in lockdown so I have plenty of time on my hands.

I've finished the chapter of Dany and Drogo's wedding night and surprised when I saw that at the end of that chapter Dany actually gives consent to Drogo, unlike the how the show presents it. I'd completely forgotten about that.

Drogo sits and takes the bells from his hair and Dany joins in to help him. He then undresess with help and she is then undressed. Like the show he keeps saying "no" but unlike the show Dany actually takes comfort in the fact he knows at least one word she does. Drogo touches her a lot, works her up and then he says one last time "no?" But the last one is a question. Dany replies with "Yes" and then takes his finger and you can guess what happens next. It's a very different portrayal to how the show presents it.

Now, I remember later in the book that Drogo comes in every night, has sex with her roughly and then leaves. Very like the show and that's where Dany learns to please him from her slave and he's surprised in both book and show.

Now I know what people will say, "She was 13! It was rape!" And yes, from a 20th century point of view that is what it very much is. BUT this story does not take place on 2020.

G.R.R Martin based his books on the Wars of the Roses, so for us it takes place between the 14th and 15th century. If you study history you would know that being married off against your will was something that was done for both boys and girls. It was an arrangement usually made when they were children and people got on with it.

Dany's age of 13 wasn't considered underage for the time those books are based around. I'm fact some were married at the age of 5 or 6. The most prominent 13 year old who was married off during the WOTR was Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII and grandmother of Henry VIII. Margaret was a wealthy heiress and was married off to a 30 something year old man. Actually perfectly normal and acceptable for the time. Consummation of the marriage however was another matter, where it wasn't actually illegal to consummate at age 13 it wasn't considered a good idea because the girl hadn't finished developing and complications could occur should she get pregnant. When Margaret Beaufort was left pregnant at 13 after her husband was killed people thought that it was to early for her, but again not actually illegal in anyway. Unfortunately for Margaret she would only ever have the one child, she was probably damaged to much after getting pregnant so early. Later on she made sure her grandchildren were older before being married off and consumating their marriages.

So, for Dany to be married at 13 and be having sex isn't actually all that off for world that Martin has created, even though to us it seems very off.

It was also not considered rape when a man had sex with his wife whenever he chose. Women were taught to simply put up with it. I'm medieval society it was actually considered a sin to enjoy sex, especially for women. High born men would have sex with their wives for pro creation not enjoyment, that was what mistresses were for. (Just to clarify these aren't my views, simply the views of medieval society).

In the show and book we see Drogo take Dany from behind and she isn't enjoying it, to the point she wants to kill herself, this is heartbreaking, but that's because we as the audience and reader are thinking of it in a 20th century point of view but also Dany's point of view. The Dothraki are not like the people of Westeros. Even at the wedding it is explained by master Illyrio that the Dothraki mount their women like a stallion mounts a mare. It happens at the wedding, both in the show and in the books. It's not even referred to as sex, it's referred to as mating. Later on in the show when Dany is suggesting the Dothraki take the women as wives rather than rape them she is laughed at and the blood riders say "does the horse lie with the sheep?" They are referring to themselves and others as animals. Drogo is a product of Drogo's culture, the men take the women like a horse takes a mare. It's horrible to use of course! But what one has to understand is that this is the culture of the Dothraki, the culture that Martin created and a culture that Dany absolutely does not belong in.

I saw someone mention that Dany's age means nothing to Ned and Robert when they discuss her, but of course it doesn't, because in their society being married off at that age and getting pregnant isn't a shock to them. She's referred to as a 'child' but that's because she is a 13 year old teenager who to Ned poses not threat to them.

Now, remember that throughout the first book Jon and Robb are 14 and refer to themselves as almost "a man grown" as in they are almost of age. In the 14th and 15th century 14 was the legal age of marriage for a boy (unless they were married was children or by proxy). Even Bran at 7 calls himself almost a man grown. It was only at the beginning of the 16th century that the age of maturity went up to about 18. So for e.g. in 1483 Edward V (one of the Prince's in the Tower) was 12 when he became king, but was considered underage, but had he been allowed to reach 14 as king he could have begun to rule. By the 1509 when Henry VIII became king he was just a few month off his 18th birthday and his grandmother was regent for about a month until he turned 18. His younger brother Prince Arthur was married off at 15 to his 16 year old wife Catherine of Aragon (who would later marry Henry). Later Henry in his 40s would marry a 15 year old girl. Again, for the time none of this was illegal or even really frowned upon.

So in conclusion, yes we see what Drogo did to Dany as rape, and we should because in today's society it absolutely is! But, George R. R. Martin did not set his story in today's society, it set in a medieval society and to understand the depth of what's going on we need to a point look at it through medieval eyes and not 20th century ones.

It's not unlike watching a show set in ancient Rome and seeing slaves, they were a part of society and to understand the show and the time it's presenting you have to look at it from that point of view.

Just some food for thought, of course it's rape, Dany, Sansa, Jeyne Poole, even Cersei with Jaime. In some society women would get their revenge on the men who treated them badly, history is littered with them biding their time. But unfortunately, for the time the show is based on it wasn't actually a crime to be forced to have sex with your husband.

Forced marriage was am everyday occurrence, marriage wasn't for love at least not on high society. Marriage was for alliances, wealth, position, the continuation of a blood line. Even in the show this happens, Ned marries Catelyn because his brother dies. Robert marries Cersei for alliances with the richest house, Sansa is promised to Joffrey, Margery is married off to Renly, Joffrey and Tommen! Robb has to swear to marry a Frey girl, any one he chooses, she doesn't get a say, but he gets himself killed for love. Tywin tells Cersei she has to marry Loras and she has no say. Tyrion has no say in marrying Sansa.

Robert wasn't great to Cersei, he even hit her on occasion, but for the time this wasn't considered a crime. Walder Frey was lecherous pervert but again frowned upon in the show but not a crime. Joffrey had he married Sansa probably would had been horrific to her, again not a crime but people would have been disgusted.

The major issue I think is with the show, it has all of these things in it but it presents the view points of other characters from a 20th century point of view. The "good guys" like the Starks would be horrified to learn that the girls had been married off without their consent , but at the same time Robb gets to choose whichever Frey girl he wants like he's picking out a jumper. Even Edmure will later get to pick a Frey girl. Tyrion arranges a marriage for Myrcella but is horrified to learn he's had one arranged for him. Catleyn even agrees to marry off Arya to a Frey boy, she isn't even there and has no say and she's fully aware she will hate it!

So I looked at this from a historians point of view to understand the story not a woman living in 2020, so don't attack me. ✌

[jane-fucking-seymour]

Making It Up as I Go Along

Another from the archives.

Jane Seymour had been a mother for twelve days.

She had wished on all the stars that it had been longer.

Most of that, she doesn’t remember: she was in bed, sick and dying. Infection, she later found out. 

All she remembers is pain.

Regardless, the main point is that Jane Seymour had no idea how to be a mother. The others had more time with their children - or one of the other’s, in the case of Parr - and Jane simply didn’t. She didn’t think she was ever going to regardless of the time period she was in, either; it just didn’t sit right with her, having a child now. Not when she’s back for another reason.

That all changed, however, a few weeks into rehearsals.

At first, it’s just small things: asking Katherine about her day, telling her to put a jacket on, general caring things she’d say to any of the girls. The two of them got along well enough already, already pretty good friends.

It was at night when Jane heard Katherine sobbing that Seymour started to realize how she felt about Katherine.

Jane had been headed back to her room when she stopped at Katherine’s door; a weird sound had made her do so. It was soft sobs, she realized, and instantly she’s knocking gently on the door.

“Katherine? It’s Jane. I… can I come in?” she asks quietly. When she hears a small sound of approval, she enters slowly.

There, Katherine is curled up on the bed, knees to her chest, trying to breathe.

Jane quickly moves over to the small girl and kneels down in front of her.

“Hello,” Jane says, giving her a soft smile. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

Katherine nods, which makes Jane nod right back.

“Alright then. Let’s…”

She trails off. What exactly is she supposed to do here? 

It takes a moment, but she stands back up and sits next to Howard, arms outstretched. She hesitates, but Kat is eventually in for a hug. Jane tries to help calm her down, but not much does. 

Jane doesn’t know what to do.

“How are-” she starts, but then Katherine pulls back, still sniffling.

“I’m okay now,” she says. She’s clearly not, but she’s putting on a strong face. “You can go back to your room. I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.”

Jane doesn’t want to leave; she wants to help make Katherine feel better, to get her to smile genuinely. 

But she also wants to respect Katherine’s space.

“Okay,” Jane says, giving her a soft smile of her own. “Just… if there’s anything - anything - that I can do, please let me know, okay? I’m only a door down.”

“I know,” Katherine replies with a smile. “Thank you, Jane. I’ll talk to you in the morning.

The door shuts behind Jane and she stands there for a moment. She hears Katherine pick up on the crying and her heart hurts for the girl.

So she makes the resolution. She makes the promise. She’s going to be there for this child. She might not have ever had a chance with her own, but… she can do this. She can help Katherine.

But now, she had to learn.

That night, she walked into Parr’s room, asked a few questions outright. Parr had an idea of why she was asking, but never confirmed it. The two discuss caring for children, how that worked for Parr with Edward and Elizabeth, and various other tips and tricks. 

“You’re gonna do great, Jane,” Parr says knowingly. “You’ll figure it out. We all do eventually.”

Later on, Jane manages to corner Anna this time, asking questions about her relationship with Howard and how the girl generally operated. She asked about their history - she had read about them online, but she felt like it wasn’t enough - and how Katherine was back then versus now. Jane had tried to be subtle with the questioning, but the more she continued, the more the knowing look on Anna’s face made it apparent.

“Trying to go above and beyond for Kit, hm?” Anna asks, a smile on her face. “It’s good. It’ll be nice to have someone else also actively looking out for her.”

Later that morning - okay, well, afternoon - she manages to corner Boleyn and ask her a bit about caring for Elizabeth. Anne didn’t seem as willing to discuss it all, but she answered things easily enough. She gave a few pointers that Parr didn’t, told her some cute stories about the child, went on and on about how brilliant Elizabeth was and how important she was to her.

“For Howard, though,” Boleyn says, knowing easily enough what this was about. “I think you should just… feel it out. You have the instincts, clearly.“

Finally, later on that night, she gets the courage to talk to Aragon about Mary. 

Mary was a bit of a sore subject for Jane as well; though she had managed to get Henry to reconcile with her, she knew that Mary wasn’t exactly thrilled to accept Henry’s demands. If Jane was a bit stronger, a bit wiser, she might have been able to figure something out that could have helped Mary, but at the time she just wasn’t aware. Regardless, this was still the conversation that Jane was the least looking forward to; not because of Aragon herself, but rather because of Mary’s legacy.

It’s something Aragon didn’t talk about in public. Even on press tours, most people don’t discuss it. Jane’s heard the queen cry late at night, mumbling Mary’s name and “why” and so many questions that fall on intruding ears. 

She knows this is going to be painful for Aragon. But she does it anyways.

At first, Aragon is surprised to be asked that by Jane of all people. But then, she answers questions almost as simply as Parr does, and with little resistance. When Jane has enough information, she can’t help but add:

“I’m sorry,” Jane says, “If this was a bit much for you.”

“It’s fine,” Aragon replies. “I’m sure Howard will appreciate the guidance you’ll provide.”

Jane wanted to ask how Aragon knew about her intentions, but Aragon is out of the room before she can put in another word.

So it starts there: researching from primary sources is complete. Next, online.

Parr warned her about online sources, as apparently they might not be totally reputable. 

“You’ll need to keep things in context,” Parr explains, “and figure out if that’s good for the situation. If there’s any questions, just call me, okay?”

So Jane starts on Google. Goes on Wikipedia, reads a bunch of blogs, watches videos from YouTube, as much as she can. She’s deep into a fifteen minute video when she just sighs and turns it off; it wasn’t helping. Nothing was.

These are for normal parents with normal circumstances; certainly not what this was.

So, Jane decides to just… figure it out.

Progress is slow and awkward; Jane tries to make herself a bit more available to Katherine, who notices the increase of attention but is not bothered a bit by it. They talk a bit more often and more in-depth: not just their histories, but their feelings, how frustrated Katherine was with Parr about some trivial thing, about how Boleyn was off doing shenanigans or something. It’s funny, sometimes, but most of the time it’s them being there with each other, with Jane supporting Katherine as much as she can.

That doesn’t come without awkward moments, however. Sometimes, Jane tries to make Katherine do something - “clean your room,” for example - and it earns a weird look from Howard. Jane is quick to backtrack on that, however, as soon as she sees the weird look on Howard’s face. Parr or Boleyn or Aragon is quick to recover for her, either reinforcing the request or making a quick joke that alleviates the tension. 

Jane makes notes all the while, but apparently, Howard has as well.

One morning, it’s just the two of them before a matinee. Jane’s already made breakfast for the group - a normal thing, now - and Howard’s up a bit earlier than expected.

“Hey,” Jane says, smiling brightly at her. “You’re up a bit earlier than usual.”

“I heard you in here and wanted to hang out,” Howard replies, yawning. “That, and pancakes.” 

Jane chuckles. “Fair enough.”

They settle into comfortable silence before Howard finally speaks:

“You’ve been… off, lately,” Howard says, sitting down at the counter. “Is something the matter?”

“What?” Jane asks, trying to laugh it off. It only makes her more suspicious. “I… what??? No, nothing’s the matter, absolutely nothing, completely and totally fine and-”

“Definitely not panicking right now, got it,” Katherine replies with a bit of a smile. She slides her arms across the counter and puts Jane’s hands into her own.

“It’s okay, Jane. You can tell me. We’re family, remember?”

Jane blinks.

“I… just like that?” she asks, tilting her head.

Katherine mimics Jane’s movement.

“What do you mean? Of course, just like that.” Katherine replies with a bit of a chuckle. “After everything we’ve been through… I, at least, thought we were family.” 

She frowns, a scary thought forming:

“Unless… you don’t think so?”

“Oh! No, no, that’s not, nope.” Jane laughs awkwardly again. “No, I just… I really-” she sighs, putting her head in her hands. “I don’t want to mess it up,” she says through said hands, looking back up at Katherine. “I want to help you, Kit. That’s all I want to do. Because I know how hard it’s been for you, and I just… I want to be there to support you as best as I can.” 

Katherine smiles and moves around the counter to give Jane a big hug.

“I know. And I love you for it, Jane,” she says. Then, with  an impish smirk, she pinches Jane’s cheek in jest.

“You’re such a mom.”

With a wink, she moves away and back to her room with food in hand.

Jane looks over towards Katherine’s retreating form with a wondrous expression. Then, to herself:

“Did she just say…?”

“Told you you’d figure it out.”

Jane looks over to find Parr leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, smiling brightly. Jane nods quickly before smiling as big as Parr’s ever seen it.

“Yeah… I guess I have.”

[azure-firecracker]

Here is another fic, this one written for my friend who doesn’t have tumblr (I know you stalk my blog, hi! I love u!) I’m getting an Archive of Our Own (is that what AO3 stands for?) account soon, so this is the last time a fanfic will take up a ton of space.

My friend’s prompt was « Talking about their younger selves with the ship of your choice. » Here it is!

We’re Not So Different After All.

TW: Descriptions of physical and verbal fighting.

Catherine and Anne were fighting again. Jane sighed as she heard their shouts coming from the second floor, echoing loudly above the music and yelling of the bar.

It had been Anne’s idea to to out for a night of dancing, and all of the queens, though some reluctantly, had agreed. It had actually been going better than some of their other nights out. No one was sick or delirious from drinking too much, Jane had managed to get Cathy to strike up a conversation instead of just reading her book, and even the normally self-conscious Kitty seemed to be having fun.

Then, Catherine’s wine went missing. All of the queens tried to get her to brush it off, to tell her that it was probably a stranger who had made a mistake. Angry drunk Catherine was something none of them wanted to face. The problem was that calming Catherine down was infinitely more difficult with Anne smirking and giggling in the corner. Of course Catherine noticed.

Neither of the queens were completely drunk, but both were a bit tipsy, which meant they put no limits on their fighting. No volume control, no awareness of the people around them, nothing.

Eventually, their fight ended up in an upstairs corridor. People popped out of rooms, yelled at them to shut up, and slammed their doors. It didn’t help.

Looking back on it, thought Cathy, she probably should’ve seen this coming. Both queens had been getting along better lately, but they’d both had a hard week. Catherine had had to do extra shows because one of the alternates was out, and during those shows, everything had seemed to go wrong. Anne had had an unusual amount of nightmares that week, even for her. They both needed to air their grievances one last time, and it made sense to do it after a crappy week. Cathy just wished it didn’t have to be so loud.

Upstairs, the first two queens had taken a break from clawing at each other and screaming. Now they were just screaming. Progress, thought Kitty, who had followed them upstairs to make sure no one got hurt. She fully and completely intended to keep an eye on them, no matter what. Or, she had, until she heard Halo by Beyoncé start playing downstairs.

She’d been having such a fun night.

Anna was waving at her.

It was one of her favorite songs.

Just one song.

How much trouble could it be?

« See?! » screamed Anne, still a tiny bit tipsy. « My cousin ran away from you! That’s how much you suck! »

« You sound like a drunk stupid person! » shouted Catherine, also a tiny bit tipsy.

« You are a drunk stupid person! »

« You’re a stupid person, period! »

« You’re more stupid! »

« You took my drink! »

« You took my life! »

« You took my husband! »

« You took my sanity! »

« You took mine first! »

Anne glared at Catherine with wildness in her eyes. Catherine glared back.

They lunged at each other and slammed into a wall. Anne grabbed Catherine and pushed her into the elevator. The second she got to the next floor, Catherine shoved Anne down the stairs. Anne pulled her down with her. Eager to start again, only to be faced with an angry mob of pub guests.

« SHUT UP! » yelled a woman in the front.

« We can’t sleep! » shouted a little boy in the back.

« Get out! »

« Be quiet! »

« We’re filing a noise complaint! »

Before the queens knew it, they were out on the roof, the door was locked, and neither of them could get any cell phone reception.

Ten minutes later, Anne slumped against the door.

« I’m cold. »

« Of course you’re cold, Anne. It’s the middle of winter! »

« You’re supposed to give me your coat when I say that! »

« But we’re not dating. »

« So what? »

« I’m not even wearing a coat. »

« Then give me your clothes. All of them. »

« I am not stripping for you on a roof! »

« How about when we get home? »

« Anne! »

« Okay, okay. I’m bored. Let’s play a game. »

Catherine looked at Anne warily. Anne looked back at her with pleading puppy dog eyes.

« Fine. »

So they sat shoulder to shoulder with their backs to the door, hoping a little bit of warmth would seep through the cracks.

« Never have I ever flirted with someone to manipulate them, » said Catherine a little later. Anne paused.

« Well, do you mean in a big way or in a little way. Like, does it have to be to take over a kingdom or something like that, or do you mean, like, to get free food? »

« Any of it! »

Anne put down a finger with a smirk on her face.

« Never have I ever been fluent in French. »

« That is not allowed! »

« There’s nothing that says that! »

« Me! I’m saying that! »

« Did you invent this game? »

« Fiiiiine, » Anne put another finger down, « but this isn’t fair! You have all 10 fingers left, and I only have 5! »

« Alright, you can have an extra turn, but only because it’ll make you stop whining. »

« Never have I ever been fluent in Spanish. »

« You can’t do that. »

« You literally just did the same thing. »

« Fine. »

« Never have I ever been married to multiple people in my life. »

« So unfair. »

« Put down a finger. »

« Alright! »

« I’m cold. »

« I know. So am I. »

« I think I have hypothermia. »

« That’s impossible. We haven’t been out here long enough. »

« You look very pale. »

« I don’t have hypothermia, Anne. »

« Are you sure? »

« No. »

« Me neither. »

« Let’s keep talking. You can distract me. »

Anne paused. « How distracted do you want to be? »

« Very. »

« Okay, » Anne paused once more, « never have I ever had nightmares about my childhood. »

« Yes you have. »

« Doesn’t matter. »

« Why? »

« Because that’s not the point. The point is that you put down a finger. »

Anothe pause. Then, « how did you know? »

« When I was your lady in waiting, I noticed that you never wanted to talk about your childhood. I was nosy, so when you went off alone to avoid us, I followed you. I would see you go to sleep. Every time we talked about your childhood, you went to bed and woke up screaming. I’ve been wanting to ask you about it ever since we got back, but I haven’t found the right time. »

Catherine started at Anne, shocked. « I never knew you both this much. »

«  I want to know the rest, » said Anne, all fun and games gone from her face. « Tell me about growing up. »

Catherine smirked. « What’s in it for me? »

« You lose your burden. I tell you my story, and you take on some of mine instead. »

« What if I’m not ready? »

« Then I go first. When I was little, I was a wild child. I broke all of the rules, asked all of the wrong questions, and annoyed the shit out of everybody. They decided to send me to court in France. I actually liked it there, because the people understood me. It was the first time that being smart and a girl was okay. But when my family care back, they were horrified. Instead of letting me stay, they decided to throw me at the king. Even then, they refused to speak to me. Because, »Anne gulped, tears starting to fill her eyes, « there was always something so wrong with me that not even those related to me could love me. »

This wasn’t the first time Catherine had heard stories about the Boleyn family. Kitty had said similar things, and it was common knowledge that both the beheaded cousins had had hard childhoods, but Anne had always seemed so confident when she talked about growing up that everybody had assumed she didn’t care. Now, looking at the second queen, Catherine didn’t know if she’d ever seen her this vulnerable. She looked unstable, like what she heard next would determine her worth for all of eternity. Catherine wasn’t sure what to say.

« For what it’s worth, I bet you were a very cute child. »

« I was a nightmare. »

« Why? »

« Parents are supposed to love you unconditionally. Mine didn’t. I must’ve done something wrong. »

« Has it ever occurred to you that the problem might be them? »

« Well, Henry did the same thing, so no. »

« Henry’s a dick. »

« Doesn’t matter. »

« What if I told you that that also happened to me? »

« I’d have to hear more to believe it. »

« Fine, I guess it’s my turn. » Catherine took a deep breath. « Ever since I was born, I was bred to be the next queen of England. I was raised on English customs, not my own. I learned to be quiet, polite, meek, and submissive. The trouble was, I wasn’t. I was too loud, to agressive, too talkative. I spent too much time sneaking off and playing with swords. My parents found out. » Catherine gulped. « They were warriors, both of them. I’ve never seen anything scarier than them when they were angry. I never forgot the sounds of their shouts. When I turned 15, they were all too happy to get rid of me, but I never stopped wondering how I’d been so awful as to get them to shout so loudly. »

Catherine was surprised to see Anne grinning at her

« What? »

« Catherine of Aragon, you were a wild child! »

« I was not! »

« Oh, you absolutely were! »

« I was a bad child, not a wild one. I’m still bad. »

Anne’s smile broke and she stared intently at Catherine, face filled with worry.

« Still too loud, too bossy... »

Anne looked more serious than Catherine had ever seen her, even when she was comforting Kitty.

« Well, Catherine, we were both unruly children. So if you’re bad, than so am I. »

« But you aren’t! »

« Then neither are you. »

There was a pause, then Catherine broke into a small smile. « We’re not so different, are we? »

Anne smiled back at her. « It’s nice to know I’m not the only one. »

« I still think you were a very cute child. »

« How would you know? »

« Well, you’re a very cute adult. »

Anne’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the Spanish queen. « Catherine of Aragon, are you flirting with me? »

Catherine turned bright red. « What? No! I was only... »

Anne could see how uncomfortable she was, so she decided to change the subject.

« Want to finish the game? »

« Yes. »

They played for a little while longer, but Anne could tell something was off with Catherine. She was glad she’d been able to help lighten her burden, but she also had a feeling there was something else Catherine wanted tonight, something she might’ve never had before. Anne knew she hadn’t. So she took a leap of faith.

« Never have I ever kissed someone and really liked it. »

Catherine looked at her in surprise. « Not even Henry? »

« Not even Henry. I was too busy trying to please my family, and by the time I stopped, he was planning my execution. »

« What about other times? »

« Other times? »

« Making out in bars, people you kiss after three dates, like that. »

« It’s empty. I enjoy it, but it also drains me. I end up worse off than when I started. »

There was another pause, what felt like the millionth that night. Then, « so you’ve never had any really good kisses, then? »

« I suppose not. »

Catherine looked up and stared right into Anne’s eyes. The green of her eyes reflected the moonlight and made the first queen feel like she was staring at two jewels.

« I guess we’ll have to fix that, won’t we? »

Anne looked back at Catherine. Her eyes were like melting pools of chocolate, warm and welcoming and safe. Anne had never seen anything to beautiful. Little did she know that Catherine was thinking the exact same thing.

« I guess we will. »

[lailaliquorice]

when everyone who loves me has died

For the anon who requested parrlyn angst with boleyn comforting: I give you this very very sad piece of something.

Normally when I do hurt/comfort it’s physical, but this is just sad. Although I haven’t written kid fic yet (and this isn’t that as a disclaimer) I am very fond of the children plus my fave Jane Grey and reading about Parr’s relationship with both Bess and Jane before she died gives me a lot of feelings. Now this does overlook the discourse over Parr’s alleged part in the Th*mas Seymour bullshittery, but because this is a work of fiction it follows the notion that Parr sent Bess away to protect her and nothing else.

With that said and done, I hope you enjoy me pouring feelings out <3

It wasn’t usual for Cathy to shut herself in her bedroom-study for hours upon hours as she worked. Anne didn’t understand how she could stay focused on one thing so long but she never stopped admiring her girlfriend’s dedication to the causes she thought important, only ever stepping in when she got worried that Cathy was putting her work over her health. She never blamed Cathy for getting too caught up to remember she was still human, and was always willing to give her a gentle reminder to eat or sleep or just take a break whenever it was needed.

But she felt like she was right to be concerned one day when she came back from the theatre on Cathy’s random show off night to see her bedroom door shut. Normally she would always be waiting downstairs for them when they came home, having enjoyed some time to herself but happier to have her family back with her. And as much as Cathy called promises she was ok just busy from behind the door when Anne knocked and Jane assured her that she was probably just caught up in something, she couldn’t help the persistent feeling as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom that all wasn’t right.

And that only worsened when there was still no sign of her by dinner the next evening.

It was normal for Cathy to spend their Sundays off making up for lost researching time so Anne didn’t know why she was surprised to not see her in the kitchen when she came down for breakfast. She was too distracted by worry to get anything productive done so passed the time by shadowing Aragon and Jane as they did their weekly clean of the house, grateful to them both for giving her mindless tasks without asking her too many questions. Though when evening came and she still hadn’t said a word to anyone, Aragon and Jane’s concerned expressions gave Anne the permission she needed to race up the stairs towards her room.

“Hey, babe?” she called quietly as she knocked on the door, ear pressed to the wood so she might better hear any response. “Are you ok? We’re worried about you.”

Only silence answered her question.

A worried furrow appeared in her brow and she placed a hesitant hand on the door handle. “Cathy?” she said again, unable to stop the slight tremble in her voice at the thought of why she might not be answering her. “If you don’t answer me I’m gonna come in, ok?” She left it a few seconds before giving up on that hope, pulling in a shaky breath to try and steel her nerves before she slowly pushed the handle down and opened the door.

Chaos greeted her. Cathy’s desk was rarely completely tidy but the mess of papers had completely taken over her room; crumpled sheets of scribbled writing were scattered everywhere and the back cover of a notepad lay below a smudged mark on the wall, as if it had been thrown across the room and exploded on impact. Books had been pulled out of the bookcase and abandoned all over the place with one open on the desk which looked as though there had been pages ripped out. Blue post it notes that Anne had brought her covered the wall behind her laptop screen. The bed was unmade though it still didn’t look slept in, making Anne wonder with a jolt of fear if Cathy had even rested in the last 24 hours.

With all the destruction everywhere, it took Anne’s eyes a good few seconds to look past it in order to try and find where Cathy was. The sound of a stifled cry made Anne’s head whip round towards Cathy’s desk, and now that she knew where to look she saw the figure curled up beneath it amongst a nest of screwed up pages. Her knees were pulled up to her chest with her fingers snagged in her hair and was shaking uncontrollably.

Anne wasted no time in rushing across the room towards her, paying no heed to the papers beneath her feet, though forced herself to slow down before she reached her so as not to spook her. “Cathy, sweetheart, it’s me,” she said gently as she crouched beside her, waiting a moment to see if her voice alone could penetrate whatever state of mind Cathy was trapped in.

When she received no response she laid a gentle hand on Cathy’s knee, drawing back immediately when Cathy flinched in surprise and looked up at her. “Hey you,” Anne whispered, looking into her girlfriend’s red-rimmed eyes and at the tears streaking down her face as her chest clenched in sorrow.

“Hey,” Cathy rasped, her voice croaky from disuse. She looked about to say something else for a moment, mouth ajar and chest stilling, before she just ducked her head again and muttered “Sorry.”

“No, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re ok, we’re both ok,” Anne said as soothingly as she could, taking one of Cathy’s hands and gently untangling it from her hair to hold close to her chest.

Cathy shrugged but didn’t pull away, uncurling herself a little to sit slumped with her knees resting against Anne’s. “Shouldn’t have shut myself away like this though,” she said. Her other hand dropped to her side as she spoke and landed on one of the discarded papers, which she barely looked at for a second before crushing in a white-knuckled fist.

Watching her expression change, Anne felt a pang of sadness that the hobby which normally brought Cathy so much joy had caused her so much pain. “Still doesn’t mean you have to apologise,” Anne said, giving Cathy’s limp hand a gentle squeeze. “You want to tell me what happened?”

Sniffing, she rubbed the sleeve of her hoodie under her eyes in an attempt to dry her ravaged cheeks. “I was stupid,” she started, a note of frustration creeping into her distraught tone. “Don’t know why I thought looking her up would be different this time round. I didn’t find anything the first time or the second time or this time or any other time in between but I just can’t get myself to quit. I can’t get myself to give up on her.” Her voice was almost inaudible as she uttered that last sentence.

It wasn’t hard for Anne to guess who Cathy was talking about. Her most precious secret. Mae.

“And then when I couldn’t figure out what happened to her starting putting together what happened to all the others. They all suffered so much and I hate that so much. Bess – your Bess – what that horrible, awful man put her and Edward through. And I never knew until it was too late. I tried so hard to protect her while I could but then I left them all alone with that monster! I knew after Bess and I was going to protect them all but then I died and I left them alone!”

Anne could only stare as Cathy’s voice rose in both pitch and volume as her distress mounted. The comment about Elizabeth had caught her off guard, her hands stilling from where she’d been stroking Cathy’s hand, momentarily wrapped up in the anger she’d been seized with when she first learned what happened to her precious daughter.

“They were children,” she spat bitterly. “Just children, left alone and used by everyone who cared what they could use them for but never about them.”

The defeat in Cathy’s face was enough for Anne to shove her misgivings away to focus on what was at hand. “You cared,” she reminder her quietly, squeezing her hand lightly.

Fresh tears flowed down Cathy’s cheeks as she gave a hollow smile. “I cared so much. They were incredible. Bess was so witty and determined, Jane so clever and kind. And Mae was just perfect. I was going to look after them all, teach them how to survive, keep them safe. Me and my girls. We were going to be a family,” she whispered.

Silence followed her last words and Anne let it, too caught up in just watching the incredible woman before her to say anything with any meaning. It never failed to amaze her just how much strength Cathy had shown in those old days. What she’d done to keep herself alive and protect her little prodigies while she could. “It would have meant so much,” Anne pointed out after a while, giving her a nudge with her knee.

Cathy nodded, rubbing her eyes again. “I know,” she said hoarsely, giving Anne a grateful glance before bowing her head and falling quiet again.

“But I let them down.”

Anne looked up from when she’d been trying to read a nearby sheet of paper with Bess’s name on, glancing with trepidation at the lines of fury etched into Cathy’s face. It was very rare that Cathy was ever this angry, preferring to channel her emotions into strength rather than let them rule her like Anne was prone to doing, and she’d have been lying if she said it didn’t scare her a little.

“I died,” Cathy continued, voice dark and dangerous. “I left them in the lion’s den. And now look what happened to them; Bess was hurt and interrogated with no one to fight for her, Jane was used and paid with her life for someone else’s ambition, and they let Mae disappear. No one cared about the daughter of two ex-somebodies. I should have been there, I should have fought harder for them because no one else cared enough to do it.”

“No, sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. They could never have blamed you,” Anne said, tugging lightly on Cathy’s hand in a fruitless attempt to make her look up from where her gaze was lowered in shame. She’d already had that conversation with Jane once before, trying to convince her that she wasn’t to blame for leaving Edward behind. “You can’t blame yourself for your death. You’d never have left them if you had the choice. You loved them so much and you couldn’t change what happened,” she insisted gently.

When Cathy only gave a hum in response, Anne reached out to cup her jaw with one hand and tilt her chin upwards. She smiled sadly at the loss in Cathy’s eyes, kissing her temple before pressing their foreheads together and murmuring “Thank you for doing what I couldn’t do for her.”

Cathy sighed as her head fell sideways into the palm of Anne’s hand. “Thank you,” she said, smiling for a second before her expression crumpled again. “I’m sorry I got caught up in everything, I was just desperate to find something to reassure myself and got so frustrated and now I haven’t slept at all and I don’t feel very well and-“ she broke off with a sob, burying her face in her hands.

Anne ducked her head under the desk in order to wrap her up in a hug, holding Cathy tightly as she shook in her arms. “I’ve got you. Love you so much,” she whispered as she stroked Cathy’s hair, letting the exhausted girl pour out her sorrows into her shoulder since clearly she so desperately needed to.

“I love you too. I’m sorry,” Cathy repeated breathlessly, her arms losing their strength as her exhaustion built.

Shaking her head, Anne shushed her gently to quieten her apologetic cries. “No. No apologising,” she said, adjusting her grip to take as much of Cathy’s weight as she could manage. When she slumped further with her head rested against Anne’s chest and her eyes closed, Anne nudged her gently and said “Can I get you into bed love? You need to sleep but shouldn’t here.”

Cathy hummed in quiet agreement, just about managing to make her weary limbs cooperate with Anne as she helped her out from under the table. Once they were into the light Anne could see just how much of a toll the last day had taken on her; her face was grey though her cheeks were flushed pink in stark contrast to the dark circles beneath her eyes. She was still shaking a little where she stood, but when Anne pressed a palm to her forehead and felt how warm Cathy was she realised it might have been feverish shivering instead.

“Come on,” she prompted, one arm around Cathy’s waist as she helped her sit down on the edge of the bed and pull off her hoodie. Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she was piling up all the pillows for Cathy to lay back against, the concerned text from Jane reminding her that it was meant to be dinner time and that Cathy hadn’t eaten anything in the last day. Once she was resting on the nest of pillows, Anne asked “Do you think you’d be able to eat anything, babe?”

A defeated shrug answered her, so Anne left her with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to return soon as she left to get dinner for them both. There was no way she was leaving Cathy in that state without being reassured that she was being taken care of at long last.

After running downstairs to see what Aragon had made for dinner, Anne came back up the stairs with pasta for herself but a bowl of soup for Cathy since they’d figured it would be easier for her to stomach. Cathy was unmoving on the bed with her head lolled to the side when Anne pushed her door open but she stirred at Anne’s cheery greeting, picking her way between the papers towards her.

Cathy watched her move, a dejected frown appearing on her face as she muttered “I’ll need to clear those up tomorrow.”

“That’s a problem for tomorrow’s you though. And I’m gonna help you and it’ll be alright,” Anne said, offering her a carefree smile.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess,” Cathy nodded, a somewhat surprised expression on her face.

Anne hummed in agreement, offering out the bowl of soup to Cathy and supporting her shaky hands as she took it. “You don’t have to finish it, just as much as you can,” she prompted her.

She just stared at the bowl for a few seconds, making Anne wonder if she was slipping again from the seemingly stable mindset she’d brought herself back to. But then Cathy looked up at Anne, bashful hope shining in her eyes as she asked “Can you help me?”

Anne was more than happy to oblige. She shuffled close to Cathy and guided her hands as she slowly ate her dinner, talking about easy topics as they did so and pausing whenever she needed to. When Cathy grew too tired to keep talking Anne put both their bowls on the bedside table and lay down before her, holding her close as the last of her energy reserves seeped away. Cathy’s body was still feverishly hot as she buried her face into Anne’s chest again, and Anne was more than happy to be her shelter from the memories that had haunted her for so long.

Tomorrow they’d clear up the mess Cathy had created, both in her bedroom and inside her head. But for now, Anne would just hold her while she slept and keep her safe from the pain of her regrets.

[olivia-longueville]

A royal speech pulling at everyone’s heartstrings

On the 21th of June 1529, Catherine of Aragon spoke her famous speech at the Legatine Court at Blackfriars.  After years of Henry VIII’s unsuccessful attempts to annul his union with Catherine, Cardinal Wolsey convened an ecclesiastical court in England with a representative of the Pope presiding – Cardinal Campeggio.  The Papal Legatine court was held to determine whether the king’s first marriage was legal and valid.

Catherine of Aragon appearing before the Legatine Court at Blackfriars in 1529

The monarch was the first to speak to the court and people.  Despite his burning desire to get rid of his consort, he cheered her as she entered.  Then Henry pronounced a speech about his “love” for his wife, stressing that his conscience was badly troubled over the fact that he had married his elder brother’s widow.  The faux sweetness of his tone must have been obvious, for he was so obsessed with Anne Boleyn at the time that he wanted Catherine out of his life forever.

However, the court at Blackfriars turned quite surprising for Henry.  His queen circumvented the king’s plans by appealing directly to her royal spouse in the most dramatic way that made all those in attendance sympathetic to her cause, whether she told the truth or lied.

According to contemporary sources, Catherine said:

“Sir, I beseech you for all the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice. Take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman, and a stranger born out of your dominion. I have here no assured friends, and much less impartial counsel…

Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure have I deserved?… I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife, ever comfortable to your will and pleasure, that never said or did any thing to the contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein you had any delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much. I never grudged in word or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontent. I loved all those whom ye loved, only for your sake, whether I had cause or no, and whether they were my friends or enemies. This twenty years or more I have been your true wife and by me ye have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me…

When ye had me at first, I take God to my judge, I was a true maid, without touch of man. And whether it be true or no, I put it to your conscience. If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me either of dishonesty or any other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart to my great shame and dishonour. And if there be none, then here, I most lowly beseech you, let me remain in my former estate… Therefore, I most humbly require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God – who is the just judge – to spare me the extremity of this new court, until I may be advised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to take. And if ye will not extend to me so much impartial favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause!”

Just imagine!  Catherine stood on her knees before Henry as she gave the speech of her life.  It was a posture of absolute submission to her husband, but not surrender to his wishes.  Had this speech been prepared in advance by Catherine?  Had she planned to make it so emotional?

Catherine’s dramatic speech before Henry VIII and the Legatine Court

Catherine was a very educated and smart woman, who was truly a political animal.  She was destined to become herself as a daughter of Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon.  The purpose of planning a speech is to discover what should be said to an audience so that it has the most profound impact possible; preparation is also necessary to learn what should be omitted from the completed speech.  I believe that Catherine had made every effort to ensure that at the court, her speech would be so moving that it would pull at everyone’s heartstrings.

Henry gave his stubborn consort the option of entering a convent.  At the time, history knew precedents of royal annulments.  In 1498, Louis XII of France had claimed that his first spouse, Joan of France, was physically deformed, which had prevented him from consummating their union.  His marriage to Joan had been childless.  Louis had needed a fertile young wife (Anne of Brittany) to bear him sons in order to secure the Valois line, which had become highly important after the death of Charles VIII of France.   At first, Joan had resisted this charge, but the Pope had granted the annulment.  Then Joan had stepped aside and turned to the spiritual life.

Nevertheless, Catherine of Aragon seems to have never considered allowing Henry to marry Anne or any other woman.  Could Catherine act differently?  Her strong opposition to Henry’s annulment was caused by her steadfast desire to remain his wife for the rest of her life.  She seems to have believed that it was her destiny to be Queen of England.  She defended her right for the crown, as well as her daughter’s right to inherit the Tudor throne.  If only Catherine had gone to a convent, how everything would have been different for England and for Henry, as well as for Mary Tudor, who could have been much happier in this case than she was in history.

Catherine and Arthur, Princes of Wales (from the Spanish Princess Series)

Had Catherine really been a virgin when she had married Henry?  Or had she consummated her marriage to Arthur, Princes of Wales, before his death in 1502?  The subject of Arthur’s health has been debated by historians over the years: some say that he might have been sickly, while others suppose that he had been a robust, healthy young man.  Regardless of his health, Arthur was old enough to have reached his puberty by the time of his wedding to Catherine at the age of 15.  Although the couple had been subjected to a standard bedding ceremony, later Catherine swore that she had never known Arthur carnally.  Many historians and fans claim that Catherine’s famous piety proves the truth of her words, for such a religious woman could not endanger her immortal soul by lying.  But wasn’t Catherine her parents’ daughter?  The truth is shrouded in mystery.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Monsters Don‘t Soften When They Die (part 1)

so here’s another project!! however @millie1536 is lending me her amazing writing talents to co-write with me! It’s been so much fun to work with her and I can’t wait to see where this will take us!

———————

Stage door was never really Bessie’s cup of tea. It’s not like anyone ever wanted to take pictures with her, hell, half of the time people didn’t even know who she was, despite having TWO introductions. That being said, Parr jogging up to her while she was trying to pack up to leave and saying someone was requesting to speak with her was a bit strange, but she decided to oblige.

  “Who is it?” Bessie asked while following Parr to the front of the theater.

The queen shrugged.

  “Some kid,” She replied, “She seemed pretty excited to meet you, though.”

  “Hm.” Bessie merely said.

While she was happy that she wasn’t completely forgotten by fans of the show, Bessie wasn’t quite used to people wanting to see her. It felt almost strange. She just hoped this would be worth her time because it was movie night with the other ladies in waiting and none of them liked being late to it.

Stepping out into the lobby, Bessie was immediately met by a flurry of people bustling around the room. Among them was a little brunette girl, around eleven or so, who was pointed out to by Parr.

  “Her.”

There was a strange feeling in Bessie’s stomach, then in her heart, especially when the little girl smiled up at her.

  “Miss Blount?” She said sweetly.

  “Margaret?” Bessie whispered.

The girl’s eyes go wide, but she’s quickly smiling again.

  “Mummy?”

That was enough to send Bessie to her knees, a hand clasped over her gaping mouth. She screws her eyes shut as tears pour down her cheeks. The girl, her daughter, Margaret takes a small step forward and Bessie reaches out, pulling her into her arms.

  “Oh, Margaret,” Bessie murmured over sobs, “Darling, I missed you. I missed you so much. I’m so sorry we never got to meet, my love.”

  “I-I never thought you would hold me ever again...” Margaret whispered as her eyes grew watery, “Mama...!”

  “I’m here now, baby, I’m here,” Bessie told her, holding her tighter. “I’m never going to let you go.”

—————

       “Are you sure this movie is appropriate for Margaret?”

  “I hope so,” Maria said, “I’ve been waiting all week to finally watch Lizzie Borden Took An Ax on my pick for movie night!”

It’s been two weeks since Margaret had shown up and everyone loved the kid. Although it was unknown how she figured out about the show or was even reincarnated, nobody decided to ponder over it. The girl was polite and sweet and friendly and she made Bessie happy, so everybody decided she was a keeper (although Aragon was a tiny bit jealous about how only the BASSIST’S kid got to come back).

  “Don’t worry, mama,” Margaret said from where she was sitting in Bessie’s lap, “I’m brave!”

  “This movie isn’t even rated R, anyway,” Joan added.

Suddenly, Maggie yelped out loud, jumping at least three feet off of the couch when the mutilated, caved in, bloody face of Andrew Jackson Borden popped up on the screen. She placed a hand over her heart and tried to catch her breath while the others laughed, and she eventually joined them in the fit of giggles.

  “You good, Mags?” Joan asked, tittering.

  “I’m good,” Maggie assured her.

  “We are getting RIGHT into it!” Maria exclaimed before shutting up as the movie went on. Of course, though, she would end up piping up again. There were just so many things to talk about!

  “Ooh,” Joan winced when Andrew Jackson’s destroyed face popped up again, “They really like showing that, don’t they?”

  “You could fill that hole up with soup!” Maria said and the others all burst into laughter.

Maggie’s giggles died down and snuggled back against the couch cushions, slightly curled against Maria. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Margaret looking at her. She smiled. The girl smiles back. Bessie saw them exchange grins and got a warm feeling in her chest at the two getting along.

  “That’s what I need,” Maggie piped up at the scene where Lizzie was being injected with medicine.

  “Morphine?” Joan tilted her head.

  “Yeah.” Maggie nodded and Joan and Maria snort.

Once again, Margaret is staring, but looks away when Maggie tries to make eye contact. The guitarist merely shrugs and pays back attention to the movie.

Eventually, the tale of Lizzie Borden comes to a close and Maria stands up first, stretching out her arms and back.

  “Damn!” She exclaimed, “That was good! We’ll have to watch all of the movies based off of Lizzie Borden and rate them.”

  “I’m down,” Joan said, “That woman is badass.”

  “Hsst,” Bessie lightly kicked Joan when she cursed.

  “That woman is very cool,” Joan corrected with a laugh.

  “Better.” Bessie said.

Maggie stood up, rubbing the heels of her palms against the small of her back. She yawns.

  “I think I’m going to head to bed,” She announced, “Night everyone!”

  “Goodnight!” Came the chorus of voices.

——

       It was some odd hour of the night when Maggie woke up. She grunted sleepily and rolled over to get into a more comfortable position, only to see a dark figure looming over the side of her bed. With the murder movie she had watched still fresh in her mind, she flinched backwards, gasping out loud.

  “Lizzie Borden?” Her dazed, but scared mind made her say.

No answer.

Squinting, Maggie realizes this figure is very short and not wielding a weapon that she could see.

  “Margaret?” She called out.

The person shifts in their spot.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

The pitch and tone of the voice confirmed that it was, in fact, Margaret.

  “What are you doing?” Maggie asked, rubbing her eyes.

Margaret shrugged and then turned and walked out of the room.

Maggie sits on her bed in the dark completely dumbfounded.

—————

       Maggie had completely forgotten about what happened during the night until she saw Margaret again. Naturally, she was a little confused about the incident, as it had been the middle of the night and the girl didn’t even ask to sleep with her. She just...stood there.

It was just weird. Really, really weird.

But Maggie decided to ignore it and continue on with her day. Margaret didn’t bring it up, so she wouldn’t, either. Maybe it had all been a dream or something.

However, once she got a forty milligram dosage of Adderall in her, her paranoia went through the roof. Watching that Lizzie Borden thriller movie probably didn’t help either. She kept imagining Margaret being there at her bedside with an axe. Her smiling face was the last thing she would see before cold iron cleaved deep into her skull.

It was just absurd! Margaret had never done anything to warrant Maggie to think of her like that (although Lizzie Borden did seem just like an innocent woman...). The girl was nice and friendly, so Maggie knew she shouldn’t look at her like she was an axe-wielding maniac, and yet she found herself watching Margaret more often. Making sure she knew where she was and what she was doing made her feel more at peace.

Maria and Joan had noticed fairly quickly how unsettled Maggie had become towards Margaret since they watched that movie, but they could also see how happy Bessie was to have her daughter back. The house seemed to be split into two different worlds: One filled with joy and glee, and the other was wry and paranoid. Joan and Maria were walking the borderline between the two.

They discussed it in the privacy of Maria’s loft bedroom one day. They had enough of Maggie jumping every time she heard Margaret’s voice.

  “What do you think is going on?” Joan asked.

  “Not sure,” Maria answered, “Maybe we’re overthinking it?”

  “Maybe,” Joan sighed, “It could just be that movie. You know how Maggie gets after watching horrors or thrillers. She’s always paranoid for at least two weeks.”

Maria hummed, remembering the aftermath of when Joan had picked out It Follows to watch a few months ago. The guitarist looked over her shoulders constantly and was always glued to someone’s side, never wanting to be alone, especially in the house. Eventually, she got over it and relaxed, but that could be happening all over again. Who knew it would be caused by a Lizzie Borden movie of all films.

  “It’s only been a week,” Joan continued, “Maybe she’ll calm down soon.”

Maria nodded slightly.

  “Hopefully.” She said, “I wonder why she’s been ogling Margaret so much, though. I thought she liked the kid.”

  “People get tired of children,” Joan said, making Maria laugh into her hand. “I’m not saying Margaret is a bad kid, it’s just that having an eleven year old around all the time is exhausting.”

Maria giggled a bit before containing herself.

  “Let’s just keep an eye on Maggie.”

This conversation was why, when it came time for Maria’s turn to cook dinner, the drummer decided to make Maggie’s favorite. They had learned early on that Maggie’s favorite comfort food was lasagna. This worked well for Maria, as it wasn’t too complicated, unlike Joan’s go to comfort food.

  “Can I help?”

Maria turned around to see Margaret sitting at the kitchen counter.

  “Of course! It’ll be a lot faster with an extra set of hands.”

Maria hoped that letting Margaret help would show Maggie that nothing was going to change. Or to be afraid of.

  “I don’t think Maggie likes me very much.” Margaret said as the two of them began cooking.

  “That’s not true. Maggie just struggles with change sometimes.” Maria smiled at the girl who just shrugged.

  “I guess.”

Half an hour later and the meat was cooked and the sauce was ready.

  “Why don’t you put it together and I’ll start washing up?” Maria suggested.

Margaret nodded enthusiastically. If Maria was washing up it meant that she’d have her back to Margaret.

In the dining room, Joan noticed Maggie squirming anxiously in her seat and decided to try and help soothe her.

  “You alright, Mags?” Joan asked quietly, resting her hand on the guitarist’s shoulder. Maggie nodded but didn’t say anything. Joan watched her for a moment before passing the plates to Maria.

It wasn’t unusual for Maggie to fidget throughout dinner; she didn’t like sitting still for long periods of time, but it was strange how quiet she was.

  “You have to eat something, Maggie.” Joan said once dinner was served. She gave the girl an encouraging smile to try and convince her.

  “I’m not really hungry.” Maggie mumbled as she watched her hands flutter in her lap.

  “Just a little bit? Please, you haven’t eaten much all day.”

Maggie sighed. She couldn’t disappoint Joan like that and so she stopped moving the pasta around on her plate and took a bite.

It was fine at first. She coughed a little, but put that down to not chewing properly, something she was known to do. But then her skin began to itch and it felt as though her throat was closing up. Joan, being sat beside Maggie, was the first to notice the faint wheezing sound that accompanied every breath the girl took.

  “Maggie? Maggie, what’s wrong?” The keyboardist asked, but one look at Maggie’s face told her everything she needed to know. “Shit!”

Not wanting to waste another moment, Joan ran to the hallway cupboard where they kept the first aid kit. When she got back to the kitchen with an EpiPen, Maria was already on the phone with the ambulance and Bessie and Margaret were nowhere to be seen.

  “Can’t breathe.” Maggie’s voice sounded as though she was being choked.

  “I know, just relax, love.” In any other moment Joan would have rolled her eyes at herself. Her bandmate couldn’t breathe and she was telling her to relax of all things.

Under different circumstances, Joan would have warned Maggie before she pulled her pajama pants down, but Maggie was too focused on trying to breathe to care or even notice when the needle pierced her skin.

  “The ambulance is on it’s way, Mags. Just stay awake for me, yeah?” Maria knelt beside Maggie, who was still slumped in her chair. “Should we move her to the couch or something?”

Joan gave Maria a quick nod, too panicked to do much else as she stepped up to carry Maggie to the couch.

  “Just breathe, hun. That’s it. It’s going to be alright.” Joan positioned herself on the couch so that Maggie’s head was in her lap and she could run her fingers through her hair, since she knew the guitarist liked that.

A few minutes later they heard sirens and Maria ran to open the door.

The next few hours were a blur. Maggie was put on a stretcher and carried into the back of the ambulance where she was put on oxygen and given a shot of adrenaline. Despite her half conscious state, Maggie would not let go of Joan’s hand and so Joan rode in the ambulance with her to the hospital, talking softly to her to help calm her the whole way. Maria took the car and followed them.

They had been at the hospital for almost two hours when Bessie and Margaret finally arrived. Margaret rushed to Maggie’s side, holding her hand and asking how she was feeling. The guitarist made a tiny noise, almost in resistance, and kept looking from Margaret to Maria, seemingly asking the drummer for help with her eyes. Joan just glared at Bessie.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” Her voice was cold as she dragged Bessie into the hallway.

  “Is she going to be alright?” Bessie asked, still looking at the closed door separating her from Maggie.

  “What the fuck happened back there?” Joan snapped, “Maggie’s having an anaphylactic reaction to something and you just disappear?”

Bessie’s walls went up at this. She bristled herself up like a rearing bear and narrowed her eyes into a burning glower that almost made Joan buckle beneath it.

  “Margaret was scared, I didn’t want her to see what was happening.” Bessie defended herself.

  “Margaret was scared?” Joan almost laughed, “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that when Maggie couldn’t fucking breathe!”

As quickly as they had gone up, Bessie’s walls crumble.

  “I’m- I didn’t…” Joan just watched as Bessie struggled to find the words. “I’m sorry.” She said eventually.

  “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. Do you have any idea how scary that was for Maggie? You’ve always been there for her and then suddenly when she needs you, you’re gone. How do you think that felt?”

Bessie doesn’t say anything as Joan leaves her standing in the hallway. She just watches as the keyboardist returns to Maggie’s room.

She stands there for a long time before running both hands through her hair- a nervous tick she had picked up ever since reincarnation. She paced back and forth, muttering to herself, and only stopped because she notices Margaret sidle up to her. She drops her arms and knelt down in front of her daughter, who was sniffling and almost in tears.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Bessie asked, softening her tone to mask her stress.

  “I-is Maggie going to be okay?” The little girl squeaked out, “Sh-she doesn’t look good, mama. I’m scared!”

Margaret collapsed into Bessie’s arms and her mother hugged her tightly. She was quickly raised up when Bessie stood, held close to the bassist’s chest.

  “She’s going to be okay, my love,” Bessie murmured, swaying Margaret back and forth, “She’ll be back home in no time.”

  “P-promise?” Margaret sniffled.

Bessie kissed the top of her daughter’s head and said, “I promise.”

Joan watched the two from where she’s slightly peeking out from the hospital room. She scoffs and then retreats to Maggie’s side with Maria. Like Bessie should have done.

[seekfirst-community]

ONE OF THE MAIN GIFTS OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IS THIS:

WE BELIEVE IN THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS. JESUS SAYS IN THE LITURGY OF THE MASS THAT WHEN WE HONOR HIS SAINTS, WE GLORIFY THE SAINT-MAKER. HOW MANY PATRON SAINTS DO YOU HAVE?

"CLING TO THE SAINTS, FOR THOSE WHO CLING TO THEM WILL BE SANCTIFIED." (POPE ST CLEMENT I).

"A demoniac who could not speak was brought to Jesus, and when the demon was driven out the mute man spoke. The crowds were amazed and said, “Nothing like this has ever been seen in Israel.” But the Pharisees said, “He drives out demons by the prince of demons.”

Jesus went around to all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom, and curing every disease and illness. At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest.” (Matthew 9: 32 - 38).

Tuesday 5th July 2022, 14th Week of Ordinary Time is the feast of Saints Anthony Zaccaria and Elizabeth of Portugal.

St. Anthony Zaccaria (1502-1539). Italian from Cremona in Lombardy. He became a successful medical doctor at the age of 22. Unsatisfied with worldly success, he became a priest. He continued to care for the sick and comfort the dying. In Milan, he co-founded women’s religious order and then a congregation of priests called the Clerics Regular of Saint Paul (the Barnabites). Anthony reinvented a three-day exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, the Forty Hours Devotion. St Anthony Zaccaria died in 1539 at the age of 37.

St Elizabeth of Portugal :

Also known as Elizabeth of Aragon. (1271 - 1336). Elizabeth married King Denis of Portugal when she was very young. She set an example of Christian charity in the court and was the peace-maker between her husband and the children. After her husband died, Elizabeth became a Franciscan tertiary.

We see in our key Scripture for today the compassion of Jesus for the crowds who were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd. He healed many of their diseaae and illness and preached to them the Good News of the Kingdom of God. Yet Jesus was sad because the need is so great and the human resources needed for the work are paltry.

The Lord has given us today two incredible tools for Evangelization and Cathechesis:

#1. The Internet.

#2. Music

On the Internet for example, millions wander about troubled, seeking spiritual nourishment. There are great possibilities for catechesis and evangelization through the social media. The social media, viz: Facebook, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter, etc are the Mission Field of Today.

Music is a powerful tool for the New Evangelization. Both the young and the old love music. Music is one of the first blessings we shall recognize in Heaven. There is today abundant Christian music. They have good theology and lyrics. Subscriptions are available and affordable through Amazon Music and Google YouTube Music and others.

If you want to learn more about what the Catholic Church believes and teaches, click the link below:

http://seekfirst.blogspot.com/2021/03/compendium-of-catholic-teachings.html?m=1

7. 5. July = Most Precious Blood Month.

“Almighty Father, I place the Precious Blood of Jesus before my lips before I pray, that my prayers may be purified before they ascend to Your divine altar.” (St. Mary Magdalen de Pazzi).

Daily Bible Verse @ SeekFirstcommunity.com

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Saturday, May 12th – Day 8, Pau

Having basked in the sunshine on Friday, Saturday came as a bit of a shock to our systems. We woke to find low cloud and the Pyrenees had disappeared overnight, as they are occasionally wont to do. We hung about on the Boulevard for a short while but then found ourselves somewhat more restricted as to where we could and couldn’t go because our three day tickets only let us into the specific grandstand on Saturday and Sunday. The first race was scheduled for around 11 am so we caught the funicular down, then flogged back up to the entrance gate (what we should have done is walk down and save ourselves the need to go back up, but I’m not sure anyone’s brains were working properly at that point). I think we tend to just use the funicular because it’s there, after so many years when it would be stopped for the duration of the Grand Prix and we’d finish the day having to lug all our kit back from the press office, up the stairs over the bridge, swearing profusely all the way!

It did enable us to take a look at the Gare end of the track from the boulevard while we waited to get on so that was no bad thing.

Once we’d settled into our grandstand seats, we had a clearer view of Gare, and of the screen opposite, so at least we’d be kept informed – provided we could see through the fug of cigarette smoke from some of our fellow spectators. Actually, once the race started they weren’t too bad, apart from one man, and we had a reasonable view. Again, provided you are high enough up, the photography is not too bad.

The race went much as races here tend to, with people running out of talent all over the place…

And Safety Cars…

There was even some racing…

After the race ended we figured we’d head into the park, but it was starting to cloud over even more, and the rain was spotting here and there. By the time we’d reached Pont Oscar the sky was looking really ominous, and the temperature had dropped dramatically, so we decided that as it was lunchtime the only sensible thing to do was get indoors for a while and wait for it to blow over.

Luckily the Palais Beaumont was at hand, and as we knew, la Belle Epoque brasserie was open for a change.  Apparently all this has become the norm since 2016, and like the renovation of the rue du Hedas is a very welcome development. When we first started to go to Pau in 1989 the whole place had an air of decay about it. Now that semi-benign neglect seems to be being reversed.

We snagged a table, and were joined by E, R and W. A round of aperitifs both alcoholic and non-alcoholic were procured and we settled in to study the menu as the wind whipped up outside and the rain started to hammer down. We watched the stall across the way, which had been happily selling sweets to stick children, being pretty comprehensively taken apart by the sheer force of the gale, as it howled round the park. It was good to be indoors!

After some study we decided that we would just go for a main course each, and a bottle of rose wine to go with it. I chose the linguine with beef, which was tasty if somewhat solid, the pasta having obviously been kept warm after its initial cooking, to the point that it had started to stick together in clumps.

Lynne ordered the magret de canard (no surprises there) which she seemed to enjoy well enough, though she inevitable left the salad leaves where they were.

The others went for the burger, which looked pretty good and was nicely presented, and came with rather good frites.

After we finished, we strung out drinking our wine for as long as we could, because it really didn’t seem to be improving any outside. People were scurrying past, umbrellas ripped inside out, and the noise of the wind was intensifying, so it seemed best not to rush off into it.

Besides, it was nice in the Palais, and we even found that there is an indoor garden.

Around 3pm we decided we’d really best go out so we watched the start of the Twin Cup from the Boulevard, in my case looking at them and thinking: “How many! How many! What could possibly go wrong?”

The grassy slopes of the park, which fill up with spectators who don’t want to pay for a grandstand seat, and who thus got in for €3 a day, were pretty much empty apart from a handful of the truly determined or truly insane.

And then it started to rain again, so we ran for it and bolted into the Brasserie Aragon, which had always been our rendezvous point if we got separated, and drank hot chocolate while waiting for the afternoon’s Formula 3 qualifying session to start. It gave me the chance to wrap the camera in it’s plastic sleeve and myself in a large, shapeless plastic mac, before going back out, equipped to take more photos.

In some ways, I really didn’t mind, because it does make the pictures so much more dramatic!

However, the rain really didn’t seem to want to stop, and in fact got heavier towards the end of the session.

It’s fair to say conditions were challenging, both for us and for some of the drivers!

As soon as qualifying ended we headed back to the apartment to dry out. It was good to be able to hang everything up and get into clean, dry clothing. That evening we were headed for le Dauphin on the Place des Etats, one of our favourite places to eat in the old town down near the Chateau de Pau. Normally we prefer to eat outside on their terrace but it was too cold a night to be anywhere but inside. And on going inside, who should we find but Mika Salo, who really does seem to be following us about these days. He was there with Robert Shwartzman, and his manager Peter, who swore he knew us from rallying…

Anyway, on getting settled we went for the house aperitif which is pretty much a peach flavoured kir made with Jurançon molleux, and is very pleasant indeed (we got through a second round while we waited for everyone else to arrive).

Olives and tapenade were also provided, which may have been just as well. Those aperitifs were quite powerful! Decisions were finally reached and food ordered. I ordered the fish soup, because it seemed like a good idea on an evil night. I failed to take a photo of it though. Lynne ordered the foie gras, which was excellent as ever, as well as somewhat architectural.

The others went for the peppers stuffed with salt cod.

After that the theme was duck, and more duck, at least for Lynne and for me. I went for the cassoulet, because there’s nothing better than a cassoulet for comfort food. This one was sticky, the meat juices binding the beans together, and the duck was tender, tasty and massive.

Lynne went for the confit de canard, which was good too (well you’d expect it to be given that the piece in the cassoulet was just what I’d been hoping for). This is not refined food, it’s solid home-style cooking decorated a bit, and it’s all the better for it.

The others went for salmon, which turned out to be an enormous fillet of said fish, with rice, an excellent sauce, and a smattering of vegetables…

Or prawns and scallops, an equally enormous portion…

You won’t be surprised to learn that none of us could manage a dessert! We had a chat with Mika, Robert and Peter (who invited us to come and see him at Prema the following day) and then headed out into the night.

Despite the weather there was again a great deal of noise going on at the Place Gourmande, so we sat up until they stopped, then shuttered everything fully to stop the sound of the remaining revelers who were able to keep up their shouting and singing till around 3 in the morning!

Travel/Food 2018 – French Road Trip, Day 8, Pau Saturday, May 12th – Day 8, Pau Having basked in the sunshine on Friday, Saturday came as a bit of a shock to our systems.

[latristereina]

Ferdinand II, byname Ferdinand the Catholic, Spanish Fernando el Católico (born March 10, 1452, Sos, Aragon—died Jan. 23, 1516, Madrigalejo, Spain), king of Aragon and king of Castile (as Ferdinand V) from 1479, joint sovereign with Queen Isabella I. (As Spanish ruler of southern Italy, he was also known as Ferdinand III of Naples and Ferdinand II of Sicily.) He united the Spanish kingdoms into the nation of Spain and began Spain’s entry into the modern period of imperial expansion.

Ferdinand was the son of John II of Aragon and Juana Enríquez, both of Castilian origin. In 1461, in the midst of a bitterly contested succession, John II named him heir apparent and governor of all his kingdoms and lands. Ferdinand’s future was assured when he came of age, in 1466, and when he was named king of Sicily, in 1468, in order to impress the court of Castile, where his father ultimately wished to place him. In addition to participating in court life, the young prince saw battle during the Catalonian wars.

John II was careful about Ferdinand’s education and took personal charge of it, making sure that Ferdinand learned as much as possible from experience. He also provided him with teachers who taught him humanistic attitudes and wrote him treatises on the art of government. Ferdinand had no apparent bent for formal studies, but he was a patron of the arts and a devotee of vocal and instrumental music.

Ferdinand had an imposing personality but was never very genial. From his father he acquired sagacity, integrity, courage, and a calculated reserve; from his mother, an impulsive emotionality, which he generally repressed. Under the responsibility of kingship he had to conceal his stronger passions and adopt a cold, impenetrable mask.

He married the princess Isabella of Castile in Valladolid in October 1469. This was a marriage of political opportunism, not romance. The court of Aragon dreamed of a return to Castile, and Isabella needed help to gain succession to the throne. The marriage initiated a dark and troubled life, in which Ferdinand fought on the Castilian and Aragonese fronts in order to impose his authority over the noble oligarchies, shifting his basis of support from one kingdom to the other according to the intensity of the danger. Despite the political nature of the union, he loved Isabella sincerely. She quickly bore him children: the infanta Isabella was born in 1470; the heir apparent, Juan, in 1478; and the infantas Juana (called Juana la Loca—Joan the Mad), Catalina (later called—as the first wife of Henry VIII of England—Catherine of Aragon), and María followed. The marriage began, however, with almost continual separation. Ferdinand, often away in the Castilian towns or on journeys to Aragon, reproached his wife for the comfort of her life. At the same time, the restlessness of his 20 years drove him into other women’s arms, by whom he sired at least two female children, whose birth dates are not recorded. His extramarital affairs caused Isabella jealousy for several years.

Between the ages of 20 and 30, Ferdinand performed a series of heroic deeds. These began when Henry IV of Castile died on Dec. 11, 1474, leaving his succession in dispute. Ferdinand rushed from Zaragoza to Segovia, where Isabella had herself proclaimed queen of Castile on December 13. Ferdinand remained there as king consort, an uneasy, marginal figure, until Isabella’s war of succession against Afonso V of Portugal gained his acceptance in 1479 as king in every sense of the word. That same year John II died, and Ferdinand succeeded to the Aragonese throne. This initiated a confederation of kingdoms, which was the institutional basis for modern Spain.

The events of this period bring out the young king’s character more clearly. In portraits he appears with soft, well-proportioned features, a small, sensual mouth, and pensive eyes. His literary descriptions are more complicated, although they agree in presenting him as good-looking, of medium height, and a good rider, devoted to games and to the hunt. He had a clear, strong voice.

From 1475 to 1479 Ferdinand struggled to take a firm seat in Castile with his young wife and to transform the kingdom politically, using new institutional molds partly inspired by those of Aragon. This policy of modernization included a ban against all religions other than Roman Catholicism. The establishment of the Spanish Inquisition (1478) to enforce religious uniformity and the expulsion of the Jews (1492) were both part of a deliberate policy designed to strengthen the church, which would in turn support the crown.

The years 1482–92 were frantic for Ferdinand. In the spring months he directed the campaign against the kingdom of Granada, showing his military talent to good effect, and he conquered the kingdom inch by inch, winning its final capitulation on Jan. 2, 1492. During the months of rest from war, he visited his kingdoms, learning their geography and problems firsthand.

The conquest of Granada made it possible to support Christopher Columbus’ voyages of exploration across the Atlantic. It is not known what Ferdinand thought of Columbus or how he judged his plans, nor can it be stated that the first trip was financed from Aragon; the sum of 1,157,000 maravedis came from the funds of the Santa Hermandad (“Holy Brotherhood”). Nevertheless, Ferdinand was present in the development of plans for the enterprise, in the negotiations to obtain the pope’s backing for it, and in the organization of the resulting American colonies.

At the age of 50 Ferdinand was an incarnation of royalty, and fortune smiled on him. For various reasons, particularly for his intervention in Italy, Pope Alexander VI gave him the honorary title of “the Catholic” on Dec. 2, 1496. But he also suffered a succession of tragedies: the heir apparent and his eldest daughter both died, and the first symptoms of insanity appeared in his daughter Juana. He was wounded in Barcelona in 1493, but this was unimportant compared with the family injuries he suffered, which culminated in the death of Isabella in 1504, “the best and most excellent wife king ever had.”

In 1505, to secure his position in Castile, Ferdinand signed a contract to marry Germaine de Foix, niece of the king of France. This, too, was a political marriage, although he always showed her the highest regard. A stay in Italy (1506–07) demonstrated how badly he was needed by the Spanish kingdoms. Once more in Castile, he managed his European policy so as to obtain a hegemony that would serve his expansionary ends in the Mediterranean and in Africa. In 1512, immediately after the schism in the church in which the kings of Navarre participated, he occupied their kingdom and incorporated it into Castile—one of the most controversial acts of his reign.

In 1513 Ferdinand’s health began to decay, although he was still able to direct his international policy and to prepare the succession of his grandson, the future emperor Charles V. In early 1516 he began a trip to Granada; he stopped in Madrigalejo, the little site of the sanctuary of Guadalupe, where he died. The day before his death, he had signed his last will and testament, an excellent picture of the monarch and of the political situation at his death.

Many considered Ferdinand the saviour of his kingdoms, a bringer of unity. Others despised him for having oppressed them. Machiavelli attributed to him the objectionable qualities of the Renaissance prince. The German traveler Thomas Müntzer and the Italian diplomat Francesco Guicciardini, who knew him personally, compared him with Charlemagne. His will indicates that he died with a clear conscience, ordering that his body be moved to Granada and buried next to that of his wife Isabella, so that they might be reunited for eternity. He died convinced that the crown of Spain had not been so powerful for 700 years, “and all, after God, because of my work and my labour.”

- Tarsicio de Azcona

(x)

[ask-a-badass]

Seeking Lady Luck, answered by Yolande of Aragon

Dear Badass,

I’m just finishing up my last year of theater school. One thing everyone keeps telling me is that luck is important. Like you have to be good, you have to professional, you have to keep working at your craft. But ultimately, there’s an element of luck that is beyond your control. So what can I do to make sure luck breaks my way?

Seeking Lady Luck

Dear Seeking Lady Luck,

I suggest you stop looking for her and instead become your own Lady Luck. If our faith defines how we move through the world, do see how looking for outside intervention sets you up to be a passive spectator? I suggest instead you put your faith in this: there are far fewer people in the world stymied by luck than by their own inability to perceive the opportunities that come their way.

It’s easy for me to refuse to believe in a force that let me down so shamefully. Every time my future hung in the balance, the scales tipped the other way. But look what I made of it. My son-in-law, once reduced to my daughter’s domains, became King of France in the face of England and Burgundy. I wore the titles of four kingdoms, but never a crown; my children and grandchildren ruled over England and France. There was not a major house in France untouched by the English slaughter of Agincourt, yet the English were slinking out the door by the time I left France to my children.

It’s hard to know which story to tell you. I could begin my forced marriage to a French duke, which took me away from my native Aragon and barred my inheritance. We developed a partnership that saw him spend his life pursuing his Italian claim while I ruled a vast and wealthy Duchy. I could tell you of the terrible realization that my royal brother-in-law was struck with a madness that changed him from a just ruler to a pawn in the war between his brothers. I surrounded the king with my supporters and betrothed my daughter to the king’s son.

I prefer to tell you, though, of our most desperate hour and how it was transformed by creating an icon. England and the Duke of Burgundy ruled most of France. My son-in-law, Charles, had become the rightful king upon the death of his father, but few outside our domains acknowledged it. The English besieged Orleans and we knew that when it fell, so would we all.

I heard word of a peasant girl who claimed God had called her to remove the English from France. Such things were not uncommon, you understand. After a century of violence from passing armies and mercenaries, most of the peasants had gone a little mad. My informers told me this girl was different though and when I met her I could see why.

To this day, I do not know if she was touched by divinity or madness. There was an intensity about her that put my own sense of purpose to shame. Her story was absurd, of course. Men trained from childhood to fight with heavy swords, weighed down from armor. I was not sure she had the strength to enter the fray and certain she hadn’t the strategy to direct it. Anyone else would’ve turned her away out of hand, but I saw the opportunity she presented.

Joan of Arc shamed Charles’ men into risking all to raise the siege. Alive, she inspired the army to turn the tide of battles against the English. When the English martyred her, she became a holy symbol, first maintained through whispers, then canonized through Charles’ legacy. You may feel that luck brought Joan to my attention. I say to you that it was wisdom to see her potential and boldness to risk all on her. Rather than look for some mythical goddess to bless you, I suggest you study the landscape and find your opportunities.

That said, there are two reasons your teachers tell you about luck. When you look back on your life, it can be a comfort to see how much is out of your hands. Leave such comforts for when you are in dire need of them. Do not let them dull your edge when your fighting spirit is still necessary.

If you are a woman, there may be a more insidious motive. We are judged for aggression and in a business with politics, that judgment can be destructive. They said I had a man’s heart in a woman’s body, just as they would say of my granddaughter Margaret. The chroniclers said it so often, one would think they might reassess women’s hearts, rather than simply wear out the phrase. I had to learn to present a demure mien, even as I was going to war. You may have to do the same, but don’t confuse your appearance with your spirit.

Seek opportunities and leave luck to others.

Yolande of Aragon

Born in Zaragoza, Aragon on August 11, 1384 to King John I of Argon and his wife Yolande of Bar, granddaughter of the French king. Died in Chateau de Tuce-de-Saumur on November 14, 1442. Yolande may be the most overlooked figure in French history. When she was ordered by England, Burgundy, and English-controlled French Queen to turn over the French King’s remaining son, she dared them to come get him, despite being massively overpowered. She not only arranged for Joan of Arc to lead Charles’ cause, she supplied the army that fought with her. 

To read an interesting account of her daughter who became queen, check out the Freelance History Writer.