#something something i am so normal and demure about this song [lying through my teeth]

[wavebf]

[janeyseymour]

Breakable

WC: 6783

As much as everyone wants to believe that Jane Seymour was unbreakable- it just wasn’t true. The third queen needed help from her fellow queens. And they didn’t mind one bit. Sometimes, it was a bit more outward than others. Sometimes, it was a bigger deal than other times- from sitting with her after a nightmare to simply getting her a mug of tea, but they were always there for the demure queen.

I.

The gold queen stood outside of the blonde’s door for a few minutes, listening to Jane’s quiet sobs, hoping they would die down soon. It broke her heart to hear the sweet woman in such a state. When they only proceeded to get shakier and she could hear the third queen hiccuping, she knew she had to check in on her.

“Jane?” The first queen knocked lightly. “It’s Lina. Can I come in?”

“I, uh, oh, uh,” Jane stuttered from inside her room. “Just give me a second. I’m uh, getting changed,” she lied through her teeth, knowing that Catherine knew she was lying. She wiped at her tears and took a deep breath. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way to open the door, and she broke down again.

“Actually Lina, I think I’m just going to, uh- I’m not really up for company right now. I uh, need to think some things through.”

“Querida, please? I’m worried for you.” Catherine was not one to beg and plead, despite what her song may have said about her in SiX.

“Lina, I-” the silver queen, despite her brain telling her not to open the door, opened the door.

“Oh sweetie,” the first queen sighed.

“I’m fine, really. I promise,” Jane said shakily.

“Are you though? It’s a bit obvious you’ve been crying.”

“Oh,” the third queen whispered. “Does anyone else know?” She asked, panic evident in her eyes. How she hated to let everyone in the house know she was upset. And when they found out why she was upset, she’d never hear the end of it.

“No. Everyone else is asleep.”

“Even-?”

“Even Cathy is asleep.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for keeping you awake. I’ll uh, I’ll be fine. You can go to bed if you’d like,” the blonde offered, not wanting her co-star to put herself out for her.

“I was already awake, Jane,” Aragon said in a reassuring tone. “I was actually on my way to make a cup of tea if you’d like to join.” Jane offered a small nod in return. It was only then that Catherine got a good look at the woman in front of her. Jane Seymour, the woman who was always so put together and strong now stood in front of her looking as if someone had kicked her puppy. The face that always had a bright smile on it was now stained with tears, a small frown displayed on her face. The hair that was always so neatly pinned back or pulled up, never a hair out of place- even when she first woke up- was now disheveled. The woman who normally stood so firmly while maintaining the aura that she was kind and warm now stood in a way where she looked smaller than she already was, arms wrapped around herself- almost as if she was trying to grasp for the reality that she was really there. The woman who was- for lack of a better word- unbreakable looked so broken. 

“Come on love. I was thinking of some of that pomegranate tea you love so much tonight. Does that sound like a plan to you?” The first queen held out a hand for the third to take. The blonde nodded, taking the hand hesitantly and allowed herself to be led down to the kitchen.

Catherine led the silver queen to the table and guided her into her seat before dancing around the kitchen to make the tea. It was quite odd in reality- Jane was always the one running the show in the kitchen, yet here she was allowing her best friend to do it for her. Not much later, Catalina had set a mug of tea in front of Jane who instinctively wrapped her hands around the mug, desperately praying the warmth being emitted from the cup would transfer to her soul.

“Now mija, what’s got you down?”

“I-” Jane bit the side of her lip. “I had a nightmare.” Catherine kept quiet. The blonde would continue talking eventually. “About Anne’s beheading.”

“Oh,” Catherine muttered. The two had sat many a night talking about this.

“I know that we’ve come to an agreement that it wasn’t my fault, and I wish I could say I whole-heartedly believe it, but I just can’t.” A stray tear fell, softly landing in her tea. “I was the reason she got beheaded. I could’ve stopped it. I didn’t even try. And because of me, she got beheaded. I died. Anna got divorced. Kat got beheaded. And Cathy was threatened with being beheaded.”

Were you-”

“I wasn’t looking for him,” Jane’s voice began to shake. “Father- he- Father told me if I didn’t move our family up in class, I was a failure. My brothers too. I- I wasn’t looking for him.”

“I know.”

“But it happened to be that he fancied me. Who was I to stop that? He was the king after all. But, if I knew what would’ve happened to Anne, I never would’ve done that. You know that, right?” Jane lifted her eyes from where they had been so focused on the mug in front of her to look at Catherine. There they were again, the broken eyes.

“I-”

“Catherine, please tell me you know that I never would’ve gone through with it if I had known she would be beheaded,” Jane pleaded, the tears falling like a river. They wouldn’t dry anytime soon. Her sobs wracked through her like an earthquake, her entire body trembling slightly at first, only to become more violent as she continued to silently. The silent storm- the most deadly. No one knew that it was happening- no one but the first and third queens.

After most of the tears subsided, tea long forgotten, the kind queen spoke quietly.

“You weren’t really coming down to get tea, were you?”

“No querida, I wasn’t. But I know that when Kat is having a hard time, you do the same thing for her. Why would I let you cry alone?”

“I- Thank you.”

II.

Instagrammer1549: Can we just talk about how all the other queens are serving looks, and then there’s Jane who looks like a mum?

Sixqueenswalkintoabar: She does look like a mum, but she pulls it off well, so who cares @Instagrammer1549

Roseamongstthethorns: jane you look just fine. You work mum jeans better than i ever could.

While what Roseamongstthethorns and Sixqueenswalkintoabar said was kind, all that Jane could see was Instagrammer1549 had commented on her post. And that led her to Anne’s room.

“Hey Annie? Are you in there?” Jane knocked on the door gently. 

“Give me a second!” The third queen laughed as she heard a crash before the door opened, revealing none other than Anne Boleyn herself.

“What’s up Janey?” The green queen leaned up against her door frame.

“So, I was on the instagram, and uh, here.” The third queen handed over her phone. The second queen looked over it for a second before a small frown drew itself on her face.

“So, they’re making fun of your outfit?” Jane nodded. “I don’t know why. I think the mum look suits you quite well actually.”

“Maybe I just need to get out of my comfort zone? I mean, I don’t know. You guys all look like... that. And there I am with a turtleneck and a cardigan. What if I gave it a try?”

“Well, I’ll help you if that’s what you want. But for what it’s worth, I think you make mum look good.”

So, a few hours later, the third queen and her predecessor were at the shops. 

“Try this on?” Anne held up a simple v-neck shirt.

“Isn’t that a little flashy?”

“Janey, it’s a simple v-neck. Your costume is much more revealing than this.” The blonde tried it on. She didn’t hate it.

“I suppose I could get on board with this. I’ll just make sure there isn’t too much cleavage.”

“And then, we pair it with a cute jean jacket- you can borrow one of mine- and some leggings. Simple enough, but stylish?”

“Okay, what about this?” Anne held up a sleeveless, black v-neck jumpsuit with sparkles along the waist.

“That’s... pretty.”

“Try it on?”

“What on Earth would I wear that for?”

“Jane, you realize we’re always doing some sort of interview or press junket, right? Pull this baby out, and-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try it on.” The third queen vanished into the dressing room before appearing again.

“I really like this one,” Jane admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Well? Do a little twirl! Come on Janey!” The blonde did a turn, and Anne cheered. “Okay Mum!”

“Should I get it?” Jane looked at the price tag. “Oh gosh. That’s quite expensive for my taste. You know I prefer to just shop at-”

“Jane! Come on! You never splurge on something for yourself! You deserve to- just this once! It looks great, you said so yourself!”

“Well, I suppose so.”

“Great! Now let’s look for some more casual stuff. Things that you can mix and match with some of your other clothing too!”

The two left the shops with various items of clothing- some fancy, some casual. The green queen stayed true to Jane’s fashion. Even the most revealing shirt that Jane had purchased had the essence that it was “mum”. 

Jane debuted one of her new looks the next day, much to the surprise of the second queen. She had the simple v-neck they had bought along with a jean jacket the woman with space buns let her borrow as well as grey leggings. She didn’t look half bad.

“Wow Janey! You look great!” Anne smiled as she stole a pancake from the plate.

“Annie!” the blonde scolded her lightly. “But, you really think so?” The third queen blushed and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah! You look so good! The messy bun? Never seen it done by you before, and you’re killing it! You look so good!”

Not long after, the other queens came down, all complimenting Jane.

“Wow. You look really nice Jane! Definitely different, but you still look like you! I love it!”

“We should all get dressed up and take cute pics today!” Kat smiled from her place at the table. “Would you wanna?”

“I think that’d be fun,” Jane, not normally one to opt to be in the photos, agreed.

A few weeks later, a situation where the queens had to dress up presented itself.

“Come on Janey! When we bought it, you loved it!”

“I know. It’s just... is it too revealing? We do have a younger audience. I don’t want to corrupt them.”

“Oh Mum,” Anne joked. “You saw what I’m wearing. The only two who dress moderately conservative are you and Aragon. Besides, I think the other queens will like what you have!”

Jane walked downstairs much later than the rest of the queens, having spent far too long looking at herself in the mirror and doubting the way she looked. Grabbing a cardigan (“It might be cold!” she would always insist, even on the warmest of nights), she made her way down the stairs.

“Hot damn Seymour!” Anna remarked when she saw the woman in black. 

“Do I look okay?” the blonde played with one of her loose curls.

“Mum! You look great!” the pink haired queen smiled.

When the queens posted about it the next day, no comments were made about Jane’s “mum look”, even though she had her cardigan on.

A few days later, Anne found a new set of wheels for her shoes with a simply note-

Thank you. -Janey

III.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. We can run it again, or we don’t have to. I’m so sorry,” Jane apologized profusely. 

“We can just call it a day, what do you guys think?” Cleves suggested, seeing the clear distress that the silver queen was going through trying to learn the choreography. 

“But J-”

“I said I think we can call it a day,” Cleves stated with finality. She didn’t miss the look of gratefulness that the third queen shot her. 

“Alright girls. Home for dinner?” The silver queen had already gathered her things and was ready to leave.

“Seymour?” The woman who was always in red could hear the blonde clearly running through the routines in her room.

“Oh dammit,” the silver queen cursed quietly. “Give me a second!” The third queen could be heard making her way to her bed before allowing Cleves to come in.

“Hey Seymour.”

“Hi Anna!” Jane, now on her bed with a book open in her lap, looked up.

“I know you weren’t reading a second ago.”

“Ah, you caught me. How’d you know?”

“I could hear you tripping over your own feet and quiet curses. I figured I might be able to help you? With the choreography?”

“You know what? I would really appreciate that.” Jane set her book and glasses aside before standing back up. “I’m having a bit of trouble learning the choreography, but I don’t want to hold everyone up at rehearsal. I just come home and practice when I can. I guess I wasn’t that sneaky, was I?”

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who knows. I’ve heard you for a couple days now. So what parts are you having trouble with Seymour?”

“Would you laugh if I said all of it?”

The two were making their way through “Ex-Wives”. 

“I just don’t have the hips!” Jane laughed.

“You do have hips!”

“Well, I do have them!” the blonde couldn’t help but laugh. “I just don’t quite know how to use them!”

“And that’s why I’m here. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be the queen of twerking if I can help it!

“Absolutely not! I’m more than happy to leave that title to you!”

“So, the dance break in No Way?”

“Well, the first part is mostly just poses. You have your poses, right?”

“I’m bad at dancing Anna, not posing. Although, I do have to admit, I practice them in the mirror quite often.”

“Oh my god, Seymour. Well, for what it’s worth, they look pretty good.”

“Okay, so the dance break is where I get really confused.”

The two queens worked hard into the night. Promising to go through the other songs the next day, the two went to bed.

“You ready for Boleyn’s song?”

“I actually have this one down I think. I practiced the little dance thing in the mirror a lot this morning. That was the only thing that was really tripping me up.”

“Nice! And my song?”

“Oh, that’s another story,” Jane let out a full belly laugh.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

The two made their way through Get Down and Haus of Holbein before calling it a night, the blonde quite sore from doing all the squats.

“You know, maybe next time you offer, I’ll actually come to the gym with you.”

And so, once the two finished their choreography practice, they found themselves at the gym.

“Wow! Janey, when did you figure all of this out?” Anne was shocked that Jane wasn’t tripping over feet anymore.

“I uh,”

“Guess it just clicked. Right Seymour?” The fourth queen shot her a look, knowing the blonde sometimes had a hard time admitting she needed to ask for help.

“I uh, actually no. Cleves found me practicing late one night, and I asked her to help me out. Thanks Anna.” The third queen’s smile shone brightly. 

“Oh, uh, no problem.”

“You know you didn’t have to tell them I helped you out, right?”

“I know. Thank you for helping me out again. And for letting me join you at the gym,” The silver queen, now donned in athletic wear, smiled as she wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.

IV. 

“Hey Mum,” Katherine curled into her mother figure on the couch.

“Hi love,” Jane adjusted the way she was sitting so it was a bit easier on her body, groaning slightly.

“Are you okay?” Kat caught on to the way the older woman moved.

“I’m just fine dear. Just a bit tired from working out with Cleves last night. I think I might have pulled a muscle in my back too. And, to top it all off, I think my period is coming.”

“Oh. Uh, is there anything I can do to help you out?”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to make a cup of tea. Unfortunately, I really did myself in with this back of mine.”

“I’ll make it for you! The pomegranate tea?” Jane gave her a thumbs up.

A few minutes later, the fifth queen returned, two mugs in hand. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I made myself some too. I thought it might be nice to try the tea you love?”

“Not a problem dear. You know what’s mine is yours.” The pink haired woman nodded as she placed the mugs down, twirling around to go back into the kitchen.

“I just have to grab a few more things.” Katherine came back into the living room juggling a heating pad, some pain relievers, and a few snacks she knew her mother figure enjoyed- dark chocolate, some pickles, an apple... a strange combination, but the blonde appreciated it nonetheless.

“Thank you honey. I really appreciate it.” The older woman popped the pills into her mouth and took a swig of her tea.

“It’s not a problem! Just want to make sure that you’re comfortable like you do for us when we’re a bit sore. I’ll be on my way now I suppose. Have a nice relaxing day!” Kat moved the television remote closer to Jane and began to make her way up the steps with her cup of tea when she heard a small plea.

“It’d be nice if you stayed?” Jane offered. “It can be kind of boring when no one else is around.

“If you really want me to stay, I will.” The queen clad in pink made her way over to the couch, sitting a bit further away from the woman in white than she usually would.

“Come here love,” Jane sighed, opening her arms for her daughter to curl into.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you or put a strain on your back or anything.”

“I’m positive. If it becomes uncomfortable, I’ll let you know. I’m just a bit sore love, not broken or anything.” And so, the two settled in on the couch together. “Anything you want to watch dear?”

“Oh uh, whatever is fine. I don’t really mind.”

“How does some reality television sound?” Truth be told, Jane didn’t fancy the reality television shows that the youngest queen loved so much. She had the entire house fooled- if it meant Katherine would sit with her and spend time with her though, it was worth listening to clearly staged fights and watching the ridiculously sappy moments of romance on screen. Kat nodded, finding the latest episode (because of course the duo was up to date with each and every show the younger woman loved).

Not long after the silver queen had finished a few bites of chocolate, the heating pad, along with the heat radiating from the woman curled into her side, had lulled her to sleep. The women in the house knew that if the third queen was sleeping, she needed it, and under no circumstances were they to wake her. This wasn’t exactly Jane’s rule, but the other queens deemed it a necessary rule without the blonde knowing it. 

“Janey fell asleep?” Anne wandered into the living room.

“Yeah, probably like 20 minutes ago?”

“Oh shit. So, we have to wait for dinner?”

“We’ll see how long she’s out for this time. If she’s out by the time we need to start dinner, I’ll just make it.”

“Okay. I’m off to go do big bitch energy things. Text me when it’s safe for me to come back into the house.”

“Oh, actually, could you grab my phone for me? It’s in my room.”

“Yeah dude. And then, I really am off to go to big bitch energy things. Lord knows I don’t need to wake Janey up again by accident. I still can’t believe how much Lina went off on me for that.”

“You know she’s just protective over Mum sometimes.”

“I know, but Jane wasn’t even pissed with me. It was all Aragon. Anyway, let me go grab your phone.” Anne returned a few moments later and began to throw the phone.

“Annie, don’t throw it!” Katherine called a moment too late. The phone landed in the blonde’s lap with a thud. 

“Shit,” Anne whispered. The two cousins held their breath, silently praying the third queen wouldn't wake up. After a few seconds, it became clear that she wouldn’t wake, and the two let go of the breath they were holding. “Well, on that note! I’m leaving!”

[the queens] Kat: mum’s asleep. no one comes back to the house and wakes her.

        Anne: @lina before u say anythin... im already outta the house n doing big bich energy things

        Anna: y was i not invited

        Anne: if u wanna come i didn leave yet. i can wait

        Anna: b out in a sec

        Catherine: Good riddance. Don't call if you get arrested. Cath and I are probably going to stay at the coffee shop and while longer then. Maybe get some shopping done so Jane doesn’t have to when she wakes up tonight  (because we all know she’ll be asleep for a long time)

        Cathy: Please call if you get arrested. @Lina, Jane wouldn’t be too happy if you left them.

        Kat: jus dnt call mum unless i txt shes awake first

Hours later, the woman who had been lulled to sleep was still dead to the world, leaving Katherine to try to figure out how to untangle herself from her mother’s arms to make dinner.

“What’s for dinner again?” the pink queen muttered to herself as she made her way to the kitchen, finally having succeeded in standing up without waking Jane. Glancing at the “weekly menu” the blonde made, she discovered that it was simply a pasta night.

“I can manage that,” the fifth queen chuckled with confidence.

And she did. Unbeknownst to the other queens, Katherine could cook. It turns out it pays off to watch the blonde flit around the kitchen and prepare meals, occasionally helping with small things like making sure that the pasta was stirred every so often and chopping up vegetables when needed. The fifth queen had succeeded in making copious amounts of pasta, heating the various sauces that the queens liked, along with cooking chicken, meatballs, and sausage for the queens to enjoy. She managed to chop up a selection of vegetables and lay them out on the table without cutting her fingers- a situation she often found herself in when helping her mother. As she was setting the table, the other four queens made their way into the house as quietly as they could, knowing Jane was asleep since Katherine hadn’t texted that she had woken up.

“Hey guys,” Katherine made her way into the living room from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready and-”

“Holy shit that smells good,” Anna’s mouth began to water at the smell.

“Did you do this?” Aragon looked at the woman with the apron.

“I uh, yeah? I figured Mum needed sleep so I just took on cooking dinner for tonight?”

“And it’s not from a box?” Cathy laughed quietly.

“Believe it or not,” a raspy voice, the voice of a newly awake Jane Seymour, spoke up as she stood and stretched. “Kat can cook. She just chooses not to.”

“I-” The pink queen had been caught red-handed- literally. The woman had spilled a bit of the marina sauce on her hand and was about to clean it up when she heard the others arrive home. “Uh, dinner’s ready. I was just setting the table.”

Later that night, Katherine came knocking on Jane’s door.

“Come in!” The gentle voice called. When Kat opened the door, Jane smiled sleepily.

“I was just checking that you’re alright,” the fifth queen stuttered. “You know, with your back and all.”

“It’s not 100% yet, but that’s to be expected. I’m sure I wouldn’t be feeling as good as I do if you hadn’t stepped up and helped out your old mum. Thank you sweetheart.”

“I, uh, yeah.” Kat scratched the back of her head. “You’re welcome. I’m heading to bed now, so uh, goodnight?” She made her way over to the woman laying in her bed and kissed her cheek.

“You don’t want to hang out in here tonight?”

“I just didn’t want to bother you or your back,” Kat admitted.

“Nonsense. You know you’re never a bother. Go grab your things.”

A few moments later, the two were laying in bed together, happily watching a house hunting show in silence.

“Thank you for a wonderful day love.” Jane kissed the younger girl’s hairline and fell asleep.

She would wake up the next morning feeling much better.

V.

Jane Seymour had never been the most literate person. Hell, she had a hard time signing her name on various documents. Catherine Parr, one who people wouldn’t expect to be so observant because her head was always in her books, picked up on the way it would take the blonde several seconds to sign her name. Or how she would look slightly terrified when they were handed notes on their show. Or how she tended to listen to audiobooks as opposed to reading the book, like the rest of them would. Or how she really only knew how to write the letters in her name, and that was all the writer had ever seen her write. How she made voice memos of grocery lists instead of writing them in her notes like she or Catherine would.

“I’m going to the store. Would anyone like anything?” Jane called from the front room. A few voices responded with various groceries.

“Just send me a text please. I’ll pick them up.”

“Would you like me to go with you?” Cathy offered.

“If you’d like.”

“That’s fine. I think I need a moment or two away from my laptop anyway,” the writer shrugged. 

“Did, did you just get Cathy to take a break from work?” Aragon peered at the blonde from her place on the couch.

“Oh hush. You all act like I’m a work-a-holic.”

“That’s because you are. Now, get your coat on. Come on.” She turned to face the stairs before hollering, “If you need anything, text me!”

The two were at the grocery store when the sixth queen noticed something a bit strange. Her blonde co-star had popped an earbud in. Only then did she realize that the third queen was clicking on what the others had texted and was listening to the words they had typed. Deciding to brush it off, she allowed the blonde to go about this strange habit she had.

The third queen thought she was home alone. It really was quite easy to forget that Cathy was home sometimes, locked away in her bedroom working on her writing. Jane was curled up on the couch, the warmth of the fire reflecting off of her face as she struggled to read a simple book she had bought recently. Little did she know, the writer was watching her diligently.

“Shit,” Jane sighed. She pulled out her phone and typed the word into google before playing the word quietly and repeating it a few times. “What the hell does that mean?” She highlighted the definition before having her phone read it out loud to her.

“Hey Jane!” Cathy made her presence known. “What are you reading?” She sat down next to the blonde.

“I uh, it’s this book about uh-” Jane took a deep breath before continuing. “-I don’t really know if I’m being honest. I’ve been trying to get better at reading, but it’s kind of confusing.”

“What’s confusing about it?” The writer asked in a genuine tone, not mocking or belittling.

“I uh, I don’t really know. I’ve just never been the best reader or writer. Sorry. This must seem so stupid to you, you know, being a writer and all. I guess I’ll just stick to my audio books and things like that.”

“I don't think it’s stupid. I think it’s very admirable that you’re trying to get better. It can be really tough at first. Would you like some help? With reading and writing?”

“I- I think I’d like that.”

The two bought various books, and after a few weeks, Jane was reading better. Not quite to the standard that she had hoped, but the sixth queen assured her it was a process and to be proud of the advances she had made in such a short time.

“What problems do you have with writing?”

“I never really learned penmanship, as you could probably tell from my signature in our old lives. I picked up on my signature and simple phrases like ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ for you girls. Other than that, I don’t even really know how to write most of the letters in the alphabet properly,” the third queen confessed, a shade of crimson becoming apparent on her face.

“That’s alright. Penmanship can be quite hard. But, if you already have small phrases known, you know a good amount of letters already. And, you seem to have practiced your signature quite a bit. It looks wonderful,” the blue queen encouraged.

“Thank you. I’ve practiced... a lot.”

“Well, it’s paid off. Maybe we could go to the bookstore and find a book to help?”

“I think that’d be nice.”

The least literate queen quickly became an avid reader and her penmanship became much better thanks to the first woman in England to publish a book. As her penmanship got better and she became more confident with her skills, the sixth queen noticed that Jane’s handwriting was appearing more and more often. Whether it be grocery lists or simple notes to her fellow queens letting them know she was going out and not to worry about her, she always seemed to be practicing. The times of the blonde popping in an earbud to listen to the grocery requests became less frequent, and she wasn't afraid to ask the blue queen for help if she didn’t quite understand a word.

A few months into Jane Seymour’s literary adventures, a note was slipped under Cathy’s bedroom door late one night while she was working. She recognized the, what was once sloppy and hard to read but now clean and neat, handwriting immediately- a sense of joy overwhelming her.

Cathy,

I know I’ve said time and time again how thankful I am that you’ve been able to help me with my reading and writing skills. I figured this would be as good a time as any to show you my skills. So, this note was written without any help from a dictionary or a phone to help me figure out how to spell something. Thank you for having faith in me and not giving up on me- even when I wanted to give up on myself. Thank you for not looking down on me for not having these skills before. I know it might’ve been easy to brush me off seeing that you’re the first woman in England to publish work. But you didn’t. I am so thankful that you decided to help me. You are truly a kind and wonderful woman. Gold star for you Cathy Parr. Thank you. I love you.

-Janey

Catherine Parr considered this her most prized possession, setting it on her desk for her to see every time she sat at her desk- which was quite frequently.

VI.

The queens had sat down for an interview, and the interviewer was quite rude to the third queen to say the least. He wasn’t necessarily kind to the other women, but he was certainly the worst when it came to Jane Seymour.

“Now, I do have a question for all of you- besides Miss Seymour.”

“Of course,” Jane muttered under her breath. She was truly getting sick of taking the brunt of this man’s hatred.

“How can you stand living with this boring and bland woman who claims she’s the only one Henry truly loved? Don’t you think she is the least deserving to be in this show of yours?” the interviewer asked with a devious smirk on his face.

“Who the hell approved that question?” Cleves was quick to speak.

“Ladies, I assure you no one approved that question,” the woman behind the camera spoke. “I’m so sorry. This interview is over, and you are fired, effective immediately. Leave.” The woman directed the last part at the interviewer.

“What? I just asked a question.”

“An incredibly rude question. I advise you to get out now, because this is my property, and because you are no longer an employee here, I do believe you’re trespassing without my permission.”

“No,” Catherine of Aragon stated, putting a hand up. “He asked a question. Why don’t we answer it queens?”

“Ladies, you don’t have to. His behavior was abhorrent. I assure you, none of this will air, and you will still be compensated for your efforts.”

“I think we should answer it,” Cathy agreed. 

“Keep the cameras rolling. You’re gonna want a video of this,” Anne grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Queens, please don’t,” Jane practically squeaked, tears evident in her eyes.

“Why not Mum?”

“Because what he said was right,” Jane breathed out.

“No. Absolutely not,” Katherine shook her head, disgusted that this man who meant nothing to them could manipulate her mother into believing she was bland and boring.

“I advise you to listen closely- because I’m only going to say this once,” Katherine stared down this man, this being the first time she had ever stood up to a man without fear. “My mum is absolutely the least boring person on the earth, and you have no right to say anything about her. She is the most kind and caring person that I’ve ever met. She is insanely talented, she has a heart of gold, and she has more class in her pinky than you do in your entire body. She only says she’s the only one he truly loved because that’s how she went down in history.”

“Believe it or not, she tried to get us to take that part out because she didn’t want to offend the rest of us,” Cathy interjected.

“Jane is the least boring person I know. She might have this whole mum thing going for her, which we all know the queendom loves, and we wouldn’t trade her for the world. She keeps us- us being Anna, Kat, and me- in order. She’s a hell of a cook and a baker. She can be the silliest person when she wants to be. She is not boring or bland, and it is ridiculous to think that people think of her like that.” Anne crossed her arms, glaring at the man.

“What Seymour chooses to publish on social media is definitely not as risque as the rest of us. She chose that. What you guys don’t see is all of the things she doesn’t post. There are so many pictures of her being silly and making faces. She’s tried heelying with Bo. She’s been the mastermind between many pranks that go on in the house. She’s not afraid to get down and work out with me. She likes to keep it a bit more PG than most of us because she’s so very aware that we tend to have a younger fanbase, even with our show being a bit sexual at times. Seymour is the least boring person we know. She may not post all of the silly hijinks that happen,- and we don’t either because we don’t want to invade her privacy like that- but she is absolutely deserving of being a part of this family as any of us are. You know, the entire point of our show is to show how far we’ve come since we’ve been reincarnated. To show that we shouldn’t be compared. We are all here, and we are a family. We don’t need absolute morons with a single brain cell like you trying to tear down the family we’ve created. Suck on that, you buffoon,” Cleves practically yelled at the man.

“We were all the wives of the same man. Just because she may have gone down in history as ‘the only one he truly loved’ doesn’t mean she’s any less deserving of being in the show than the rest of us. And she is a wonderful person to live with. She makes sure we’re all okay when we’re sick or are having a rough day. She’s the first one to make a silly face and ‘ruin’ a picture. If you can believe it, it’s not Bo. She’s always surprising us with new things everyday- like when she beat Anna in an arm wrestling competition. She’s always striving to become a better person and show the world all the kindness and love that she has in her heart. She is far from bland and boring, and she is an absolute pleasure to work with and live with. She keeps our family together,” Aragon spoke a bit more level-headed than the rest of them, but her tone and glare towards the interviewer showed that she meant every word she had said.

“And with that, I think this interview is over,” Katherine stated with finality.

“Piss off. She’s still the bland wife,” the interviewer muttered.

“I’m so sorry, what was that?” Cleves stood from her chair.

“You clearly heard me,” the man also stood, trying to make an advance towards the red queen.

“Security, I think it’s about time you take this disgusting ex-employee out of here,” the woman behind the camera snarled to the men who had been behind her from the beginning. The man was escorted out quickly.

“I’m so sorry for the behavior that my ex-employee exhibited,” the woman sighed. “I do hope you know that none of that was planned, and he will not be getting his job back.”

“That was pretty clear,” Anne laughed.

“Miss Seymour, I’m so sorry for the-”

“It’s quite alright. It’s very clear not everyone here thought that way, and I’m sorry for the trouble we caused.”

“You six have nothing to apologize for. I do hope that we can try to reschedule another interviewer, perhaps with myself, if you’re still interested. Although, I do have to say I would completely understand if you decide to pull out of this interview after that experience.”

“I think that we could arrange something,” Jane smiled a bit for the first time since entering the building.

Later that night, Jane was in her room when she heard a light knock at the door. 

“Come in?” She called. When the door opened, she was met with the five other queens. “Hey girls.”

“I hope you know that we meant every word we said at that interview,” Catalina offered as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“We really did. That idiot-”

“I believe the word you chose was ‘buffoon’,” Anne laughed.

“That buffoon,” Anna continued. “was an absolute fool to think he could go after you like that and expect us to not defend you. Absolutely moronic.”

“Thank you girls. I really appreciate your efforts.”

“Please tell us you know that you aren’t bland and boring mum. Please,” Kat pleaded.

“As much as I wish I could, I still have those thoughts about myself sometimes,” the blonde admitted bashfully.

“Well, we’ll just keep reminding you that you’re amazing, and we love you just the way you are,” Cathy assured the silver queen.

“Thank you loves.”

So, maybe Jane Seymour wasn’t unbreakable. But in reality, her family was always right there to pick up her broken pieces and put her back together. Her family.

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart - Part 4 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Things are heating up. A bit. Like at least a simmer. 

Brock was an emotional child. He said it on the show and it’s the truth. Growing up, he was labeled “too sensitive,” the little boy who rescued spiders instead of stomping them, who cried over books (don’t even get him started on Where the Red Fern Grows) and was quiet at birthday parties. It didn’t take him long as a teenager to realize that being that sort of person was not okay at all (what are you GAY or something?), and so brick by brick, he built walls. 

You keep walls up long enough and you start to think they’ve always been there. That you’ve always been a private person, the kind that would make a joke instead of acknowledging a shared pain.  The kind that would force a smile while the world was ending.

You start to think, maybe, you were born with those walls around your heart.

Maybe the walls are your heart.  

But Brock knows that even brick doesn’t last forever. In Toronto you’d see the old buildings starting to crumble in the winter, damaged by water that froze and cracked their foundations.  Brick walls can chip, can shatter.  Brock’s spent his twenties and early thirties in perpetual maintenance because he knows (he knows) you let a little bit of emotion through, you lose a little bit of self-control, and you lose everything.

Sometimes he feels an odd sort of - not jealousy exactly, but something hungry around queens like Yvie, queens that can go places, be self-righteous and furious and vulnerable, without falling completely to pieces.  Queens like Silky who can rage and shout and then move on like the storm never came.

Queens like Vanjie.

Episode 6 is a tough watch. Vanjie crying in the werkroom is physically painful, and Brock puts on a brave face, smiles for his friends and does not let his walls down. He can’t afford to.

Episode 7 is tough in a different way. It’s beyond uncomfortable watching himself talk about personal things on television, hard not to feel like the worst sort of demure Canadian stereotype.  He watches Untucked at an after-after-party, and that’s even worse. Everyone seems to love his stupid face, mugging for the fucking camera (and he remembers being a little buzzed but nowhere near as drunk as the world seems to think he is.  Those cocktails are more than half ice and probably watered-down vodka anyway.)

More than that, though, is the sight of Vanjie. He hates the way her eyes go dark with surprise and injury after Yvie calls her out. He hates the argument that follows. He even hates the sight of himself building a fucking pillow-fort (incredible legs aside, he’s not blind). It seemed funny enough at the time but now - not so much.

Sometime around 2 am, his phone rings. 

Brock is not asleep. He fumbles for a moment on the side table, forgetting briefly that he’s in a hotel and not in his own bed. (He’s always in a hotel these days.  And that’s fine.  It’s fine.) 

“‘lo?”

“Hi mama.”

Breathe in.  Hold.  Breathe out.

“Hi papi.”

There is music in the background, dulled slightly but still Brock can make out the thump of a DJ, the thunder of a dancefloor. Jose must be in the dressing room of a club. 

Brock imagines him, shining with sweat after a show, out of heels but still in lip gloss.  If he closes his eyes he can see him, an image distorted by fantasy and loss, bright strokes of crimson oil-paint. 

“How you doing?” Jose asks and Brock swallows down a million replies that are too painful to say. 

Instead - because he bottles up his feelings like a normal person - he says “Good.” (There are walls around his heart, and they are wrapped in thorns.) “Good. How are you?”

“I’m good.” 

Both of them breathe together, and it’s simultaneously too intimate and too distant. The last time they spoke - the last time Brock heard this voice there were tears in his eyes and bile in his mouth and ashes all over the runway - 

“Good,” he says stupidly, and Jose laughs. 

It’s a brittle sort of laugh, but Brock still  wishes to God he hadn’t heard it.  Jose’s laugh is something deadly, a poison-tipped arrow straight to the heart.  

“Just watching the show tonight, girl. Thought I’d give you a call.”

“Okay.” Brock hesitates to respond, certain he’s going to fuck this up.  It’s the first time in months he’s got Jose on the phone; fucking it all up is the only possible option. 

“It’s a trip, hey, seeing it on TV. Feels like I’m watching someone else.”

“Yeah,” Brock says.  Fuck, he’s really cementing those accusations of having no personality. Say something. Say something.

But he doesn’t. There is too much unsaid between them, all those words stacking up behind Brock’s teeth when he tries to speak, his throat when he tries to swallow. He’s imagined this conversation too many times to count, and now all he can do is listen in silence to the sound of Jose’s breathing, still audible over the music that’s pulsing like a heartbeat in another room.

“Loved you on Untucked, making all them faces. Must’ve been hard listenin’ to me go off in the background, feelin’ so embarrassed.”

“I wasn’t –“

“Gotta build a pillow fort to hide in or some shit.  Real hilarious. Real comedy queen.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Brock interrupts, but now that he thinks about it – he can see how it might have looked that way.  And he knows Jose was feeling sensitive already about that night, can remember the moment afterwards in his hotel room (“I wanna be better than that,” and his hand on Jose’s throat, sparks flying from their lips, his tongue -) 

Stop.

He can’t think about that right now.

“Whatever,” Jose says at last.  He sounds exhausted. “I’m not coming for you. Sorry, I’m working too much, not sleeping. You know how we do. I’m kinda fading out.”

He sighs, and Brock swears he can feel the ghost of that sigh against his neck. It raises goosebumps all up the length of his arms, his shoulder blades.

“Where are you?”

“NYC, baby. Where you at?”

Brock almost doesn’t want to tell him. “Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.”

“The fuck - that ain’t a real place.”

“Swear to God.  It’s in Canada.”

“Ha, now that explains it. Didn’t know you got cell service up there, in your igloos or whatever.”

“You are such a dick.”

“Don’t lie, girl, we know you love -” Jose stops himself. Brock can basically hear the smile sliding off his face. 

He’d forgotten how easy it was, when it was just the two of them.  Forgotten how fast he could fall.

“Anyway, um.” Jose clears his throat.  “I called because of all this online shit – I shoulda said before – it ain’t me. I didn’t want you to think - cuz I’m not postin’ shit right now, and –"

“Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I shoulda told you sooner. My manager’s paying someone for it, some toddler or something, right? I know we’re s’posed to be all nasty for the fans but it just –“

“It’s not me either,” Brock says quickly. “Someone else is writing it.”

There’s a short silence on the other end of the line. Then Jose laughs again, warm and real this time (Brock has to put out a hand to steady himself even though he’s lying down.)

“Girl, what? I didn’t know that! That’s crazy! Meanwhile I’m feeling so – all these queens tonight were reading me for it, and I was like ‘bitch, mind your business!’ This is some kinda twisted.”

Brock laughs too, helplessly. This whole situation is so fucking ridiculous, it’s unbelievable.

He’s riding the high of Jose’s laughter, feeling like he can breathe for the first time in months, and that’s the only reason he says: “It’s good to hear your voice.” 

Jose stops laughing.  

There is silence again, only broken by the bass thumping in the background. Brock thinks about how quickly he could be in New York if he caught a standby flight.  If Jose asked him - 

Say something, Brock. Fuck’s sake, say something.

“Thought you’d’ve heard enough of it by now.” Jose’s gone a bit quiet.  Brock wonders if he has that crease on his forehead that means he’s upset. Wishes he could smooth it away with the pad of his thumb.

“That will never happen.” He can’t imagine a world where that voice doesn’t do something to him, doesn’t wake up some hidden place that hasn’t seen sunshine in years. “Jose -”

The music suddenly gets louder, and there’s another voice in the background. Jose says something that Brock can’t quite hear.  Someone else laughs.

“Shit, girl, I gotta go. You be good now. I’ll -“ Jose cuts himself off abruptly. Brock waits. Waits. The rest of the sentence never comes, but Jose doesn’t hang up. Brock hears him swear under his breath.

It shouldn’t be like this, Brock wants to scream into the phone. You knew me.  You knew me once.  You left glitter on my pillow.

“Can I call you?” he asks instead. “Later. Or whenever. Just to –” He suddenly doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“To?”

“Plan,” is the first word that comes into his head. “Plan - for that episode.  Like, how we’re going to react.  What we should say.”

“Oh.” Jose takes a deep breath. “Sure, yeah. I gotta go, Brock. You – call me later.”

“Okay. Um. Try to get some sleep.” 

“Not much chance of that, girl. But what ya gonna do?”

The call ends. Brock closes his eyes.

The sudden silence feels heavy on his chest, like one of those weighted blankets Nina’s always telling him to get.  He puts his phone to the side. With his eyes closed he can still see that back-room in the club, Jose taking off his lashes, rolling his shoulders. Brock can almost feel sore muscles beneath his hands, and his fingers twitch against his sheets.

Oh if you were mine. 

That’s from a song, right? He can’t remember which one, but it runs in his head as he doesn’t sleep, over and over like a pinwheel spinning.

(And Brock doesn’t know it now, can’t feel it, but somewhere in the walls he’s built, a crack is starting to form.  

It spreads through his foundation, shifting it just slightly.  Not enough that anyone would notice.  

Not yet.)

* * *

The night after Farm to Runway, Brooke is wired and awake and trying unsuccessfully to get into a trashy thriller that her mom leant her - when there’s a knock at her door. 

She doesn’t know what to expect  when she opens it. Maybe a P.A. with a note from Vee, maybe a producer about to institute a strict “one-cocktail-per-Untucked” limit. 

She’s not expecting Vanessa herself, wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt, looking more nervous than Brooke’s ever seen her.

“Hey mama. Can I come in?”

“Uh -”

Behind Vanjie, a little baby-lesbian with a badass haircut and Harry Potter glasses gives a short nod.  

“This is Maya, she’s real sweet, she said we got five minutes. Bye Maya!” Vanjie steps through Brooke’s doorway, shutting it behind her.

“Holy shit.” Brooke just stares at her for a moment. “You’re breaking all the rules now, huh.”

“Yeah, just call me muthafucking Willam. This your digs, huh? Shoulda known you’d be crazy tidy. Bitch, you even got shit hanging in the closet? GIRL. You hang up your t-shirts? My Abuela woulda loved you, for real.”

The hyperactive and adorable narration isn’t totally abnormal for Vanjie and yet - something about it strikes Brooke as odd tonight. Uneasy. 

“So - you came here to check out my room?”

“Nah, I just. Thought I’d come see ya. Didn’t get much chance to - to -” Vanjie’s  hands flutter through the air, restlessly. “Wanted to talk in the van but you know, with Big Silky around, there’s not much chance of that.”

“Okay…” Brooke sits down on the edge of her bed. Vanjie can’t seem to stop moving, shifting from one foot to the other. “What did you want to talk about?”

“All that, you know, shit this evening.” The corner of Vanjie’s mouth twitches up. “Thought maybe you’d be feeling some kinda way about it.  About me.”

So that’s what this is. Brooke follows the movement of Vanjie’s hands - pulling at a sleeve, ruffling her hair, twisting together like rope.

“I don’t -”

“Don’t say nothing, lemme finish. I don’t know why it got so real tonight, fucking Yvie coming for me  - but I’m not getting into it again, she has her own shit to deal with and we’re gonna - we’ll be good. But I clocked the way you were looking at me, there was a moment there - and I thought I had to tell you, you know, that I don’t do that shit on the regular. That’s not me.”

“Wait - you don’t have to apologize or -”

“I don’t wanna be that bitch. You know, I’ve been that bitch before, and I wanna be better than that.”

“Vanjie,” Brooke stands back up, stepping across the room and stopping the movements of Vanjie’s hands with her own. 

Vanjie immediately looks up at her, tilting her jaw back like it’s a challenge.  

Her fingers are warm. They slide gently against Brooke’s. 

“I like the way you are,” Brooke says, and Vanjie does that odd, slanted smile that Brooke’s seen so many times in the werkroom, the one that makes something spark and stutter in Brooke’s chest. 

“Who wouldn’t?  I mean -” Vanjie does a little shimmy but doesn’t let go of Brooke’s hands. And self-deprecating is not really something Brooke thought she’d see in this queen, but that’s what this feels like.  Whether the girl is shimmying or not.

“Yes, we all know you’re fucking gorgeous. But I don’t just mean - that.” Brooke’s throat is getting tight, and she flashes back to her conversation with Ru that afternoon (talking about serious things always makes me cry.  It gives me anxiety just thinking about it.) 

Fuck.  Congrats Brooke on being the whitest person in Drag Race herstory.

“I mean.  I like the way you are.” Brooke releases a breath, and if she gets teary-eyed now she’s going to throw herself off the balcony. She removes one hand from Vanjie’s grasp, lifts it to the side of Vanjie’s face. “Like, all of it.”

Something creases between Vanjie’s brows, a tiny flicker of pain that is instantly smoothed over. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then she leans her head into Brooke’s palm. 

“Bitch, why your hands so soft?” Vanessa murmurs, and Brooke drags her other hand up over Vanjie’s throat, and wishes that the world outside that closed door could just go away for one night. Just give them one night alone together, give Brooke one night to touch Vanjie every where she wants to, memorize the freckles on her hips and the ticklish places on her knees and suck her off and hold her close and kiss her until she was drunk with it, kiss her until

- you know what, fuck it.

Brooke hauls Vanjie up, off the ground and into her arms. Vanjie laughs low and rough as she wraps her legs around Brooke’s hips, and Brooke walks them backwards until Vanjie is pressed against the hotel room wall and they are kissing, mouths open and hot and wet. 

When their hips grind together, it feels like a gun going off. Brooke’s knees are shaking already.

Vanjie uses her tongue like it’s a weapon, kisses as demanding as her personality, and Brooke’s never felt like this, never. This isn’t a quick peck in the werkroom or backstage lounge, this is finally getting Vanjie where Brooke wants her, finally getting her alone. 

“Will you fuck me?” Vanjie pulls back, eyes dazed and lips swollen.  “I want you to, I been thinking about it -”

“Oh my god,” Brooke whispers, because yes to that, right now that is the only thing she wants in the whole world. 

Vanjie’s hands are on Brooke’s t-shirt, pushing it up as she scrapes her teeth along the edge of Brooke’s jaw.  Brooke frees one of her hands to fist it in Vanjie’s hair, tilting her head back so their mouths meet again.

“You gotta,” Vanjie says, “Please. I can’t stop wanting it.” 

“Okay.” Brooke’s beyond reason at this point, can’t think about anything except the warm body writhing against hers and how to get them both naked as soon as fucking possible.

A knock at the door makes them both freeze. 

Their eyes meet in horror - like they’re teenagers whose parents have come home too early - before the absurdity of the situation hits them both at the same time, and they start giggling like idiots. 

“Start the clock, bitch!” Vanjie yells, and Brooke snorts with laughter, and then they’re kissing again, smiling against each other’s lips. Brooke waits for reality to kick in, hoping it will take its time.

But it doesn’t (the knock at the door comes again, slightly more insistent.)

“Damn it.  Okay. Okay. Just -” Brooke reluctantly lowers Vanjie to the floor, both of them moaning at the delicious slide of contact between their bodies. “I’m not getting us kicked off Drag Race.”

“It’d be worth it, baby,” Vanjie purrs, batting her eyelashes until Brooke has no choice but to lean down and kiss her again, hands winding in her hair, Christ, she tastes like peppermint and cream soda and -

“Wait.  Okay.” Brooke drops her hands, fists clenching. “No, don’t look at me like that. I can’t - “

“Like this?” Vanessa grins all sly and sexy up at her.

“Yes, like -” Brooke has to take a few steps backwards, putting some distance between them while she can. 

“Ugh, you’re a monster, it’s not fair.” Vanjie straightens up her shirt, tries to pat her hair into something less obvious.  “You get to look so fine, and send me packing?” 

“It’ll be worth it,” Brooke says, not certain what she’s talking about.  Worth the wait? Worth the prize? Worth a month in a sparkly warzone shooting glances at each other over sewing machines?  “When I win, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Ha! Fuck that, Mary, you just try it.  You can use some of my money to wipe your tears.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a dick.” Brooke shakes her head, and Vanjie winks.

“Yeah, well, you know you love it.” She crosses to the door. “Night night Brooky Poo.”

Brooke stares after her long after she’s gone, knees still shaking.  

Mouth still sweet as peppermint.