#personally i liked henry standing up for himself MUCH more than catherine coming in and saving the day but lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

petrichoraline · 1 year ago

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I agree with everything you said, Cathrine is delightful, naive but stands her ground and she's only going to get better with age. Yeah, the whole age gap is a bit... But considering the time period it was written in I just imagine him younger idk. The action part is when they're in the abbey ig, that's the most fun part and I'm not going to spoil it to you ofc but I'd do the same as Cathrine if I was in a place like that lol maybe without saying certain things tho. I would love to know your thoughts on the novel, by the end I did like henry, he did show up and out when he needed to. I'd have to say that my favorite austen romance is persuasion, the man did annoy me in the begining even tho ig I understand that one considering their history but his letter in the end has to be the best austen letter, I'm not a fan of love letter in general but since they already have a history together it hits differently idk also talking about relatable heroines Ann Eliot my beloved, the people pleasing is next level (but we're working on that)

I waited to finish the novel to reply and now I understand what you meant hahah, a lil warning about spoilers ahead for anyone who might come across this that wants to read Northanger Abbey

Catherine's imagination running wild annoyed me a bit only because she was using it on a real person and in such a way but I understood she's an avid reader seeing patterns in real life and im sure her subconscious craved to make a villain out of the general - he was too attentive and polite for her to have an excuse to say anything bad about him though he was the most dreadful part of her experience in the abbey. but the way she talked to henry about it, I can't help but laugh, she feels so at ease with him and trusts him so much that she forgot all about manners and common decency and asked him questions that so obviously show her suspicions- like what heroine would share she suspects his father of murder with her crush 😭 propriety and common sense were sent out the door faster than her lmao

as for henry yeah, he did show up when it mattered and related the information to her in a very considerate way, he was also extra caring after she ran away in tears all ashamed when her suspicions were revealed so all in all you can tell he can be a little shit when he's in a silly goofy mood but also be extremely sensitive in certain situations, we love a man with a high eq 😄

the novel itself... I am not going to lie to you, I am a bit disappointed - I pushed through some boring parts in the hopes of some grandiose drama but things were resolved in a very bland way. the conclusion to the engagement situation is related through letters, we don't see either the thorpes or james himself at all, later on we only hear about what went between the general and john and I get it creates this feeling of "we're done with them, let's wrap it up, chop chop!" as if we didn't spend half the novel with those characters around. the way catherine moves on isn't technically quick but in writing it feels like it. aside from that part being rushed, so was the ending- eleanor having a fiance and catherine not knowing anything of it does make a bit of sense because she is a more discreet person but tying the whole thing together with "and his servant left behind the washing bills from so many chapters ago!".. I wouldn't call it lazy but it was a random choice. (I did find the part where she says she can't name the fiance cause the structure of a novel wouldn't allow it entertaining tho); the resolution for the thorpes was very similar to a fairytale - bad guys left vexxed, good guys in complete bliss. in sense and sensibility the "bad girl" at least got a man out of the whole ordeal lol so I was expecting some twist or another but it's fine, just as austen was done with the characters, so was i lol

I think most of all I wanted a more dramatic moment of getting together for henry and catherine but I suppose the whole point is this it's a regular story with regular characters where the only dramatics spawn from some very common behaviours in people in higher society. the final chapter was just rushing everything which honestly isn't a bad thing considering i was not too curious even three chapters prior as to how it all ends, I think austen mightve known it was gonna be predictable anyways so might as well not waste much thought and time on it.

I did like the book, as I do with every austen book, because it's an experience - I like the humour, I like the writing style (though some sentences could do with being shortened, I have to reread again and again when I'm sleepy sometimes), I think the fact there are less descriptions of surroundings and more cheeky commentary on society and fun dialog works for me very well. this novel is no different in these aspects than the ones I've previously read and im glad about it. when it comes to characters, I'm fond of Eleanor particularly but I appreciate the Morlands as well - they seem very simple in their thinking but very loving and caring, they give their children freedom and support them unreservedly, im sure henry and eleanor would love to be in their company in the future (im also so happy for eleanor and I hope his family is the warmest and help her heal from all she's endured)

it was a fun read and im satisfied i finished it regardless of anything, also very glad I got to talk with someone about it 😊

the letter in persuasion you mention sounds exactly like the type of profession of love i want, here I just mostly got austen describing events and we didn't even get to see catherine find henry at the door, we had to follow her mother to the bookshelf upstairs 😂 so a letter in the character's own words sounds great!

people pleasing would drive me up the wall, that's why I was so happy with catherine but! relatable it is. so I will probably yell at her with affection and understanding hahah (I'm sure you're doing great, one "no" at a time)

i think I'll probably think of other things to say on the matter after i've posted this but alas :') sending you hugs, thanks once again for talking to me about it <3 I hope I haven't disappointed you with my answer, I'd love for you to correct me if I've said smth wrong but also just share whatever 💓

#and now i shall bid my adieu #petri replies #anon mailbox

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your-disobedient-servant · 2 years ago

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I will admit, I am not very knowledgeable on the enlightenment era stuff, besides getting some giggles at the posts of my friends and was never really interested in it aside from the stuff with Catherine the Great that was going on around the time. But now after scrolling your blog and actually witnessing the sheer amount of DRAMA QUEENS, I've gotten somewhat curious 🤭

If you don't mind me asking, can you please describe the relationship of the "two toxic old men" to a person like me, who doesn't know much, but is willing to learn?

Fritz and Voltaire? With pleasure!

So, in 1736, Frederick, then the crown prince of Prussia, sent some fanmail to Voltaire. Being the attention whore he was, especially when it came to royalty, V responded with great enthusiasm and the two struck up a correspondence full of mutual flattery. At one point V enlisted his friend Thieriot to help send literary news (he was supposed to be paid: he wasn't, ever) and he...sent a lot of gossip about Voltaire. Another important thing is also that Émilie du Châtelet, V's long-term lover, and Fritz HATED each other. And it's also generally agreed that Fritz was gay.

1740 comes around, Fritz's awful dad finally croaks, and he becomes king and wants to, in his own words, possess Voltaire. He and Voltaire met in person for the first time in September, briefly, then again in November where V spends his birthday in Prussia. Party time. The correspondence from during that visit is amazing, V wants to leave, Fritz begs him to come back and says he'll kiss him on Friday, V tells Fritz he loves him more than Émilie, they call each other mistress, Fritz complains that V is expensive behind his back but he'll win over Émilie because he can pay him more, V says he's not interested in Greek affairs (read: gay stuff) despite the flirting but he is there for Fritz, Émilie begs V to come back saying she's sick and gets V's friend Cideville to send him a poem about how hot she is, etc etc.

At some point, Fritz tried to force Voltaire to come to Prussia by spreading gossip in France that'd force him out of the country and iirc succeeded, but I don't remember which visit was that off the top of my head.

They briefly meet again in 1742. In 1743, Voltaire was sent to Prussia as a spy, at which he was hilariously godawful (Fritz answered most of his diplomatic questionnaire with jokes). After Émilie died in 1749, V moved to Prussia in 1450, which went fine at first, but they slowly started to realise they really can't fucking stand to live with each other. Voltaire got involved in a financial scandal and also royally pissed off Maupertuis (Émilie's former lover, president of the Berlin Academy) and with that Fritz, culminating in Fritz burning all copies of Diatribe du docteur Akakia.

V resigned and left in early 1752, but he was (unlawfully, Fritz had no authority there) detained by an agent of Fritz's in Frankfurt because he took a book of poetry in which Fritz satirised other European leaders. What followed was a very entertaining mess of miscommunication (please do yourself a favour and read the correspondence from that time, google translate does the job fine) and theatrics on Voltaire's part, who kept insisting he was just a sick old man who only wanted to go take the waters. He writes to everyone, his niece and current lover writes to Wilhelmine, V at some point pulls a gun on someone, Freytag writes to Fritz like "he looks like a skeleton, is he really sick or does he always look like that?," eventually V's luggage in which the book was in gets delivered, he coughs it up, but he still isn't let go, eventually Fritz himself has to write to Freytag like "yo, wtf is going on." It's a disaster and it ruins their relationship for good.

Voltaire is so pissed off that he writes a memoir about his experiences in Prussia where he outs Fritz (...and also his brother Henri) as gay in no uncertain terms several times and also edits a few letters to his niece in the vein of Richardson's Pamela, painting himself as a poor victim of the seductive king. Which...lmao, really, V? Really? I translated the first one here, currently working on the second. Though those letters weren't discovered to be edited until 1991, so many older biographies just take them as fact.

Anyway, the two stopped writing to each other for a while. They reconnected at the urging of Fritz's sister Wilhelmine when the Seven Years War was going badly and Fritz was suicidal, and it went well on the surface, but Voltaire kept writing to his friends about how he's totally over Fritz, he hates him, he wishes he was hit by a cannonball, he ridicules his suicide letter behind his back, etc. Fritz also keeps shit-talking Voltaire behind his back the whole time, but is overjoyed when he gets a letter. As an example of later correspondence, here's a translation of an excerpt from the "it's good that you're such a colossal dick or your perfection would embarrass humanity" letter. Either way, they slowly reconciled and kept writing to each other until Voltaire's death.

I know I left a ton out and I wrote it pretty much all from memory so could be that I fucked up the details, but I hope it helps. Wish I could include some more letter excerpts because they're fantastic, but it's long as it is.

Sources

If you want a good intro on these two, read the bios by Nancy Mitford - she has the fatal flaw of not citing shit but they're short and fun and easy to find and she's one of the few who are able to see that both of them were a total mess. For more academic sources, there's Aldridge (pro: cites letter numbers in-text, very balanced when it comes to Fritz, con: impossible to find) or Besterman (pro: most comprehensive, dude compiled his letters so he knows his shit, con: big bias against Fritz) for Voltaire and...hm, I'm trying to think of a Fritz biographer that'd have any info on those two. Blanning hasn't much and I've yet to get around to MacDonogh, so I can't say where that one is good and bad.

There are also letters here and here that you can googletranslate and I really wish Electronic Enlightenment wasn't paywalled (if you know someone who has a NYPL card to lend you their login info…I recommend) cause it has like all of V's letters and an AMAZING search.

#man this got long #and i omitted a fuck ton of good stuff for brevity :(#Frederick the Great #Voltaire #q&a #two toxic old men #long post

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coping-via-clint-eastwood · 3 years ago

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CSI Characters as Ancient/Medieval Fantasy Warriors (title is tentative)

I WROTE THIS ALL IN ONE SITTING!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???????

*ahem* This is speculation about what powers and skills the CSI characters would have if they were warriors in an ancient/medieval fantasy setting, amongst other things. This was probably inspired by my recent wallowing in medieval fantasy (specifically Songs of War {if you don't know what that is, it's okay}), and I thought, why not entertain the idea? And after writing it out, I can say that it was fun toying around with it. If this inspires anybody to add on anything, or write fanfiction, or whatever, by all means go ahead.

@addictedtostorytelling @bartramcat @buildinggsr @davesdude80 @dobbyofearth @fandomismymiddlename @originalpinkranger @panchostokes @space-helen @stokes-theorem

All the people written about here are humans with powers.

Gil: He has enhanced eyesight, and is a sniper archer. If I may draw your attention to the ending scene of season 4 episode 2, All for Our Country:

Bonus shot because it reminds me of his Will Graham days:

He is canonically a deadeye. So, I am extending that to be a superhuman power. I'll put it this way: he can aim and shoot at the same target a contemporary sniper with a scope could; he does not require (or have, for that matter) a scope. Because he is not so able as his younger teammates, so he cannot be in the direct area of battle and fend off opponents. But he has excellent eyesight, so he hides up in a tree or on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the area or wherever is applicable, and shoots any targets he can. He uses a crossbow, since not as much strength is needed to pull back the cord as compared to a bow. He also has a light wooden staff which he uses to help him walk up inclinations. It's also his defensive staff; if an enemy manages to sneak up on him, he can point the staff at them and shoot a forcefield that will blast them back. But this is only effective at close range, hence why he has to use the crossbow for opponents further away. He wears a hooded cloak which is green on one side and a dusty brown on the other, so that he can camouflage himself, turning the cloak to whichever side he needs to match his surroundings. He is not the only one to wear a cloak however; Catherine, Ecklie, Jim, DB and Finn wear cloaks (more details when I get to each) as well to show they are of higher ranking, but only Gil's is hooded for practical purposes.

Warrick: His power is that he can jump really high. He can jump over a small hill and land on the ground on the other side. He's the one who helps get Gil to his perches if needed; he puts him over his shoulder and jumps, holding him with one arm and his war hammer in his other hand. He is strong enough to carry Gil. And Gil trusts him and is comfortable enough to let himself be borne in such a way, never struggling or crying out in fear when he is suddenly brought off the ground at such a high rate. In tandem with being able to jump high, he can strike his hammer on the ground when he lands and cause a quake. His hammer's enchantment depends on how high he jumped. On the ground, he swings his hammer at an opponent and sends them flying back (at a much greater distance than Gil's forcefield).

Bobby Dawson: He's the archer who is in the direct area of battle. He uses a small hunting bow, and also has a gladius in case any opponents manage to get close to him. He has enhanced reflexes, so he is able to turn around, draw weapons, and load and shoot his bow faster than normal.

Catherine: She is telekinetic. She does not use weapons because she prefers to have her hands free to gesticulate and help her focus on moving the objects she is controlling. Her cloak is a beautiful royal blue.

Heather: Mind control + reading minds + telepathy. And invisibility. Aside from turning the team's opponents against each other, mind control is useful for helping friends escape from dangerous situations; sometimes, it's easier than telling them what to do. She needs very strong concentration for her mind control, which is the ability she uses the most, so she makes herself invisible and keeps out of the way, but stays where she can see the person she is manipulating. Like Gil, she has the defensive staff in case anyone finds her.

Nick and Sara: They are what I like to call the speedster twins. It is very satisfying to wash them nyoom about and quickly kill any opponent in the path of their run. Typically, they start out standing next to each other at the same point, and then run on one side of the battlefield each. So they take out the opponents on the skirting of the battlefield. Sara has a cutlass while Nick has twin daggers.

Greg: He can talk to nearby spirits and ask them to help his team in the fight. With the power of this necklace that he has, he can conjure a protective invisible dome-shaped barrier around himself, which is invulnerable to any and every form of attack. Except if somebody were to dig their way up from below him of course. However, he has to stay in the same spot when he is inside this barrier, and has to deactivate it if he wants to walk (or run or whatever) somewhere else. The spirit of the person who gave him the necklace follows him everywhere, and stays by his side on the battlefield to protect him from any opponents who manage to get close. Greg has a curved cleaver in case he needs to fight.

Al: Aside from being a healer, he can freeze time. Sort of. He can freeze the movement of anybody who is coming at him, no matter how many there are. He does not wield weapons. He has wooden legs (which are enchanted to be completely painless for him) and a staff, but without the power that Gil's and Heather's have. To heal someone, he just has to touch them, for as long as it takes for the wounds to completely heal. **I was thinking about making him have something to do with necromancy, but I thought that that's too much like Greg's power.

David: He is the other healer, and is the one who kills the people that Al freezes. He just makes them fade out of existence. It is completely painless, and that way they don't have any bodies lying around the healers' area. Also, while Al heals physical injuries, David actually cures illnesses. So he has to touch his patient for as long as it takes to eradicate the infection.

The two healers typically stay in one spot, ready to head out into the battlefield if any of their teammates are injured.

Archie: He is the cryokinetic guardian of Henry, Wendy, Mandy, and Hodges, who are not combatants. He does not use weapons.

Henry: He is a blacksmith, in charge of repairing the people's weapons, and making new ones if necessary. He also makes the arrows for Gil and Bobby.

Wendy: She is an enchanter who imbues weapons with offensive powers, such as the quake and blast effect on Warrick's hammer, or the enhanced sharpness of the speedster twins' blades.

Mandy: She enchants weapons with defensive powers, such as Greg's necklace, or Gil's and Heather's staves. She is also the one who made Al's wooden legs painless.

Hodges: While Al and David are physical healers, and while Wendy enchants weapons, Hodges is the one who restores the powers of other people. He is not really drained when he does it, but it is better for him to stay still and rest while other people fight. It works exactly how Al's and David's healing does.

These five people typically stay near the healers.

Jim: He can control the weather. That also means he can summon lightning. And hailstones. And rain (creatures that are made of fire or lava are susceptible to rain). Like Catherine, he has his hands free to focus whatever he's bringing down from the sky onto wherever his target is. His cloak is pitch black in colour.

Conrad: He can clone himself; up to five clones of himself can exist at a time. It's alright if they are hurt or killed; so long as he is still alive. He wields a scythe. His cloak is a really dark grey, almost black, but not really.

Morgan: She can fly. This is not a power which requires restoration. Since she does not use wings, she can fly in rain. She uses twin swords.

Sofia: She is a shapeshifter. But she can not only turn into other creatures; she can turn into objects like a boulder or something. In such forms, she is invulnerable to like, say, a fist striking her, but if someone were to try and blow her up, she would have to turn into something else and run away. You know those fire creatures I mentioned? If she turns into one of them, she can harness their powers. Basically, she takes on the abilities of anything she turns into.

Riley: She can turn into any of her opponents, whether she has killed them herself of if they are standing right in front of her. Heather would be aware that this in fact Riley (telepathy yo), and Riley will work together with the person Heather is controlling. Unlike Sofia, while she becomes the mirror image of someone, she cannot have the skill level of the person she turns into. She herself is proficient with a club; if she turns into someone who was a swordsman, she would be wield a blade as well as them, and will continue to use her own weapon. If she turns into one of those fire creatures, she might be able to use their fire, but she doesn't have as fluent control over it as the original person. In fact, it is much safer for her to not turn into such creatures.

Ray: He has enhanced strength, which enables him to rotate his huge double-headed battle axe about his wrist above his head. And by "huge", I mean that the stick is almost as long as him, and the blades are bigger than his head. The stick is also quite thick; it has to withstand the weight of the blades, and the impact with which it is struck. By "rotate", I mean Ray is able to hold the handle at the very base, and pivot it perfectly around.

DB: Teleportation. This son of a bitch randomly popping up out of nowhere? Yeah. His weapon is a really small but especially sharp dagger, easy to conceal, and a quick and effective killer. He appears, quickly pokes his opponent, and then teleports to the next one. He can teleport anywhere within his viewing distance; he has to be able to see where he is teleporting to to go there. His cloak is silver in colour.

Finn: She is pyrokinetic. Her cloak is typically orange, yellow or red, but it can change colours to whatever fire she is wielding, which includes green, blue, purple, white, and even black fire. She does not use weapons.

Additional idea: Gil and Sara are soulmates. But they were not fated from birth; rather, their soulmate bond formed when their connection deepened. Before they met, their soulmates could have been anyone else, or they could have gone without a soulmate for the rest of their lives. Even when they met and fell in love at first sight (I'm one of those who hc that they did; ymmv), they were not yet soulmates. It was when they really got to know and understand each other implicitly and became unbreakably steadfast in their connection, of their own accord, that their soulmate bond formed. The physical manifestation of it was when their soul marks appeared; Gil has a butterfly on the right side of his neck, close to the back of his neck, and Sara has a rhinoceros beetle on the underside of her left wrist. Being soulmates, they can heal each other and restore each other's powers. The most soothing times for them to do it is when they can lie down somewhere private and hold each other close.

When their marks first appeared, everyone kept congratulating them; there was a lot of friendly teasing from Warrick, Nick, Greg and Hodges. As for themselves, they remained passive until they were in the privacy of their bedroom. They sat down on the edge of the bed, embracing and leaning their foreheads on each other's, uncontainable smiles on their faces as they had a little heart-to-heart. They did not really have to vocalise much; they had always been able to understand each other with just a few words. Then, they leant back from each other, but remained close. Sara lowered her head and slowly, reverently kissed all over Gil's mark; he closed his eyes and let her do it, enjoying how it felt, moving his head to one side so that his skin on the right of his neck was stretched flat and easier to kiss. When Sara was done, they leant back again. Gil lifted Sara's wrist to his mouth and kissed all over her mark, with as much care and adoration as she had done his.

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fictionadventurer · 3 years ago

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Oh no, there are a lot of good reasons to write a Northanger Abbey Superhero AU.

Henry Tilney is squarely in my wheelhouse of sarcastic, cynical, flippant narrators. He could be the POV character!

Henry has a whole character arc! I could even condense the story into a relatively short piece.

I was wrong--he doesn’t meet Catherine by rescuing her. That’s how his arc ends. Showing that he’s learned to live up to Catherine’s ideals of superheroism.

At their first meeting (they’re both students at Northanger University), Catherine finds out about his powers and is a bit star-struck, and he teases her by poking fun at all the common superhero tropes, while insisting that real-life superhumans are nothing like the legends.

The sheer fun of watching him react to innocent homeschooled country bumpkin Catherine--moving from mild amusement and a sort of brotherly pity to genuine respect.

Instead of teasing Catherine about writing about this night in her journal, he teases her about being an intrepid girl reporter looking to tell the world about the latest exploits of the newest superheroes.

I was wrong again: Henry’s powers don’t include telepathy. Because not knowing her thoughts gives him opportunities to misjudge her before realizing that she actually is as sincere and innocent as she seems.

Henry Tilney could have electricity powers??? I’ve already got a P&P character with those abilities, but somehow it seems fitting to have sparks flying while he’s revealing his abilities to Catherine at their first meeting.

And as the story goes on, we can casually reveal that he’s much more powerful than he lets everyone believe, as he absentmindedly does Thor-level things like calling down lightning.

But he could also maybe have some speedster or teleportation type abilities on top of it? He seems like the guy who’d race into the battle and baffle bad guys by never being quite where they expect him to be.

I kind of love the idea of playing up his Shawn Spencer vibes by having him put on this act that he’s a barely competent goofball whose greatest talent is for the sarcastic quip, only to prove himself in the final battle as one of top titans of this universe in terms of sheer power.

Of course Catherine assumes that General Tilney is a supervillain and expects to find a lair in the hidden portion of the house. Henry would be more offended by these assumptions than the book version was, because he’d wonder if her suspicions were tied to stereotypes about superhumans.

(Henry quickly calms down and admits that Catherine was right, because his father may not have an evil lair where he masterminds all the recent crime sprees, but he is a villain because of his complete indifference to anything except his own desires).

General Tilney somehow got the idea that Catherine was connected to a wealthy family of powerful superhumans and that she just hadn’t come into her powers yet, and when it turns out that she’s an ordinary person, he kicks her out with extreme prejudice.

Which of course puts her in a dangerous part of the city at a dangerous time of night where she can fall into the clutches of the real supervillains.

(Who are probably John and/or Isabella Thorpe).

And Henry has to stand up to his father for the first time in his life, refusing to stay in their comfortable, self-serving world and finally revealing the full extent of his powers as he rushes to the rescue as a fully-fledged superhero.

Catherine is grateful and helps to save the day with good common sense.

And she’d be so proud of him, and he’d try to downplay it by making self-deprecating jokes, and then he’d very seriously give her all the credit for giving him the courage to stand up to his father.

Henry would be kicked out of the house after that and living on campus. He and Catherine could be a power couple--quite literally. Catherine already has designs in mind for improved costumes.

Like, Henry isn’t going to make a career out of superheroism (gotta finish college first), but he recognizes that heroes can exist and he can be one of them.

There’s an actual character arc! The P&P doesn’t have a character arc. It’s a superhero ensemble story. But this is a full-on origin story!

I could give Catherine her due as someone who helps Henry to grow as much as he helps her grow.

But I already have a sprawling P&P superhero AU underway and there’s no reason to start another WIP when I can just write these bullet points.

They’re fun bullet points though.

#northanger abbey #powers and prejudice #jane austen #superheroes #northanger abbey superhero au #henry tilney

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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“Doubtless many reigns have begun amidst an atmosphere of jubilant expectation; but this beginning had an especial lustre. For the new king, accession to the throne brought deliverance from a long, probably oppressive subjection to a stern father and grandmother, and released him into the bright, cloudless warmth of gaiety, freedom and power. He stood now on the brink of manhood, suddenly clad with the full panoply of kingship. He ascended a throne which his father had made remarkably secure, he inherited a fortune which probably no English king had ever been bequeathed, he came to a kingdom which was the best governed and most obedient in Christendom. Shortly before his death, his father had granted a general pardon to his people. The new king confirmed this - in ampler form.

His father left him a body of accomplished ministers, most of whom would continue to serve him. But those two men, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, who had served Henry VII's money-gathering and law-enforcement so assiduously, and whose 'unreasonable and extort doing noble men grudged, mean men kicked, poor men lamented, preachers openly at Paul's Cross and other places exclaimed, rebuked and detested' - these would be cast aside. Within a few hours of his accession Henry had been so roused to wrath by tales of their wrong-doing that, even as he came to the Tower amidst the trumpets and rejoicing on that 23 April, the second day of his reign, they were seized and brought thither as prisoners, where they languished until their execution sixteen months later.

'Heaven and earth rejoices; everything is full of milk and honey and nectar. Avarice has fled the country. Our king is not after gold, or gems, or precious metals, but virtue, glory, immortality.' So wrote Lord Mountjoy to Erasmus in a celebrated, and, as it proved, somewhat inaccurate, outburst of enthusiasm. There had come to the throne the very perfection of Christian kingship - gracious, gifted and enlightened - and with his coming, it seemed, bleak days must give way to bounteous prosperity. The new king quickly married; and, after all, he married Catherine. He himself said that he did so in obedience to his father's dying wish, but it may well be that his story of Henry VII's deathbed change of heart was invented shortly afterwards to placate the Habsburgs whose daughter, Eleanor, had just been jilted.

Fuensalida believed that it was the young king himself who brought about the change of plan, and this may be the truth. Five days after Henry VII died, the ambassador was still convinced that Catherine's cause was lost and quoted two members of the Council to the effect that the dying king had assured his son that he was free to marry whomsoever he chose. Then the situation changed radically. Fuensalida was suddenly called before the Council and, to his astonishment, not only assured of the king's fervent goodwill towards the princess, but told by the bishop of Durham, Thomas Ruthal, who had at that moment emerged from a meeting with Henry in a nearby room, that such matters as Catherine's dowry were trifles and that the king looked to him to settle quickly all the details concerning the marriage; whereupon he withdrew in some bewilderment and set about recovering the possessions of the princess which he had already begun to transfer to Bruges.'

Six weeks later, on 11 June, the marriage between Henry and Catherine was solemnized in the Franciscan church at Greenwich. A little while before there had been some talk of a possible scruple about his marrying his dead brother's widow, and many years later Bishop Fox recalled that the archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham, had disapproved of the union, apparently because he doubted the sufficiency or validity of the now six year-old bull of dispensation - though on what ground he did so we are not told. Warham's qualms were to be of consequence nearly two decades hence when the lawfulness of this marriage became a matter of impassioned debate; but for the moment any doubts there may have been were brushed aside as a proud king undid the protest he had made at his father's command three years before and finally (and freely) ratified his union with a princess who, though five years his senior, was probably still beautiful and certainly of a quality of mind and life which few queens have seriously rivalled.

At least outwardly, her husband was, and had been since childhood, immensely striking. Ten years before, Erasmus had strolled over to Eltham in the company of Thomas More to meet the royal children and been much impressed by the grace and poise of the eight year-old Duke Henry. By the time he came to the throne he had burgeoned into a full-blooded seventeen year-old, upon whom Nature had showered apparently every gift. 'His majesty', wrote a dazzled Venetian shortly after the new reign began, 'is the handsomest potentate I ever set eyes on.' He was tall and splendidly built, with glowing auburn hair 'combed short and straight in the French fashion' and a pink round face so delicately cut 'that it would become a pretty woman'.'

He was 'extremely handsome. Nature could not have done more for him,' one said a few years later, in 1519. 'He is much handsomer than any sovereign in Christendom; a great deal handsomer than the king of France, very fair and his whole frame admirably proportioned.' His was a superlative body. He was a capital horseman who could stay in the saddle for hour after hour and tire out eight or ten horses; he exulted in hawking, wrestling and dancing; he excelled at tennis, 'at which game it is the prettiest thing in the world to see him play, his fair skin glowing through a shirt of the finest texture'. He could throw a twelve-foot spear many yards, withstand all-comers in mock combat with heavy, two-handed swords, draw the bow with greater strength than any man in England.

In July 1513, while at Calais on his first campaign, he practised archery with the archers of his guard and 'cleft the mark in the middle and surpassed them all, as he surpasses them in stature and personal graces'. Above all, he delighted in prowess in the ring and at the barrier, the sovereign sport of princes. Through the summer of 1508 the prince of Wales, still only just seventeen, had hurled his keen, tireless body into the fury of the tournament and excelled all his opponents, and his accession to the throne would inaugurate a festival of apparently endless jousting and tilting, at which the king ever carried away the prizes.

When Erasmus first met him on that day in 1499 - standing with his sisters Margaret and Mary and his infant brother Edmund, soon to die - he 'sent me a little note, while we were at dinner, to challenge something from my pen'; whereupon Erasmus, unable to perform extempore, spent three anxious days composing an ode entitled 'A Description of Britain, King Henry VII and the King's Children' and a eulogy of Skelton (who had doubtless been the true author of the boy's message), to which he added some odds and ends scraped together from the bottom of his trunk to form a literary nosegay worthy of the young duke.'

Seven years later Erasmus wrote to Henry and received so accomplished a reply that he was convinced that someone else had had a large hand in its composition. But Lord Mountjoy, his patient patron, showed him a number of letters from the prince to various people in which there were so many signs of corrections and additions that Erasmus was forced to abandon his scepticism. Presumably Skelton and Hone pushed Henry's pen to paper, for in later life Henry was never an industrious letter-writer - except during those months twenty years or so later when romantic passion got the better of sluggishness and drew from him some rather heavy sighings for his absent beloved, Anne Boleyn. But Henry was undoubtedly a precocious, nimble-minded pupil.

He knew Latin and French and some Italian. He is said to have acquired some Spanish, and about 1519 had a sufficient (if passing) interest in Greek to receive instruction in this fashionable language from Richard Croke, a minor English humanist who had hitherto been at Paris, Louvain, Cologne and Leipzig, and was now to teach at Cambridge. His grasp of theology may have been less assured than he supposed, but it was remarkable for a king; he showed himself an apt student of mathematics; and it was his custom to take Thomas More 'into his private room, and there some time in matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity and such other faculties, and some time in his worldly affairs, to sit and confer with him, and other whiles would he in the night have him up into the leads [i.e. the roof] there to consider with him the diversities, courses, motions and operations of the stars and planets'.

Above all he was a gifted, enthusiastic musician. He had music wherever he went, on progress, on campaign. He scoured England for singing boys and men for the chapels royal, and even stole talent from Wolsey's choir, of which he was evidently jealous. Sacred music in the Renaissance style - the work of Benedict de Opitiis and Richard Sampson, later bishop of Chichester - was introduced into the royal chapel in 1516 and sung by a choir judged by an Italian visitor to be 'more divine than human'; and between 1518 and 1528 the king acquired a collection of French and Netherlandish music. Henry had many foreign musicians at court, like the violist Ambrose Lupo, the lutenist Philip van Wilder from the Netherlands, as well as trumpeters, flautists and two Italian organists, de Opitiis and the famous Dionisio Memo, organist of St Mark's, Venice, who was lured to England in 1516 and would sometimes perform for four hours at a stretch before the king and court.

There were twenty-six lutes in Henry's collection of instruments, together with trumpets, viols, rebecs, sackbuts, fifes and drums, harpsichords and organs. The king himself played the lute well; he could manage the organ and was skilled on the virginals (which perhaps John Heywood, his virginalist, taught him). He had a strong, sure voice, could sight-read easily, and delighted to sing with a courtier like Sir Peter Carew 'certain songs they called "freeman's songs", as "By the banks as I lay" and "As I walked the wood so wild" '. His court was a generous patron to composers, headed by the great Dr Fairfax, if not Henry himself - for the king wrote at least two five-part Masses, a motet, a large number of instrumental pieces, part songs and rounds. 'Pastime with good company', 'Helas, madam' and perhaps 'Gentle prince' are his work; so too the motet 'O Lord, the maker of all thing' - no mean achievement for a monarch.

Henry has traditional.ly been seen, alongside James IV of Scotland or the colourful, versatile Emperor Maximilian I, as the archetype of resplendent Renaissance monarchy; and the praise which Erasmus and other humanists heaped upon the zeal for learning and the arts of this king who had been so generously endowed in mind and body seemed to justify this picture of him. But, though Erasmus could speak stern words about monarchy and wealth, he was a shameless flatterer of kings and the wealthy, and we should treat his outpourings with caution. If anything, Henry was the last of the troubadours and the heir of Burgundian chivalry: a youth wholly absorbed in dance and song, courtly love and knight-errantry.

He was to grow into a rumbustious, noisy, unbuttoned, prodigal man - the 'bluff king Hal' of legend - exulting in his magnificent physique, boisterous animal exercise, orgies of gambling and eating, lavish clothes. 'His fingers were one mass of jewelled rings and around his neck he wore a gold collar from which hung a diamond as big as a walnut', wrote the Venetian ambassador, Giustinian, of him. He loved to dress up and his wardrobe, ablaze with jewels of all description and cloth of gold, rich silks, sarcenets, satins and highly-coloured feathers, constantly astounded beholders. He was a man who lived with huge, extroverted ebullience, at least in the earlier part of his life, revelling in spectacular living, throwing away money amidst his courtiers on cards, tennis and dicing, dazzling his kingdom.

Many readers will have their chosen picture of him - Henry, cock-sure and truculent, astride one of Holbein's canvases; Henry, dressed in dazzling richness and with a huge gold whistle, crusted with jewels, hanging from a gold chain, dining with his queen aboard Henry Grace a Dieu on the occasion of its launching; Henry walking up and down More's garden at Chelsea for an hour with his arm round More's neck;' Henry showing the Venetian ambassador his fine calf and demanding to know whether it was not a finer one than the French king boasted; Henry, at Hunsdon, over twenty years later, holding his precious son Edward in his arms and bringing him proudly to a window 'to the sight and great comfort of all the people'.

He was a formidable, captivating man who wore regality with splendid conviction. But easily and unpredictably his great charm could turn into anger and shouting. When (as was alleged) he hit Thomas Cromwell round the head and swore at him, or addressed a lord chancellor (Wriothesley) as 'my pig',' his mood may have been amiable enough, but More knew that the master who put his arm lovingly round his neck would have his head if it 'could win him a castle in France'. He was highly-strung and unstable; hypochondriac and possessed of a strong streak of cruelty. Possibly he had an Oedipus complex: and possibly from this derived a desire for, yet horror of, incest, which may have shaped some of his sexual life.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The New King.” in Henry VIII

#henry viii of england #tudor #history #j.j. scarisbrick #jj just had to throw that freudian psych in there

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chaoticpanenergy · 4 years ago

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Alright, Sanders Sides fandom (+ Six the Musical fandom).

I watched this *ahem* neato slime tutorial about Six the Musical and then listened to the soundtrack on Spotify and then overanalyzed the lyrics on genius.com and I have a lot of emotions about this story. So what do I do? I make a Sanders Sides au/analysis for it, obviously, putting WAY too much thought into different interpretations of which side could be which queen. Let’s jump in.

Catherine of Aragon

Catherine in the golden-yellow and black costume. Catherine who knows when she is lied to. Catherine who puts herself first when it comes down to it. Catherine who deals with disrespect but knows her worth anyway. Catherine who “keeps her cool” and stays in control of herself. Catherine must be Janus, lord of the lies, self-preservation, whose calm facade has cracked so rarely.

But then again, Catherine is a leader. Catherine is concerned with loyalty, and what is right and wrong, and that is why she stands up against the divorce—it is wrong of Henry to divorce her, according to her morals. Catherine can swallow her pride, and Catherine seeks a solution to the last, giving Henry so many chances. Catherine handles her situation with grace. Catherine must be Patton, the Hufflepuff, Morality, loving and kind and endlessly forgiving, always trying to do what is right and guide others to do the same.

But then again, Catherine strives to “keep her cool.” To look at things with a level head. She speaks up and reasons with Henry, and in return asks for his own reasoning. She refuses to be made into a joke or looked down upon. Catherine is stubborn and verbose. Catherine must be Logan, the voice of reason, who does his best to keep a handle on his temper and appear as professional as possible, who explains and reasons and is logic above all, who is terrified of being seen as a joke, who is desperate to just be heard for once in his life.

Anne Boleyn

Anne in the green sleeves. Anne who has no filter whatsoever, Anne who says whatever comes into her head. Anne who makes jokes about her own beheading. Anne who says “don’t be bitter/cause I’m fitter/why hasn’t it hit her?/he doesn’t wanna bang you/somebody hang you.” Anne who is “sorry not sorry” about everything she says. Anne who is the most gleeful and up-front about “x-rated” content. Anne whose energy is boundless. Anne who is disliked and cast in a negative light by those around her. Anne must be Remus, the darkly creative, responsible for intrusive thoughts, who would never hide anything going through his head and sees no reason to regret this, the “evil twin.”

But then again, Anne who didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Anne who desperately cries “what was I meant to do?” over and over again as every choice she makes has no good outcome for her. Anne whose comments are more harshly received than she sometimes means. Anne who does not take it well when she comes second to someone else. Anne must be Roman, the ego, stuck in a damned-if-I-do-damned-if-I-don’t situation towards Janus throughout the “Putting Others First” saga, who often lashes out instinctively only to immediately apologize, who strives to be Thomas’s hero.

But then again, Anne whose actions are surprisingly logical from her own point of view. Anne who uses phrases like “obviously” to describe what took place. Anne who gives back tit for tat and no more when she feels disrespected. Anne who is blunt, perhaps more so than is good for her. Anne must be Logan, who always does what makes the most sense to him, who considers what is fair and equal, who can come across as harsher than he means.

Jane Seymour

Jane who is patient. Jane who is steady. Jane who forgives over and over again and makes allowance for behavior she does not deserve to tolerate. Jane whose family is of the utmost importance to her. Jane is overlooked for her kindness and meekness but is so, so strong. Jane who makes puns about her own name. Jane must be Patton, who adores his family, the punster, who is established as the dad friend from day one, who gives and nurtures and forgives endlessly, who is resilient and strong and supportive.

But then again, Jane sticks with the positions she has chosen. Jane who is easily overlooked. Jane who acknowledges the often-sucky realities of life and does not let it bring her down. Jane who is strong as stone and unshakeable. Jane must be Logan, who will not back down, who can be relegated to the sidelines too easily, who is down to earth and who chooses to see the wonder in the ordinary despite all the bad.

But then again, Jane knows she could be rejected at a misstep. Jane who loves, and is loved, but believes that love could “disappear.” Jane who withstands hardships and heartbreak and fear. Jane who uses storm imagery constantly. Jane whose strength and love is akin to stone, something rarely used as a positive metaphor. Jane must be Virgil, who worries he will be rejected for his dark past, who withstood being shunned by those he “lo—cares for” in the past, who is prickly and can cause harm but has grown and matured, who will not be reduced to a single facet of himself even if that makes him more “complicated,” whose logo is a stormcloud.

Anna of Cleves

Anna who is bold. Anna who is unafraid to speak her mind and gets what she wants. Anna whose physical appearance led to her rejection. Anna who is the epitome of “me time” and “self care.” Anna who has no problem being sassy and gives as good as she gets. Anna must be Janus, who advocates for self care and putting oneself first, who is a drama queen, whose sarcasm is off the charts, who has been accused of trickery (sometimes justified, sometimes not), who thrives on attention, whose snake face led to instant distrust from everyone around him, who will go to any length to be heard.

But then again, Anna who demands attention. Anna who gives herself every luxury that occurs to her on a whim. Anna is the only character to openly curse, and gives it a double meaning. Anna who revels in the portrait that caused her rejection and takes pride in it. Anna is the first to make fun of Henry's genitals. Anna must be Remus, who revels in everything he is told not to, who is impulsive and whimsical and unfiltered, who calls Logan a dork and later reveals the inappropriate double meaning, who takes up space unashamedly.

But then again, Anna who constantly reminds us of her royal position. Anna who leans into the queenly activities and possessions. Anna who is flamboyant. Anna who dances when her jam comes on the lute. Anna who rejects criticism of herself. Anna who is “looking cute.” Anna must be Roman, the ego, who put “Flamboyant” by Dorian Electra on his playlist, who is creativity embodied and dances and sings and acts, who “has got to slay,” who reminds us constantly of his princely status.

Katherine Howard

Katherine who comes across at first as flirty and confident only to later reveal that she is insecure because she has only ever been valued for her appearance. Katherine who idealizes and daydreams about someone caring about her for herself and not her looks. Katherine who uses self-confident language to mask her insecurity. Katherine whose language is so flowery and filled with vivid descriptions. Katherine who desperately wants to be approved of and loved. Katherine must be Roman, whose confident facade hides insecurity, who is a hopeless romantic, who is a storyteller, whose language is filled with descriptors and metaphors, who desperately craves approval and validation, who is the romantic side.

But then again, Katherine gives others the benefit of the doubt. Katherine who looks for friends everywhere she goes. Katherine who constantly uses euphemisms and language that might be considered childish. Katherine who is sweet and sincere. Katherine must be Patton, who censors his language and can skirt around topics that are too unpleasant, who forgives and gives second chances, who is kind and soft, who makes friends almost as easily as breathing.

But then again, Katherine who has been let down over and over again. Katherine who tries again and again after every disappointment. Katherine who is anxious to be approved of. Katherine must be Virgil, who dealt with the “scorn” of those he admired for so long, who has persevered through everything, who deals with self-doubt, who always tries again.

But then again, Katherine who thinks she ought to know better, but never does. Katherine who is so, so tired of this same shit every time. Katherine who is too worldly and disillusioned. Katherine who hopes and tries again every time she gets let down. Katherine must be Janus, who put “You’re a Cad” on his playlist, who was rejected time and time again by Thomas and the others but kept trying, who went on a whole ramble about how society is out to get you and the only person you can really trust is yourself.

Catherine Parr

Catherine who brought all the queens together despite their differences and their fights. Catherine who was separated from the person she cared about before eventually reuniting with him. Catherine who uses her voice defiantly because she is tired of being silenced. Catherine who doesn’t need love to get by. Catherine who loves music. Catherine who sometimes loses hope, but keeps going anyway. Catherine must be Virgil, the bridge between “light” and “dark” sides, who cannot be silenced, always listening (to Thomas or to music), who cared about the “light” sides long before he was accepted as part of the group.

But then again, Catherine who prioritizes herself and her own story. Catherine who sings her song “for me.” Catherine who is a little bit cynical about love stories, which we’re normally taught to idealize. Catherine for whom the rules of society are a trap. catherine who demands control over herself. Catherine who rejects the rules of the queens’ competition when they restrict her. Catherine must be Janus, self-preservation and self-care, who feels restricted and endangered by the rules of society, who dismisses Patton’s urge to help those in need with a “yeah, sure, whatever, if that’s your thing,” who pushes Thomas to be true to himself.

But then again, Catherine who “built a future in her mind” with her love. Catherine who loves art in all its forms, and consumes and creates it with abandon. Catherine who wants to tell her story on her own terms after being silenced for so long. Catherine must be Roman, endlessly creative, romantic daydreamer, struggling with balancing his wants with Thomas's needs and feeling silenced because of it.

But then again, Catherine who writes, and is scholarly. Catherine who fights for equality and takes steps within her power to make specific differences. Catherine who champions education for women. Catherine who cannot stand being boxed in and made to be less than she truly is. Catherine who bottles up her rage at the unfairness of it all for as long as she can. Catherine whose feelings are pushed aside. Catherine must be Logan, the teacher, who pushes his emotions aside until he cannot hold them back anymore, who feels like he is not seen for who he is, who cares deeply about things being fair and equitable, who outlines action steps, who always asks more questions.

The queens are each multi-faceted characters full of depth—they’re human, gorgeously and heartwrenchingly so. It makes sense that there are multiple Sides that could easily fit into each of their roles, and I haven’t even covered every possible interpretation. There are dozens of possible lineups to come up with here, each that I love to think about. What’s your favorite? I’d love to hear.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #six the musical #ts sides #six broadway #long post #virgil sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #peregrin said a thing

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jane-fucking-seymour · 4 years ago

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Legend of the Six has now been updated!

Chapter 23: Daughter of Shadow

Words: 5032

AO3 Link

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

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

The many, to Anne Boleyn, are considered fools.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she played right into his hands perfectly.

At least, for a while.

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

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

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

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

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

Who was she to refuse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… until she’s nowhere at all.

She’s floating in nothing.

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

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

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

She looks around, curious about what’s happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

Not her goddess’, either.

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

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

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

“Catherine?!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catherine blinks. “Your what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything?” Catherine asks, tilting her head.

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

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

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

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

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

“Maria!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now.

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

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

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

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

“Anne, answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anne practically growls.

“Jane fucking Seymour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that gives her an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. Then, Catherine:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maggie nods. “After you.”

They rush off.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six ff #sixff #sixfiction #sixfanfic #sixfanfiction #six the musical fanfic

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hms-chill · 4 years ago

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Blissful Imperfection

Philip's new charity supporting military families is just getting started, and Martha isn't going to let a little thing like being nine months pregnant stop her from supporting her husband. - sort of loosely set after A Channel of Your Peace, but can be read without it

If you haven't read A Channel of Your Peace, here's what you need to know: - Philip is in therapy and also fixing his relationships with his siblings. - Martha is pregnant with their first kid! - They're starting a charity to help military vets and families.

Philip sees Martha the moment she comes in, talking with Bea and positively glowing. She’s a vision in florals, an army green blazer on her shoulders and one hand on her bump. Between the jacket and her flats, he’s sure his gran will have something to say, but she looks absolutely stunning. She spares a look around the room as she shakes hands with someone, smiling when they make eye contact, and she sends him a little wink. He smiles at her before turning his attention back to the man he’s actually supposed to be talking to.

It’s not an interesting conversation. At all. But the man owns quite a bit of stock in prosthetics, and he’s worked with the Alternative Limb Project, so his support for their charity would be crucial in helping disabled veterans. Philip forces himself to smile and nod along to whatever the man has to say, trying to pay attention even as his eyes keep drifting across the room to Martha. She laughs at something Bea says, waving security off so that someone can feel her baby bump. The baby’s probably kicking; he’d been active and kept her up last night. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he watches her say something to get her security to take a step back; she’s never been particularly good at playing the role of the aloof princess.

“Sir?” He snaps his attention back to the man in front of him, and he’s met with a smile. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation at a later date.”

“I would appreciate that,” Philip says, blushing a bit. “I can give you my card; it’ll have the number for my office and you’re welcome to call any time.”

“She looks lovely. When’s she due?”

“Any day now. We’ve been dragging hospital bags around with us for weeks,” Philip says, and the man laughs.

“Ah, the early parenting days. I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you,” Philip says, and the man gives him a last smile before turning away, leaving Philip free. He moves toward Martha automatically, a boat floating through currents of people toward land. Someone else calls his name long before he gets to her, and he’s pulled into another conversation with people the charity can’t afford for him to offend. He’s trying his best to get out of it politely when a hand fits into his as Martha kisses his cheek. It’s not an interruption, exactly; he can squeeze her hand and keep talking. But the others seem to get the hint, and a moment later, he’s pulling Martha closer as they turn away.

“Hello, love,” he says, guiding her to the edge of the room. She’d finally been asleep when he left for the morning, but that meant that he hasn’t talked to her all day, and he’s missed her.

“Hello. It looks wonderful in here; are you ready for your speech?” He groans a bit, and she laughs. “You’re going to be fantastic. We’re both rooting for you.”

He smiles, looking around a bit to see if anyone’s paying attention to them before leaning down to kiss her forehead, then her bump, and finally her lips. Her arms are around him, her hands finding his hair as he kisses the bump and moving forward as he kisses her, holding his face close even as he pulls back to rest his forehead on hers. She smiles, and he does, too, just enjoying how close they are and letting himself acknowledge how much he loves her. The baby kicks against his hand where it still rests on her belly, and she smiles even wider, her own hand coming to rest on his. There’s probably a photographer somewhere, but as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss him again, he realizes he doesn't mind. Let the paparazzi catch him kissing his wife. He’s got more important things to worry about.

She runs her fingers through his hair a bit as they part, frowning suddenly. “Did you use that extra strength gel again? We’ve told you; you’ve got to use something that lets your hair move. The product Henry sent is on the bathroom counter.”

“I know. I should have used it instead. I forget people care so much about my hair.”

“Well, we only want you to look your best.” She fusses a bit more, and he takes time to just look at her, his incredible, wonderful wife.

“I love you,” he says, and she gives him a curious look. He shrugs. “I hadn’t said it yet today.”

Her face softens at that, and she says, “I love you, too. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve worked for, and I’m so glad to have had a front row seat to everything you’ve done. I’m glad to be here for you today.”

“I’m glad to have you, but you’ll look after yourself? Stay off your feet if you’re uncomfortable; take naps or rest if you need to and make sure you eat enough and everything like that? I know we’ve got speakers lined up all day, but you’ll leave if you need to, won’t you?”

“Yes, darling. I’ll be alright. I’ll have Bea look out for me to make sure; you don't have to worry about a thing. You just present the best possible charity you can, and I’ll be here to cheer you on.” She smiles, leaning into his hand a bit as it comes up to cup her face.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You do. I picked you, love. Even if you doubt yourself, trust me?”

Martha brushes a thumb across his cheek, and he smiles again, a genuine one as Martha feels some of his worry drain away. She’s never quite sure who she’s meant to be at events like this, but right now, all she has to be is Philip’s wife. That’s her favorite role to play.

“I should go mingle more; care to join me?” Philip asks, offering her his arm, and she takes it with a smile.

“Of course. Lead on, brave prince. Into the sea of small talk.” He laughs a bit, and even as they get into the crowd and other people demand their attention, Martha can’t stop thinking about just how proud of him she is. She’d loved him when they got married, of course, but she’d felt like she lost the man she loved when they were in public. He was so used to being a face of the monarchy, the man of the royal family, and she’d had to watch him slip into that role any time they were anywhere public. Now, though, with plenty of ribbing from his siblings, his personality is starting to peek through in public. She couldn’t be happier for him.

When the time comes for speeches, Martha gives him a last kiss, then joins Bea in the front row. As much as she’ll miss being close to her husband, her feet and back appreciate the break. She wonders briefly if anyone would notice if she took her shoes off, but the knowledge that her swollen feet would almost certainly end up on the internet somewhere is enough to keep them firmly on as she looks over the program they’d been handed. She knows most of it; speakers and the announcement of the board of regents, opened and closed by Philip himself. He’ll be leading it all, their valiant captain urging them to take action and keep helping, guiding them into a world where military members and their families can be better supported.

They’re listening to the second speaker when Martha feels a cramp coming on, and the bump where she’s resting her hand is firmer than it was a moment ago. By this point, she’s no stranger to Braxton Hicks contractions, but she glances at the watch on her wrist just in case they’re real this time.

10:13.

It’s probably nothing; just a practice contraction to get her warmed up. It’s over before long, and she should go back to listening to the soldier talk about what a difference the ability to video call his family made in his deployment. Still, as she turns her attention back to the stage, she keeps a hand on her belly and remembers the time.

It happens again at 10:28.

And at 10:46.

They’re occasional enough that she makes herself stop worrying. Even if they are real, they could last for days at this rate, especially since this baby is her first. A tiny voice reminds her of the way her back hurt all of last night, the way she’d been kept up by what she’d assumed were just bad cramps. She ignores it, at least until they break for lunch. If they’re worse in an hour, she’ll worry about it then.

By lunch, they’re still happening, and either they’re worse or she’s more paranoid. She’s sitting with Philip’s family, at least his mum and Bea, though apparently Oscar Diaz might join them, as he’s in London for a conference on clean energy that starts tomorrow. She’s meant to be at that, baby allowing, so it would be nice to meet him. It takes a bit for him to get to their table, but Catherine is there when she finds it. Aside from her husband, Martha can’t think of a single person she’d rather see. She manages to get Catherine alone somewhere that feels private enough and says, “I’m having contractions, and I think they’re getting stronger. I don’t... I don’t want to worry Philip, especially if it’s too early for it to be a problem. You know he’ll act like it’s big if I say anything. What... what do I do? Now’s good to leave if I have to, but I don’t want to leave if it’s not actually happening soon. You... you’ve been a royal longer than me, and you’ve had babies. What... what should I do?”

Catherine takes her hand, then pulls her into a hug, and Martha lets herself relax a bit. She hadn’t realized how worried she was. “How bad do they hurt?” Catherine asks.

“Not… they don’t hurt exactly; it’s just… uncomfortable. The blogs and things say that they’ll be uncomfortable for a while, and I… I don’t know if there’s different rules since I married Philip, but I don’t want to go to the hospital yet or anything. And I don’t want Pip to worry. He’s already worried about everything else.”

“We’ll find you a spot near an exit when we go back. If you need to step out, it can be subtle. And, if something does happen, he’s given Bea a copy of his notes in case he needs to leave,” Catherine says, rubbing her back. “It’ll be okay.”

“He... he really did think of everything, didn’t he?” Martha asks, taken aback by tears in her eyes.

“He loves his back up plans,” Catherine says with a smile. “He’s been telling us all about what to do if he has to leave suddenly for a month now.” Martha laughs a bit at that as they go back to the table. She has another cramp.

It’s 12:09.

There’s another at 12:23. It’s worse than a cramp. She tries not to worry.

The next one comes at 12:41.

Then as they’re finding new seats and she’s telling Philip she’s nauseous and might slip out at 12:52.

She just has to make it until 4:00. Philip has a speech to wrap them up, and then he can take her to a hospital. She’s not leaving without him, not if she has any other choice. He wants to be there, and she’s not sure she can do this without him.

Over the next two hours, the contractions just get worse. Now they are undeniably real contractions, her belly tightening under her hand as pain radiates out from it. She doesn’t feel the need to push yet, but the baby is definitely on his way.

At 2:58, she has to fight to hold back a groan through a particularly bad one. When it passes, she tells Bea she’ll be right outside the door and steps out, making sure it closes slowly behind her so it doesn’t make noise. She finds herself in a back hallway near the bathrooms, and that seems like as good a place as any to wait. One more hour. If the contractions keep happening every six minutes, then that’s ten more. She can survive that to let Philip give his speech and have his day. There’s a water fountain, so she takes a drink, then goes down the hall a bit in search of a chair. She’s still looking when it happens again, and she has to brace herself against a wall to keep from falling. This time she can’t muffle the groan as she takes a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm as it peaks and slowly starts to fade.

It’s 3:04. Fifty six minutes. She’s sweating, her feet hurt, and now that she finally lets herself admit it, she’s scared. She doesn’t know what to do, or if trying to wait to go to the hospital will be bad for her baby, or if she’s already done something wrong, or if she can make it through the worst parts of labor if she’s already so scared and tired before it’s even really started. Everything she’s read has said that the next part is more tiring and more painful, and if she’s already this tired, she’s not sure what she’s going to do.

The next contraction comes, and she lets herself slide to the floor of the palace, trusting that she can find a member of staff or security to help her back up if she needs it. This way, she’s able to focus on breathing through the pain, on taking deep breaths and not screaming even as it gets bad. She closes her eyes, puts a hand over her mouth, and waits for it to pass.

It’s 3:11.

In a last ditch effort to make her miserable, the baby kicks directly into her bladder. She manages to get back to her feet and head toward the bathroom, ready to stifle any sounds in case another contraction hits her closer to the auditorium door. The thought of coming outside to be discreet only to interrupt with a scream isn’t one she wants to dwell on. Still, she makes it to the bathroom alright, though the sight of her own face in the mirror as she leaves the stall is almost scary. She’s sweating and pale as she pulls paper towels, trying to blot some of the sweat on her face in case anyone sees her and worries. It’s 3:16. Forty four minutes.

She’s mostly composed again and just leaving the bathroom when she’s hit with a contraction, and when it peaks, it’s so intense it buckles her knees. She lets herself slide to the floor again rather than trying to stay upright, settling in between the drinking fountain and the bathroom door to focus on breathing and staying quiet and calm until Philip can come for her.

3:17. Forty three minutes. She can do it.

The pain is just starting to fade as the door opens, and Martha starts trying to push herself to her feet before she recognizes that it’s just Philip and lets herself relax. He finds her quickly and comes to squeeze himself in beside her, his head bonking against the water fountain as he wraps her in a hug and kisses her forehead.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, and she nods.

“I’ll... I’ll be alright.”

“I didn’t ask how you will be, I asked how you are,” Philip says, rubbing at the spot in her back that’s been tight for months. Though Martha has rained a million blessings on his therapist, she stacks a curse on there for teaching him to recognize deflection techniques.

“I’ve been better,” she admits. “But I can make it until 4:00. You’ve got your speech, and then you can worry about me.”

“Bea can do the speech. Half these donors are just here to see a member of the royal family, they couldn’t care less which one. And I always worry about you.”

She wants to tell him he’s getting sappy, but before she can, another contraction takes over and she barely gets out a “you’re getting” before she has to focus on breathing so she doesn’t scream. He all but pulls her into his lap somehow, petting her hair and promising he loves her until it’s over.

3:22.

“Maz, love, was that...”

“A contraction,” she admits, trying to catch her breath. “I... I came out here because they were getting bad. I thought maybe walking would help, or at least distract me. Turns out it’s just tiring.”

“Have you been timing them? When was your last one?”

“That was five minutes between.”

“We’re going to the hospital. The doctor told you to come when there were five to six minutes between, and now it’s five—“

“But your speech; everything you’ve worked on—“

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters more than you.” He’s taken a moment away from getting up to cup her face, and Martha leans into his touch. “I’m... I promised you, and Henry, and Bea and Mum and myself and everyone that I’d be a good father, and that starts now. Bea will give my speech. I practiced with her; she knows it. We’ll get you to the hospital.”

“Will you... will you try? I’m okay out here, and it’s not for much longer. You worked so hard for this; you—“

“Mazzy, I...” he clearly wants to say something, but she watches as he tries to figure out exactly what. Then, slowly, he says, “Everything I’ve done with this charity has happened because of you. Everything I’ve built is because of you. Anything I do alone will be hollow, and trying to do something while you suffer would feel like betraying the spirit of the project. It may be my name on it, and my face for publicity, but you are the heart and soul, and I... I need to look after you first. You’re always telling me I don’t have to be tough around you? Well, it goes both ways. You don’t have to be tough right now. I know you’re scared.”

“I’m so scared,” Martha says, and he pulls her as close as he can. “I’m... I’m scared I did something wrong. I’m scared I won’t be able to do this. I’m scared—” Another contraction starts, and she buries her face in Philip’s shoulder to muffle a scream.

3:26.

Philip’s hold on her shifts a bit, and as she gets her breath back, he says, “I’ve texted Bea. She’s giving the speech and telling them I had to leave on a family emergency.”

He helps her up, then leads her through the back halls of Buckingham and out a side door as quickly as they can. They’re in the car before the next contraction, speeding toward the hospital. And when that contraction comes, Philip is there to hold her close and promise her she’s strong enough to do it.

From there it’s a blur of contractions and hospital, of nurses and doctors and trying to answer questions through the pain, but Philip is there. He’s answering questions for her and making sure she’s got everything she needs and more. He’s there to kiss her forehead and hold her hand and promise that it’ll be alright.

Suddenly she’s pushing, and it hurts worse than anything she’s ever done, but Philip is there to tell her she’s okay.

It feels like an eternity before she gives a final push, her hand clinging to Philip’s as she screams, and another cry joins hers.

Edward Arthur Fox Mountchristen Windsor, born at 3:56 PM.

She can barely believe it as Philip brushes her hair back and tells her he’s proud, helping her sit up a bit while a nurse brings her their baby boy. A nurse rests him in her arms, and Philip helps her shift so the baby can eat if he wants. The whole world narrows to the tiny baby in her arms and the husband beside her, staring at the baby with just as much wonder as he happily guzzles milk, occasionally blinking up at her. After a bit, he lets go and falls asleep, and that’s when Martha can finally tear her eyes off him to look up at Philip, who’s still looking at the baby in awe.

“He’s so small. I mean, I knew he would be small, but...” Philip is sitting now, which means Martha can reach out to cup his face with one hand, making sure to support their baby with her other as the last of the staff filter out of the room.

“It’s okay, love. It’s just us. You don’t have to be tough,” she tells him, her thumb brushing along his jaw.

“He’s... he’s beautiful, Mazzy. Beautiful. And I... you’re so amazing. You’ve always been amazing but this... I love you both so much.”

He’s crying, and Martha brushes away the tears she can reach, then says, “want to hold him?”

Philip nods, so she lets him take the sleeping baby, and Philip holds him close while Martha rearranges herself on the pillows. When she looks back at her boys, the baby has one of Philip’s fingers held tight, and Philip’s murmuring to him.

“I’m going to look after you, Edward. I’m going to look after you and love you, no matter what. I’m... I’m going to be better than I’ve ever been for you, and if... if anything happens, if I mess up, you have an uncle and an aunt and a grandma who would go to war for you. And that’s just on my side of the family.”

“Pip?” He looks up at her with a hum, and Martha smiles at him. “You’ll be a good dad.”

“But how... I was pretty rotten to Henry and Bea when they needed me. How do you know I’ll be good for him?”

“Because I’ve seen you grow. These last nine months, you’ve... you’ve done everything you could to help me, and make things easier, and help other people too. And you want to be a good dad, and I think... I think you know more of what that means now.”

“But what if I mess up?”

“I think you will mess up. I think I will, too. I think... I think part of parenting is messing up, but then correcting yourself and doing better the next time.”

“I... I don’t know how to be a dad. But I’m going to do my best, I promise.”

“And I don’t think I know how to be a mum, but I’m going to do my best, too. Promise.”

“You’re amazing. You’re going to be incredible.”

“So are you,” she says softly. There’s a knock at the door, and Philip lets a nurse in to weigh and measure the baby, leaving the two of them alone for a moment. Someone else comes in with clean sheets for the bed, so Philip takes Martha to the bathroom to help her get cleaned up.

Their PPOs have brought the hospital bag, and it sounds like Edward will be away for a bit, so Martha tugs Philip into the shower with her and rinses that god-awful gel out of his hair before she closes her eyes and rests against him while he shampoos her hair. He started washing her hair for her around the start of the third trimester, when her whole body seemed to hurt by the end of the day, so Philip would do the work for her while she just stood in the water. It’s quickly become one of her favorite things, the gentle intimacy of her husband’s hands in her hair and their bodies pressed together at the end of a long day. No matter how far apart their schedules pulled them, this is a moment of quiet togetherness. If he thinks he’s getting out of it now that she’s had the baby, he’ll have to think again.

“I love you. You’re amazing,” he tells her, and she laughs a bit.

“Right now I’m just tired.”

“You can be tired and amazing,” he says softly, turning off the water and wrapping her in a towel almost immediately. “You just had a baby; that’s amazing even if it’s tiring. You made a whole person. You’re... you're like a superhero. Super-Maz.”

That gets another laugh as he fishes her pajamas out of the bag, and they get dressed together. She’s just convinced him to join her in the freshly made bed when a nurse comes back with Edward, Bea and Catherine not far behind. They find Philip, Martha, and Edward curled up in bed, Edward asleep while his parents coo over him.

It’s only then, when Martha has Catherine and Bea to keep her company, that Philip kisses her forehead and steps out into the hallway to see if there are any queen-sized problems they need to worry about. Instead of his gran, he runs into Oscar Diaz, who looks almost as surprised to see him.

“Your Highness. I hear congratulations are in order,” Oscar says, smiling. “I was in town and Alex called, so I thought I’d see if there’s anything y’all need for a bit. Alex and Henry are on their way, but I can probably get around a bit easier as a runner if you need anything. Most people here don’t recognize me, so I won’t be stopped.”

“I... can we... you’re a dad,” Philip says, and Oscar nods slowly. “You’re a good dad.”

“I try my best to be. Are you alright, Philip?”

“Can we find somewhere to sit, and you... can you tell me how to do it? How to be a good dad? I... Henry says you’re a good one, and Alex is friends with you, and I... I want that.”

“I’ll give you whatever pointers I can,” Oscar says, throwing an arm around Philip’s shoulders and heading to a seating area. Philip’s not sure how long they talk, but as Oscar tells him what to do or avoid, he feels himself relax. And, when Oscar pats his shoulder and tells him he’s going to do well, Philip almost believes him.

When he goes back into Martha’s room, Oscar trailing behind to see if he can get anyone anything, Philip feels like maybe he can do this. He can be a dad. And, as he climbs into bed to hold Martha and she falls asleep against him, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, with enough work and help, he can be a good one.

On AO3

I read so many mommy blogs and hospital sites and other resources for pregnant moms for this that I started getting targeted ads for baby supplies, so uh... that's fun. I did my best on research, but I've never had a baby, so take it all with a grain of salt lol.

Want to support the Hannah-Makes-Art fund? You can tip me in ko-fi here! You can also check out my blog, History’s Lit, for a very book/history-nerdy analysis of pop culture!

#Philip Fox Mountchristen Windsor #martha fox mountchristen windsor #philip fox mountchristen windsor/martha fox mountchristen windsor #dear god why do they have so many names #my fic: rwrb #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue

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janeyseymour · 4 years ago

Text

Escape- pt 11

pt 1. pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt 6. pt 7. pt 8. pt 9. pt 10.

Jane Seymour has stayed with Henry long enough. Cue Catherine of Aragon and the rest of the girls to save her.

Jane and Catherine decide to have a talk. Things go downhill.

Thomas needed to know where Jane was. As soon as he heard Henry had been arrested, he was certain this was his chance to have his best friend’s fiancee all to himself. She didn't deserve any of the shit Henry had put her through. She was beautiful and kind. She had a once heart of gold, now turned heart of stone. He was determined to bring back her heart of gold. Unlike Henry, Thomas thought he knew exactly what she deserved: not Henry, not the situation she was put in, none of it. After a day and a half of laying low, he had done all he could to find information on Jane, but there wasn’t much of anything to work with. The young man knew what he was doing was borderline obsessive, but he had to find her- had to make sure she was safe and taken care of. Slowly, he picked up the phone.

“John, can you get the phone please? I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

“Yes dear.” He scrambled to find the phone. “This is John.”

“Hey John. It’s Thomas. How are you?”

“Better now that I know your asshole of a friend is locked away.”

“Do you know where she is? Or if she’s coming home any time soon?”

“I’m really not sure, and I’m not sure I should be giving any of this information to you.”

“I’m just trying to make sure Jane’s safe sir.”

“She is. Man, what I would’ve given for Janey to end up with someone like you instead,” John let slip. He knew he didn’t mean it. He wanted Jane and Catherine together. But at the moment, his mouth worked faster than his brain.

“Really? Huh, I never thought about it that way,” he feigned surprise.

“Yeah I-” There was a loud crash from the kitchen that interrupted John’s train of thought. “I have to go check on my klutz of a wife. Bye.” John jogged to the kitchen to see Margaret on the floor laughing.

“You’re an idiot.” He offered a hand to help her up.

Back at the house, Jane and Catherine sat down to talk without the rest of the women. What they didn’t know was that the other four had clumped themselves together just outside the bedroom to try to listen in on their private conversation.

“How much of that conversation did you really hear?” Catalina’s face was already bright red, and it was only becoming moreso.

“What conversation?” Anne whispered. The others shrugged.

“Just enough to know that whatever you’re planning, my parents know.”

“Shit. You really weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Honestly Catherine,” Jane started, missing the chill that shot down Catherine’s spine. The blonde never called her by her full first name. She knew this was serious. “I can’t look for a relationship right now, and you know that. I need to have all of my attention on the baby growing inside of me.”

“Of course I know that. I told you, I can wait. What I said last night- I meant it. I want to just be here for you and the baby. It’s not like I want to date right now and overwhelm you with a new relationship if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know, but that’s not possible for you to ‘just be there for the baby’. If you’re here, I know I’m going to fall in love with you all over again and-”

“Again?” Catherine’s face gave away how surprised she was to find out that Jane Seymour was in love with her at one point or another.

“Lina, that’s not the point. I can’t fall in love with you again. I just can’t,” she sighed exasperatedly. “The baby, he or she, doesn’t deserve to grow up in the strange situation we’re finding ourselves in. Oh god, I can’t even believe I’m in this situation: having a baby as a single mother where the father is absent and having a mother who is a complete and utter mess. Maybe I shouldn’t bring a baby into this world. Maybe I should just-”

“What are you thinking?” Catherine cut her off in fear of what she was going to say.

“It’s not too-”

“Jane, please tell me you’re not thinking about getting rid of it.”

“It’s my decision Catherine. Not yours,” she choked out. “Do you know how hard this is already? My life has taken so many turns in the past few months, and I’m so much more fucked up than I already was. I don't want to and can't fuck up someone else’s life because I’m not capable of being a mother yet. Can we just leave it alone? I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You can't just say something like that and then not finish the conversation! Do you understand how ridiculous that is? We have to talk about this!”

“No! We don’t have to do anything. This is my life, and I’m so sorry I dragged you into the shitshow. Leave if you want, or I can leave. I don’t really care anymore.”

“You don’t mean that. Go cool down. We’ll- you’ll,” Catherine quickly corrected herself. “figure this out, and I will be as involved or uninvolved as you want. Jane stood from the bed and flung the door open, only to have Anne Boleyn crash at her feet with all of the other women eyeing her rather sheepishly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jane yelled. “Don’t you guys know that was a personal conversation? If we had wanted you listening in, we would have talked in the living room. But no, you guys just had to butt into our personal lives as usual and-”

“Jane, please don’t be-” Kat started.

“Don’t be what Katherine? Mad?” Jane shot back icily. “This is ridiculous. I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not,” Anna stated defiantly as she grabbed Jane’s arm, preventing her from going any farther.

“What the hell do you mean Anna?” Jane tried to rip her arm out of Cleve’s grip.

“You’re in hiding. You’re not leaving without any of us with you.”

“You just think you have it all figured out Anna? Don’t you? I’m a meek and mild, broken woman who can’t handle herself on her own, right? Is that what you think of me? Is that what I am to you? Do you all think you just need to walk on eggshells with me because if you don’t I might break into a million pieces? I’m not. I can do what I-”

“You can do what you want, but that means we can also do what we want. And we want to protect you. If you want to go out somewhere, one of us is going with you,” Cathy tried to reason with the furious blonde.

“I’ll go with you if you really need to get out of the house,” Kat offered hesitantly. Seeing Jane angry was a scary thing.

“It’s fine. No one has to go with her. She can have the room.” Catherine marched herself out of the room. Cathy and Anna followed. Jane went back into the room and sat on the bed but left the door open.

“Jane, I’m really-”

“Anne, I’d really rather not talk about this to you right now.” Anne left the area with her head hung low.

“Do you want some company though?” Kat offered shyly, playing with the pink ends of her hair. “We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to,” she added quickly, hoping her new found friend would allow her to stay. Jane looked up at her with tears in her eyes, the piercing blue color now standing out to Katherine.

“Please.” Her voice was small, but it was easily heard.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. Just let me say this,” Cleves sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Jane wiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you two.”

“You had every right to snap at us. What you said was true; we were listening in on a conversation you clearly wanted to be private.”

“But-”

“There’s no buts Seymour. I’m sorry, and I’m sure Kat is too. I’ll go now and let you two have some time.” Anna left the area.

“How did you get the money for bail Tudor?”

“I called in a few favors, not that it's any of your business.” He flipped off the security guard on his way to freedom. “I need to find her, and no one can stop me now,” he muttered to himself.

“Jane?” Catherine knocked on their bedroom door gently. She was met with no response. The hispanic pushed the door open and saw Jane watching the television quietly with Katherine curled around her. When she got no response, she made her way over and made herself as small as possible.

“Okay, I understand that you need your space away from me. Dinner’s in the oven and ready to eat. You too Kat.” She kissed the top of the blonde’s hair softly before walking away, failing to notice the tears threatening to fall in Jane’s eyes.

“I should probably get some food and take it to my room. I think you two need to talk.” Kat began to stand up.

“Wait,” Jane sighed and reached her hand out. When the younger woman stopped in her tracks and held her hand, Jane whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what it’s worth Jane, we would do anything to keep you safe. You’re part of this family now. Your baby too.” Kat offered a small smile and a light hand squeeze.

Jane waited a few minutes before walking down the stairs and into the empty kitchen aside from Catherine who was undoubtedly waiting for the blonde to make an appearance.

“Are you okay?” Jane shook her head no as she quickly made her way to the counter where the food was laid out. “Do you want to talk?”

She kept her back turned to Catherine but answered with a raspy voice, “I thought I was ready, but I think I need a few more minutes.” Catherine nodded her head but stayed put at her station at the table. The tears continued to pour as Jane prepared her dinner and brushed by the other woman as she went to get to her seat at the table.

Catherine’s heart broke as she noticed the tears, but stayed glued in her chair nonetheless. Jane sat quietly, not looking in Catalina’s direction.

“If you need me, I’ll be in our room,” Catherine sighed, feeling the sense that her presence was not wanted. She heard Jane sigh in relief once she was gone from the kitchen.

When the older woman left, Jane knew it was her fault. She didn’t want to push her away, but she couldn’t help it. Jane sighed a heavy sigh, knowing she was going to break at any moment.

“Lina?” she whispered into the empty kitchen, but she was already gone. In desperation, she pulled out her phone and called the one person she knew would listen to her no matter what.

“Daddy?” She began to cry to her father.

“Janey honey, listen. I know you’re scared an-”

“Dad, I’m terrified. I keep snapping at all the girls, and I’m pushing Lina away. I think I’m in love with her, but I told her I couldn’t fall in love with her again, but I don’t want to lose that feeling. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing,” she rambled into the phone.

“First off, language.”

“Dad, I said hell.”

“Yes, but it still doesn’t feel right hearing your child curse. You’ll know the feeling someday. You’re still my baby. Do you want my advice?” She nodded as if her father was able to see her. When he didn’t hear an audible response, he assumed, “I’m going to take a guess and say you were nodding your head?” Jane laughed despite the tears.

“Alrighty dear. You never change, you know that? You always did that, even when you were little. It took me so long to figure out your silence, and I only figured it out because you did it to your mother one day,” he laughed as he remembered the days of a young Jane nodding into the phone enthusiastically. “You were such a cute kid.”

“Dad, advice, remember?”

“Right. I had no clue what I was doing when I met Mom. God, I really had no idea. Mom had a boyfriend, and I fell absolutely in love with her before I even knew what was happening. I couldn’t do anything about it though, and that was the worst feeling ever. I felt so helpless. Eventually, I think she knew she was in love with me too, but she was still dating the other man at the time. I took a leap of faith though. I found out the day I told her I loved her that she had broken up with the guy three weeks before. God, I hated that man so much. Your mother put up with so much shit because of that man. She never deserved to be treated that way. Anyway, I had no clue what I was doing when we first started dating. I had never had a girlfriend before, but I knew she was the one. Then, your sister came along when Mom was twenty, and we really had no idea what she was doing. Liz turned out alright though I guess. And then, after fifteen years, you came along. You were a blessing. After so many years though, we forgot how we did it with Lizzy. Don’t tell your sister, but you were and are the second best blessing in my life. Of course, your mother is the first. I’m still so in love with that woman. Lizzy is a blessing, but we never connected the way the two of us do. So uhm, the moral of the story is that I know you don’t know what the hell is going on, and it’s scary. I know it is. But sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. Sometimes, it turns out to be the best thing that could ever happen to you.”

“Thank you Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you too honey. Be careful, and trust your gut.” John was met with silence. “Do you really think you’re falling in love with her?”

“Keep this between us? Not even Mom can know.”

“Of course princess.”

“She makes me feel things I never did with Henry. I only stayed with him because I thought I had to. I didn’t want to let you, Mom, or his family down.” John was shocked.

“Do you really think we could ever be disappointed in you because you realized what you’re worth and what you deserve?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. You put it that way, and it sounds so stupid.”

“I can't speak for Henry’s parents, but Mom and I would never be disappointed in you for wanting true love instead of something that feels forced.”

“Okay Dad. I should go. I’m getting kind of sleepy. I’ll keep in mind what you said. Have a nice night with Mom. Love you both.”

“We love you too.” John hung up the phone and ran to the kitchen knowing that’s where he would find his wife.

“Hey, so I just got off the phone with our daughter.”

“Lizzy called, and I didn’t get to talk to her? John, she calls once every three months!” She threw her hands up in frustration.

“No no. The other one. She’s terrified. She’s in the ‘I’m pregnant and in love with someone who isn’t my baby daddy’ mindset. I gave her some fatherly advice though.” He smiled smugly.

“What could you have possibly said to make her feel better?”

John slowly moved Margaret’s arms around his neck and placed his hands on her hips before smirking. “I just told her how terrified we were. I told her how I took a chance, and that chance gave me the three greatest things in my life.”

“God John. You still know just what to say.” She stood on her toes to kiss the tip of his nose.

“After all these years, I still fall in love with you more and more. I just want our Janey to have a love like ours.”

“Me too.”

“Jane,” Catherine sighed in front of the mirror, practicing her speech. “I don’t want to upset you, but we need to talk. I know you’re scared and- god. That’s so dorky. You’re so stupid. Just-”

“Having trouble?” Cathy appeared in the doorway.

“I just want things to be right between me and Janey.”

“Just give it time Cath. Good things take time.”

“Twelve years isn’t enough time?” The older cousin shot back.

“Good things take time,” she repeated. “I have to get back to writing, but remember that.” Cathy disappeared.

Jane had settled on the living room couch to watch television late into the night but almost immediately fell asleep. When Anne wandered downstairs for her late night snacking, she was shocked to see the television’s bright lights and a blonde figure sound asleep.

“Jane?” She shook the woman gently. “Do you think you might want to go to bed? It might be more comfortable?”

“Anne?” She sat up in her hazy state and patted the spot next to her.

“Give me a minute to find a snack. You want anything?”

“Yogurt?” The woman in green disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a yogurt and bag of chips.

“I’m sorry for eavesdropping earlier.”

“It’s alright. I know you guys are just curious, and I’ve dragged you all into the craziest situation.”

“It was still wrong of us, and it was my idea. I’m really sorry Jane.”

“Of course it was your idea,” Jane sighed good heartedly. “I should’ve known.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not mad anymore. It’s okay.” The two sat in silence for a while, watching whatever silly game show was being broadcast. After a while, Jane heaved herself up from the sofa.

“I think I’m going to head to bed. Do you want the tv on still or?”

“I should probably head to bed too.” The blonde clicked off the television.

“I don’t want to intrude on the conversation earlier, but between you and me, I think you should keep it. I also think you should give you and Cath a try. You’re practically dating as it is.” Anne retired to her room for the night. Jane sighed, knowing the truth in Boleyn’s statement, and continued on to the bedroom.

Sinking into their bed, she sighed, “Hey,” fulling knowing Catherine wasn’t asleep.

“Hey.” She rolled over and pulled Jane close.

“I’m sorry. I was crazy, and I’ll try to stay more in check. I want you to be in this baby’s life,” Jane paused. “As it’s mother. I just don’t think we can be a couple- not right now at least. I know we act like it, but I’m not ready to put a label on it and add all of that pressure. I’m sorry.”

“That’s really not the issue. It’s perfectly fine honey. Just know I am always going to be here for you. As a friend or more, or whatever you want me to be or do, I’ll be or do it.”

“I love you Lina.” Jane curled into the other woman and drifted to sleep.

#six the musical #six musical #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six musical fanfic #aramour

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gravecinema · 5 years ago

Video

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Why Beetlejuice is the Best Tim Burton Movie - 05/06/2020

Beetlejuice is the best Tim Burton movie ever made. Many directors can be said to have developed their own style over the course of their careers, and there is no other director that has a more distinct style than Tim Burton. In only his second feature film, Beetlejuice, which was released in 1988, exhibits and expresses a macabre, grim, and whimsical style that would since become synonymous with Tim Burton. It sets the tone for much of his later work yet to come, such as Edward Scissorhands, Sleepy Hollow, and Corpse Bride.

The main plot revolves around the couple of Adam and Barbara Maitland, played by Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis, who within the first 10 minutes of the movie get killed in an auto accident heading over a bridge into a creek and drowning. The newly dead couple soon discover that they now have become ghostly spirits that are forever trapped within their house. When a new couple with a daughter move into their house, they attempt to haunt and scare away the new family. However, the new daughter who is a curious, gothic, and depressive teenager name Lydia, played by Winona Ryder, is the only person able to see the two ghosts. When Adam and Barbara are unable to successfully scare away the family, the plot takes a turn when they seek the help of a ghostly demon: the titular Beetlejuice, played wonderfully by Michael Keaton.

Throughout the course of the movie, we are treated to a visual and creative feast of set design, stop-motion effects, and Oscar-winning make-up. For a movie with macabre subject matter, you would think it would be a mostly dark and grim affair, but it’s the vivid colors used that really stand out to me. Tim Burton would later become known for having a much darker and gothic looking color pallet in his films, but the Director actually has his cinematographer make wonderful use of color in a number of his films, and Beetlejuice is one of the best examples of this. Most notably when Adam and Barbara take a trip to the afterlife waiting room, in which a comparison and contrast to the real-world DMV is ever present. It’s nothing but endless waiting, but in a much more colorful and vibrant setting. This similar color technique to establish setting would also later be used in Corpse Bride, where the afterlife is shown to be much more colorful and vibrant than the dreary normal life on Earth.

The Oscar-winning make-up of Beetlejuice shines its brightest in the afterlife, with the various deceased characters making up the waiting room. The man with the bone stuck in his neck must be one of my personal favorites. I also really appreciate the visual gag of having dead versions of the audience staring back at themselves in Juno’s office in the background, while Adam and Barbara are in the foreground of the shot. The exact make-up work I really believe won Beetlejuice the Oscar though is the stunning creature design of Adam and Barbara when in the film they later don their monstrous visages in order to better scare the family out of their house. They are two looks you certainly won’t forget after having seen this movie and are truly inspired.

One of the most distinct elements of the film has also got to be the engaging and creative score by Danny Elfman, who would go on to become a longtime collaborator with Tim Burton. Tim Burton would make it a habit of reworking with people that he has a great professional relationship with, most notably with Johnny Depp. The initial theme playing over the opening credits really sets the mood for the rollercoaster of a movie you are about to watch. Individual eerie elements are also added into to score to help set the mood for certain scenes, and they do a great job of transitioning the mood and tone for each subsequent scene.

It also cannot go without mentioning the brilliant use of the Banana Boat (Day-O) song, by Harry Belafonte, in the truly out of left-field and amazingly iconic scene where the two ghosts possess Lydia’s parents and dinner guests in another failed effort to scare everyone out of the house. The use of the song is even teased in the opening production company logo of the film. Adam is also seen to be listening to Harry Belafonte music in the attic just after the opening credits. It cannot be overstated just how much the music of Beetlejuice truly breathes life into the film.

The costume design is also inspired, and Beetlejuice himself is eventually adorned in his most iconic look, that of the black and white striped suit that he can be seen in on any poster of the film. Oddly enough, the character only wears the famous suit for just over 3 and a half minutes of screen time throughout the entire movie. In fact, the titular character of Beetlejuice only has about 17 and a half minutes of total screen time throughout the movie, not even making his first appearance until just over halfway through the film. However, when Beetlejuice does make his first appearance, does he ever own the screen and movie.

You can tell that Michael Keaton had an absolute blast playing Beetlejuice, and his fun and enthusiasm shines throughout his performance. It’s reported that he even adlibbed a great deal of his lines, and you can tell that helps increase the flawless comedic elements to his character. The voice Michael Keaton has given to the character is such a great affectation, and it does a perfect job of having Michael Keaton really own the role and make it his own. You cannot show a picture of Beetlejuice to someone, and then not have them instantly think of Michael Keaton and the voice he gives to the character.

The movie also possesses an excellent script by Michael McDowell and has some nice and interesting bits littered about. The character of Otho, played by Glenn Shadix, is shown to have an expert knowledge of the supernatural, even correctly knowing about the souls of those in the afterlife becoming civil servants after committing suicide, as the audience has previously seen when Adam and Barbara took their trip to the afterlife waiting room. The character of Delia, played exquisitely by Catherine O’Hara, also exclaims, “Do you think I want to die like this?!,” after having one of her sculptures encompassing and trapping her earlier in the film, which is a nice bit of foreshadowing towards the climax of the film.

What really sets Beetlejuice apart from other Tim Burton films is its originality, and the screenplay is a truly unique piece of scriptwriting showcasing what it means for two characters to die, and to have their afterlife get harder and not easier than when they were alive. It has its own unique vision and story, which is something that is lacking in most major Hollywood films that are made today. Many of Tim Burton’s later works would be adaptations from preexisting properties, but Beetlejuice was a completely original concept from script to screen, and as such, Tim Burton would have more of a say and representation of his own vision towards the overall final product.

If you look at the career of many directors, you will find that some of their best and most unique work are the early films that they make during a time when they are more driven by creativity and having a message that they need to say and represent through their art. Tim Burton is no exception to this, having what I consider to be his best films made during this period. Among them are Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, and of course, Beetlejuice. If you include The Nightmare Before Christmas, which was directed by Henry Selick and not Tim Burton himself, but completely his story and characters, then there is no doubt that this period was the best creative output of his career.

Later works of Burton would mostly be adaptations of previous works, but with studios just wanting to add that Tim Burton style that was so well done in his early work. This was done successfully in the very first Batman films that were directed by Burton. The character of Batman and the setting of the dark and gritty city of Gotham created a perfect marriage of a preexisting creative property and Tim Burton’s style. It was only with the turn of the Millennium that this method of having Tim Burton add his own flair to a property would become hit or miss.

Tim Burton adaptations of Planet of the Apes and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory would prove to be critical and creative misses for Burton. Other films such as Big Fish, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, and the underrated Dark Shadows film adaptation would prove to be films that produced better results of adding that particular Tim Burton style to a film. However, it is mostly a rare occasion when we get to see a new and mostly original Tim Burton film, and that is a shame, because that’s when he is truly capable of creating some absolutely memorable pieces of cinematic beauty.

The legacy of Tim Burton will always be mostly defined by those early and unique films of his. The most defining of which will always be Beetlejuice. It will always be the film most people will think of first when you mention the name of Tim Burton. While it may not be the best technically made and acted movie by Tim Burton, it will always be the best “Tim Burton” movie, since Tim Burton has become a movie genre all unto himself, and Beetlejuice is the defining movie of that genre.

#beetlejuice #grave cinema #review #video essay #essay

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sleepinelysium · 5 years ago

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“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” for Hal and Cate?

I changed the quote a little bit, but here it is! And Happy Birthday, Fyo!

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

Henry was happy to find that Catherine was acclimating well to married life. She seemed to be more comfortable in his presence--- and more ravenous, not that he minded. She was still quiet, but he found that her silence told him as much as her words did and gave him comfort and strength. Having her at his side made him feel like he wasn’t alone, and it gave him a solid foundation to rule from; no matter what orders he gave, she would still be there at his side.

He hadn’t realized how well he would suit marriage.

The court did not necessarily agree with his sentiments. Having a French Queen did not agree with his decidedly English court. His barons and lords could be absolutely cruel to her in the most shaded of ways and it made his blood boil. His brothers tried to assure him that her English was not good enough for her to understand their slights, but they didn’t seem entirely convinced of their arguments, themselves. He knew they were wrong because he felt how she stiffened when his lords spoke of her or laughed loudly. He hated that she wasn’t comfortable in all of her life in England, but it was hard for him to address the issues, himself.

He lounged on their bed as he watched her, the light piercing through her thin shift. His heart skipped watching her stretch before she walked over to choose her dress for the evening. With only a few steps, he was behind her, his arms around her waist, his nose pressed against her shoulder. “My, you are heaven, mon couer.”

She smiled and leaned into his touch. “You are one to speak, mon amour.” Her brow crumpled as she looked at her clothes. “What will I wear tonight?”

“I quite like what you have one,” he smirked.

She smacked his hand and twisted in his arms to face him. “Mon diable,” she said giving him a kiss. He smiled devilishly and kissed her back as Alice walked in.

“My lady, you must get dressed,” she said.

He released her and watched Alice dress her. He took the pleasure of draping her neck in jewels and pearls before taking her arm and walking down to the hall. She stopped for a moment, straightening and preparing herself. He recognized what she was doing; she was preparing for battle, in her own court, and it broke his heart.

Dinner was… uneventful. Talk of the continent kept his lords busy while his brothers chatted about horses and their estates. As dinner was finished and more wine was poured, conversation turned towards France. He had become more uncomfortable with talk of the war in France in front of Catherine. The war was necessary and right, but he knew it still must hurt Catherine to hear of the violence he would be exacting on her birth nation.

He shifted, uncomfortable at the turn of conversation, but he said nothing. His own words were coming back to his ears; defiling shrill-shrieking daughters, fathers reverend heads dash’d to walls, naked infants spitted on pikes, mothers with their howls confused. He looked to Catherine who had turned a shade of white he didn’t know a person could turn while still living. She stood and the rest of the court stood.

“Perdon, mon seigneur, I am not feeling well; I am going to retire.”

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I will be with you shortly, my love.”

She dipped into a low curtsey and turned away, Alice following close behind.

When she was out of the room, he turned his sharp eyes on his lords, particularly the offending men. They had the decency to look sheepish. He was incensed at how they treated his wife.

He remained standing. “I would remind you that your Queen has French family and is much attached to them. Should anyone speak so in front of her again, they will be lucky if I am magnanimous enough to simply toss them out of my house on their ear. The next time, I may even take such talk as an attack on England’s Queen, and I will not take such an attack lightly. All are dismissed.”

Everyone looked at each other, unsure if he was serious. As his words sank in the room, practically in one motion everyone rose from their seats and started towards the doors. When the room was empty of everyone, save his brothers, he leaned forward, his hands on the table as he tried to control his temper.

“Henry, was that really necessary?” John snapped at him.

Henry grabbed his arm tight, something in his eyes desperate. “Whatever our souls are made of, hers and mine are the same,” he said, trying to get his brother to understand.

John looked into his brother’s eyes for a minute then gave a sharp nod. “Alright then. We won’t let it happen again.”

“Thank you.” Hal left his brothers and went upstairs. He gave a light knock on the door and stepped in. Catherine was already down to her shift and Alice was wrapping up. Alice gave a deep curtsey with a mumbled, “mon siegneur,” and left him alone with his wife.

“I’m sorry for them. They…can be thoughtless.”

“They do not like me, Henry,” she said turning around to him.

“I don’t care if they like you, so long as they respect you, and they haven’t done a great job of that, either,” Henry said, closing the gap between them.

“I care if they like me.”

“I like you enough for the whole of England, it doesn’t matter if anyone else likes you.”

Her eyes looked hurt and she turned away from him.

“Catherine---”

She sunk down to the floor, her face in her hands, breathing slowly. He followed, pulling her into his arms. “Do you love me, Henry?” she asked looking up at him.

He was taken aback by the question. “Do I not tell you that I love you?”

“Henry---”

“Catherine, I love you with all of my soul, save what already belongs to God. And, where I not rightly dreadful of the fires of Hell, I do not know that I would save so much for Him.”

“Henry---!”

He took her face in his hands. “We are the same, you and I. Whatever God used to make us, whatever dust of the earth he breathed into, we are the same. We are one body, one heart, one soul. I swore I would forsake all others for you, Cate, and I do. I cherish you more than anything else in my life, Cate. If you do not how I love you through my actions, through the worship of my body, then I have not upheld my vow, Cate. You must believe me when I say that you have healed me in ways I did not know I was broken and that for your love I would got to the far ends of the earth, I would go to Hell itself if that’s what you required of me. Cate---”

She stopped his mouth with a deep kiss. He was surprised, but he soon sunk into the kiss, pulling her body closer against his.

She broke away, pressing her forehead to his. “Mon couer, thank you. I do not doubt your love or truth, I simply needed to hear it.”

He nodded. “I am glad.”

She sat back, her smile absolutely devilish. “However, I may need to be reminded of how you worship me with your body, mon mari.”

He smiled in return. “Mon diable, what a temptress I have for a wife.”

She tilted her head. “Your accent is getting better, mon couer.”

He chuckled as he gently tackled her to the ground, nipping her ear. They both laughed as he joyously did his duty, worshiping her body with his own.

#writing stuff #my writing #histories #shakespeare #shakespeare fandom #henry v #catherine valois #henry and catherine #fanfic

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idonia-dovahkiin · 5 years ago

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Jacob Frye x Catherine Starrick

This is a triple whammy kissing prompt! Unwarranted! Unsolicited! Non-requested! This combines @not-hao-at-all‘s Kissing Prompt’s #32: Cheek kiss #31: Shoulder kiss AND #1: Being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterwards. Such a prompt is for Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate Jacob Frye and my OFC Catherine Starrick. To can check out their story here.

Two songs came out of this. 1) Patti Smith Group’s Because the Night 2) Mandy Moore’s Gardenia

Likes are appreciated, reblogs and comments more so. I hope you all enjoy it.

In only a short few months, the train had become a home to the Frye twins. Jacob, in particular, had grown quite comfortable in the second carriage when not in the third with his Rooks; always being seen half laid across the chaise memorizing his targets. All red lines pointed toward Crawford Starrick, to whom Jacob glowered. Anytime Evie passed by him he had a smart quip to say; “Do you think someone grooms Starrick’s mustache for him? It’s so…bushy.”

It was not until recently that he was more acquainted with his personal cart. Before, a vast majority of his wardrobe laid haphazardly about the floor. Now, he had gotten into the habit of putting them away where they should go. Coats, vests, shirts, trousers, ties, and all other matter of clothing were tucked away in his closet or dresser. His top hats and cap, however, sat proudly on a coat rack. His kurki criss-crossed proudly on the wall, and his rook headed cane sword leaned against his bed while his brass knuckles were on a near end table.

The room smelled nicer, as well.

A pleasant, sultry scent that lingered on his fingertips if he dared touch the velvety soft source. Twelve large, white flowers sat atop a dark wood table in a porcelain vase next to a slim candle or two and a well-loved book. A novel, which Catherine had given him. His cart always felt warmer with her in it; full of giggles, laughter, sighs, gentle touches, and kisses.

Oh, how he longed to kiss her each day….

Be it on her mouth, neck…, shoulder…, chest…, hip…, or…thigh he simply wished to kiss her. “If I must choose, Jacob,” she once said with swollen, smiling lips, “I choose this devilish mouth of yours.”

On nights such as that, she would forsake all others and spend the night with him. Much to the chagrin of his sister — as an assassin, she would remind him, he should be careful of whom he takes to bed — and embarrassment of Henry — the pair of them could be rather loud, to which Jacob feeds off of and draws out time and again.

Such mornings after had him waking up slower than normal. His bed felt warmer, cozier, and the smell of gardenias far more enticing. He could spend hours in his bed with Cat in his arms, kissing every bit of her, if he did not have a city to liberate. Naked or clothed, she fitted nicely next to him. Yet she, a woman of high social standing, was in the habit of waking early to ready herself for the day. Jacob remained motionless with even breath as she peeled away from him. He let out the most pathetic and heartbreaking whine she had ever heard when she was completely out of his grasp. A large, rough hand groped at where she once laid. “Cat?”

Slim, manicured fingers knitted with his. Held tight.

An overwhelming smell of gardenias smothered his senses. He welcomed it.

She kissed his cheek with a reassuring hum.

It was a soft kiss that lasted a few seconds too long for it to be proper, but far too short for lovers to share.

When she pulled away, she stayed only millimeters from his face. Her long, unraveled, brown hair acted as a curtain for them. The short hairs on his face tickled him with each delicate breath she took; he almost giggled at the sensation. She was smiling with half-lidded eyes and a hand threaded through the center of his chest. (Could she feel his heart beat? Strong, sure, and steady in the dawning light.) Jacob wanted more. Catherine wanted more, too. He turned his head to her, lips ready, and they kissed again. Lovingly, languidly with no real need to rush. Jacob’s lips practically stuck to hers. Top-to-top and bottom-to-bottom, eyes fully closed with peace and pleasure. Neither lover truly pulled away from the others mouth, as their lips always touched, just matching each lip to the other over and over again. Moving—dancing together, so that life may gradually enter the room. The smooth hand that was on Jacob’s chest slid up to the side of his neck and rested there. Graceful and unthreatening. The other rested on his shoulder. His own hands found themselves at her sides barely kneading the soft flesh there. Her chest pressed against his. Innocent, surely, for now they could feel the others beating heart. The very center of himself felt like it was glowing. It grew brighter with a slight shift of Cat’s fingers and a hitch on her breath. He continued to breathe into her.

Until she pulled away completely.

The whine that left him sounded pathetic, hurtful even. Just a few more minutes?

Neither person could open their eyes. Mouths tingling, hands burning, and hearts yearning, they kept themselves blind. They stayed suspended, smelling the other person’s breath. Warm and sweet, pleasant and sultry. Jacob’s heart sped a little faster, but he still kept his eyes closed.

Cat slid her hands down to his chest. He felt her eyes staring at where his heart beats. She could feel it, couldn’t she? It belonged to—with her!

Her voice was soft when she spoke, “We have to get ready, Jacob. The sun is nearly here to greet us.”

“So long as it is only the sun and no one else,” he groaned, refusing to open his eyes. He threaded his fingers in her hair, raised himself up, and pressed his brow to hers. There was a lingering scent of last night’s activities on her breath. Did his breath smell of her, as well? “I refuse to let anyone else greet us, and even he needs to tread carefully.”

She had the most adorable giggles. “I doubt anyone is willing to come in here,” a pause, a blush, “after last night, Jacob.”

“Even the sun?” A form of hope rung in his voice. When he opened his eyes, Cat was all he could see. She was beautiful in this dawning light—bare, softer, and relaxed with lips swollen and pink, and bright, brown eyes full of adoration—for only him to ever see. Could they spend the day with each other? In this room that could move about the city, never truly stopping, but still lay in bed? Focused solely on each other?

When had Jacob Frye become a Romantic?

“I’m afraid not, dove.” Her lips brushed along his.

Jacob fell back on his bed with a playfully annoyed huff. The multiple red lines that ran down the expanse of his back woke up at the cooled sheets—burning and delicious. A reminder of Cat lost in a fit of passion.

“How cruel you are to me, Cat.” He threw his arm over his closed eyes. “I can’t even look at you right now.” Despite his words, there was a smile on his lips.

Cat patted the meat of his hip. “I’m sure you will, soon enough.”

Other than her warmth, all physical presence of her left his bed.

Jacob’s lips and cheek still tingled from the kiss. Neck, shoulder, chest, and hip still warm simply from her touch. While he was a physical man, no touch that delicate or passionate had lingered quite this long before. What had she done to him?

When he heard Cat rustling and giggling about, which was unusual, she normally kept good due diligence about dressing herself, Jacob quirked a brow. Were her skirts and corset that littered about?

“Did we not make a straight line for the bed last night, love?” Upon her gentle laughter, Jacob pulled his arm away from his face. “What are you—” All words lodged themselves in his throat. His heart fluttered with pupils blown wide. He was not aware of his body rising up as if he were reanimated back to life.

Catherine stood in front of a mirror taller than herself. She wore his ornate black and green frock coat. It was far too big for the likes of her; she held it at the shoulders, fussing with them so that they sat right only for them to fall backwards or forwards or off completely. It was…certainly lovely to see her in colors that he normally wore. The coat hid all of his love bites—there were many and fair ones under her breasts, but few and darker on her hips and thighs—yet, he did not mind.

A man in awe, he rose up from the bed and walked up behind her. He placed his hands on her hips, and then slid them across her abdomen to hold her close. Both stared at their reflection.

The armored piece of his coat fell off her shoulder to rest at her elbow. Face dusted pink, lower lip barely bitten she let it be.

“What do you think, Mr. Frye?”

Jacob pressed his lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder. She breathed out his name. His mouth lingered.

Thoughtful.

Waiting.

His lips barely left her skin, before placing themselves on her shoulder. A calloused hand tickled up her belly.

“Jacob….” She need not remind him.

“You are,” another kiss to her shoulder, “a wonder.” Another kiss. ““Beautiful” seems so lackluster to describe you.” Jacob stared at her reflection. Cat’s eyes were barely closed, mouth agape, her entire face glowed pink, and her other shoulder was bare, to which Jacob righted. “You are a wonder to this world, Miss Hale.”

How would it sound to call her Mrs. Frye?

Another kiss, though this time his beard added an extra bite.

Catherine’s eyes glazed over for a moment, before she blinked it away. When she smiled at him, it chased away all negativity. “You say such things…,” she whispered, and knitted her fingers with the hand between her breasts.

And he began to walk them backwards to the bed.

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hellospunkiebrewster · 6 years ago

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I have seen a couple people writing about the Desire and Decorum MC becoming romantically involved with her step-brother Edmund Marlcaster. i could be remembering things wrong but wasn't it illegal for step-siblings to become romantically involved in Regency England? Just curious and not knocking the writers who are using that pairing because they've kinda made me root for them.

So you want to f*ck your step brother… gotcha Nonnie. I’m kidding, but let’s take a look at what would have been allowed under the laws of England at the time and look at some examples in history and literature. As usual, this got long, and it’s behind the cut.

In order to properly answer this, we’ll need to go back to understand what types of marriages were allowed at the time and how that came into practice. As you might suspect this all stems from Henry VIII (the poster man-child for annulments and divorce) his quest for a male heir, and tendency to quickly tire of his wives. This pit him against Church doctrine, which was the Catholic Church at this time.

Divorced. Beheaded. Died. Divorced. Beheaded. Survived.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1A0XpB743-Q

The Catholic Church prohibited not only annulments without cause and patience like this but they also opposed the closeness by which he was related to some of his wives. Marriages of cousins were prohibited, as were marriages between siblings, uncle/neice, or aunt/nephew. In determining relation and degree of consanguinity, it did not matter if the relationship was founded in blood or through the law, via marriage. Step siblings, such as dear dumbass Edmund Marlcaster and our MC would not have been permitted to marry, despite not sharing any blood. Henry VIII’s desire to wed Catherine Howard would have been prohibited as she was Anne Boleyn’s first cousin.

These marriage rules fell under canon law (the rules of the church), not civil law (the rules of England), and thusly it was much easier for Henry to manipulate them since it only required breaking with the Pope and the Catholic Church (who were all the way in Rome so why did he care) and forming his own, of which he and every sovereign after him would be the head of, in the name of England of course. He manipulated these rules to allow for annulment of his first marriage to Catherine of Aragon, despite it not being previously allowed. Then again to allow him to marry Anne Boleyn’s first cousin. Previously, marriages of any cousins closer than fourth cousins was not allowed. Henry VIII’s Marriage Act of 1540 changed that and allowed for marriage between first through third cousins.

Bans on incestuous marriages have always been a thing and there is evidence that these types of warnings predated civilization entirely. People recognized that individuals who were closely related had children who were more prone to birth defects and deformities with a higher rate. Without modern genetics, the degree of separation required to decrease the chances of this occurring was unknown so people were extra cautious to avoid it. Evidence now suggests that the risks are relatively low. Even first cousins, unless they both share a genetic issue, only experience a slight increase in defects over non-related couples. First cousins even experience lower miscarriage rates apparently. Now this is not me advocating for cousin marriage by any means. Just the thought of my cousin Gary makes my skin crawl personally. This is merely what the science shows.

So England continued on with Bluff King Hal’s patchwork of marriage guidelines for a couple of centuries until the middle of the 18th century and the Hardwicke Marriage Act of 1753. The changing guidelines of canon law led to some confusion of what constituted a marriage and just what exactly made it official. The Church strongly suggested, but did not require, the reading of banns or acquiring a marriage license and the only real requirement was that the marriage be overseen by a clergyman. Simple? Yes. But some people actually believed that as long as parties were of age (twelve for ladies and fourteen for men) and consented between two witnesses that was enough. It was a record keeping disaster.

Witnesses were not necessarily reliable or honest, just as today. Their testimonial might be subject to their own personal agendas or bribes and people would be suddenly unmarried or even married via one person’s report. Fortunes, estates, property, livelihoods, and family names were on the line here.

The Act required that a couple must either purchase a license or have banns read during three consecutive church services, essentially one a week. This was supposed to ensure that the couple was eligible to marry. A couple under 21 years of age required consent from their parents and could be married by banns so long as the parents did not reject them being read. This doesn’t account for eloping in another parish. Lastly, weddings had to be conducted between the hours of eight in the morning and noon, before witnesses, in a church, by a clergyman, and recorded in a marriage register. Exemptions to the marriage act included the royal family, Jews, and Quakers. Catholics were not. Bitter much?

A marriage certificate from the 1860s.

Now, even though you were married, it did not keep you from outside interference upon your wedded bliss. A marriage could be voided if someone was able to present that the wedding should not have occurred in the first place due to consanguinity or other issues, like a previous still valid marriage. Participants in the marriage also had the ability to void their own marriages via a few different avenues: fraud, incompetence (and having one’s spouse committed, a route Mr. Rochester does not choose for his insane wife, thus leading to his inability to marry Jane Eyre), and impotence. Non-consummation, while a convenient plot device, was not an accepted reason for annulment. After all, what type of man can’t even gain his wife’s favor?

Now even under these new rules, step siblings, even those from previous relationships who didn’t share any blood, still were too close in degrees of consanguinity to marry. So were siblings of one’s dead spouse. This did not stop people from keeping it in the family, so to speak, and men or women marrying their deceased love’s siblings became one of the top reasons a marriage might be annulled by an outside party.

Now, there were definitely ways around this, There was no true legal body to bring your grievance to as all of this was subject to canon law and not civil law. Should the clergyman you chose to air your issue with be under the thumb of those you have a complaint with, your words might fall on deaf ears. These discrepancies were settled in an ecclesiastical court, presided over by the bishop of the parish where the couple was wed, so bias and looking the other way occurred for sure. In any case, these courts always leaned towards keeping a marriage together anyway.

There are examples of marriages that were technically voidable via close relation in Austen’s literature, one of the ones that stands out as the most similar to Edmund and our MC is Mr. Knightley and Emma Woodhouse. The two are “siblings” in the eye of the law, but they are not in themselves blood related. The two marry at the end of the story. So it wasn’t unheard of, just a difficult situation as you may find yourself in the gaze of a jealous family member or former beau who wishes to have your marriage annulled. George IV, the regent himself, married Caroline, his first cousin.

If your marriage was voided, it would mean any children would be considered bastards and ineligible for inheriting. However, the fact was, despite the threats of annulments and divorces thrown around in historical novels, they were quite difficult to obtain. Divorces required the husband bringing a civil case against his wife’s lover and for freaking Parliament to hear the case. Only 257 divorces happened in England from 1765 to 1857 as their requirements were strict, they were expensive, and both parties essentially became social pariahs.

What is interesting though is the grounds for annulment if the Duke really does wish to marry MC. I’m not talking about incompetence or even impotence, although they both probably apply to Puke Trashcan Bitchards, but fraud. There were a few types of fraud that could get a marriage annulled. Fraud might mean the couple used fake names for the reading of their banns so no one would object, this was the most common type of fraud. Rarer was the inability to fulfill the marriage contract, like not having as large of a fortune as advertised or being unable to deliver on the agreed upon dowry. Lastly, and what I think is the most interesting form of fraud for MC and Richards is forced marriage, a marriage in which one of the parties does not consent to. MC has been very adamant that she is not into this union and this was one of the places where women had agency at this time. Tristan Richards would honestly not have a leg to stand on in this case.

Long story short, marrying your stepbrother in the Regency Era was complicated, technically not allowed, but most people didn’t really care enough to fight for getting it voided. The worst Miss Sutton could do is air her grievances of Mr. Marlcaster breaking their very real (despite his and his mother’s insistence) engagement. This would be damaging enough to his reputation and potentially MC’s by proxy.

I hope this clears some things up for you, Nonnie. As always, keep these curiosities coming, I love answering them!

#desire and decorum #historical nitpicks #annulment and divorce in the regency #so you want to f*ck your step brother #curious anons #i love these!#mr marlcaster #marlcaster x mc #long post

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the-canary · 6 years ago

Text

Return to Sender - B.B (8/10)

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes loves Dolores Lewis. At least, that’s how history makes it out to be. (1940′s!Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Masterlist

A/N: -laughs in pain-

Please enjoy and feedback is always welcomed.

New York City -- 2016

Samantha never once lets go of her little side project in life -- not once she gets married, not once she had her little boy. However, it’s hard work and as more of the lifelines that are connected to her grandmother pass away, she finds it more difficult to find anything related to the woman. The letters that she had gathered end up sitting in the back of her little brownstone, as they gather dust once more. She knows a name and a last name to the woman that her own mother had tried to forget, but that name -- the name Angie found all those years ago still haunts her -- like a person that half existed but wasn’t meant for the world -- not for as long as her grandmother had been.

Samantha is about to give up and let this mystery rest when she gets a letter from a distant cousin that they didn’t talk about for the preservation of another marriage, one she had never heard of before but it all seems to check out once she asks Angie. There is a crumpled and yellowing piece of paper hidden within it, along with a simple post-it note.

I think this is the thing you might be looking for. Good luck, cousin. -- Catherine Howard.

Sammy tries her hardest not to cry at the revelation, tries even harder not to cry in the aftermath of reading the letter. Later on, when she and her little family see the Avengers tearing each other apart in the footage over the Accords and things she will probably never understand, Sam gets up and does even more research than ever before. She looks up anything related to the two names engraved in her mind now, she makes calls and tries to get details of records and people that have been lost to time.

She tries her hardest for her grandmother, a name long forgotten, and the name --who had probably known more suffering than she has ever experienced-- written with love within the letter.

You deserve the world and the stars, James. I hope you always remember that.

Samantha can’t help but think so as well.

Tuberculosis.

That is the diagnosis that they give you, a death sentence pretty much from the start that you can’t help but laugh a little because it’s all your fears come to fruition. Candice can’t stop crying, even more so when the doctors tell her that they could send you away for some low cost treatment in a facility called Stony Wold -- for the first time since you can remember, Candice isn’t going to be by your side. It scares you and it crushes her even more. However, you don’t have much of a say in the process that follows. At this point, you’re a simple infection that needs to be handled and gotten rid of.

Candice doesn’t stop crying, as you hand all the letters that she hadn’t noticed you had written for a certain someone, but never sent. You make her promise that she’ll never send them either.

Fate is cruel, and you are now certain that Bucky Barnes will never need you in this life again.

But, you keep writing -- to Candice, to Henry, sometimes even to Bucky. Sometimes, you think that the pen and paper in your grasp are the only things keeping you alive.

“How are you doing today, my dear?” you turn up to look from your letter writing to see the owner of the hospital --Mrs. Newcomb-- giving you a soft smile, as she wraps her hand around yours. In the short time, you had been here you found yourself becoming some sort of friends with the elderly woman, as you talked about anything that came to your mind when she was around -- you told her about Candy, Henry, and even Bucky.

And to be truthful, her own recovery from the disease made you a bit hopeful that you could recover in some way as well.

“Good,” is all you manage to say for today, as she gives you a hearty smile. It’s then you seen the strange man standing at the entrance of the room you share with 10 other women. The man is tall with blond hair with glasses while dressed in a three-piece blue suit, which you wonder how he can afford it in this climate. It sets a deep worry within you, as Mrs. Newcomb sees who you are starting at.

“Aw, you already saw Dr. Trudeau,” the elderly woman smiles, as she motions for the man to come in. He has a serious look on his face, as she begins to explain,”We actually wanted to talk to you about being part of a group experiment for a new cure -- the thing that cured me actually.”

You perk up at sound of that, as you look at both of these two people that are supposed to be looking after your health, but at that single declaration you are ready to do anything to get better -- and maybe, Mrs. Newcomb knew that. You don’t really think about it when you agree to the whole deal -- if only you had know better.

It’s needles and prodding until you are too weak to move, until all you are doing is sleeping the day away. However, you notice it -- people that have been here both longer and shorter time than you pass away without a word being said. Yet, you’re still alive -- if you could really call it that. Dr. Trudeau is so proud of himself, though you don’t see Mrs. Newcomb anymore after that first initial talk. You’re sick and alone -- just like you always thought you would be in the end. Anything that comes after that you don’t really care anymore.

You don’t know how many days or months (in actuality it's been years) have passed to the point that you are too weak to send Candice anymore letters, but you keep writing and writing --

The good doctor tells you the time has arrived, but you don’t understand and even then you are too weak at this point to fight back.

It’s 1944, when it finally happens.

The needle is inserted into your arm, as your breathing starts picking up only to slow down as your heart starts to rush at the medicine entering your body. Your vision starts to get hazy, as the sounds of the screaming nurse becomes static to your ears, though for a moment you swear you see Dr. Trudeau smiling -- as if joyful over something, but there is nothing you can say as that cotton ball feeling starts to fill up your throat.

The next evening, Candice gets the news -- her best friend had died in her sleep the morning before. She had taken a quick nap and never woke up -- dreaming about a soldier she never got to see again.

Candice lives with a broken heart for the rest of her life.

James Buchanan Barnes tries one last time, one last time to see the gal of his dreams after Steve pushes him to take that final step because the younger man knows from personal experience what happens to those with a certain disease -- know that if it’s her, James will never see her again.

Thus, Bucky Barnes takes the subway into Manhattan dressed in his military uniform, nervous and sweating about the thought of seeing her again. However, instead of seeing the bustling boarding house that she used to describe, he is meet with complete emptiness as everything is boarded up with a large sign reading: CLOSED .

Nobody is there to welcome him, as he takes off his military cap and runs a hand through his hair in frustration -- to keep the tears and emotions at bay before heading back to Brooklyn.

Steve never hears the end result of Bucky’s trip to Manhattan, but he knows deep down what it was -- how this was going to end in the long run, but neither of them bring it up again as Bucky gets ready to leave.

The rest is left to history, as Bucky Barnes enters the war effort only to be lost and found by his dear friend, Steve Rogers. The man keeps pushing forward until his own demise in early 1945 -- a name better left forgotten than forever mourning the loss of what never happened, it was easier for Bucky that way. Letters were burned and lost on both sides with what little was left being saved by a friend who couldn’t bare either of these precious people --especially her own best friend-- being lost to the rest of the world.

Until a letter was found by chance, everything was just a matter of time and patience.

Because fate is cruel that way, especially when it comes to love, but sometimes it’s just a wait -- a very long wait.

As neither you nor James Buchanan Barnes make it out of the 1940′s alive.

Part 9

#james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #1940's bucky barnes #bucky barnes #40's bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #series: return to sender #fabiola trying to write

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