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sugarcoated-eloquence · 4 years

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Foreboding (Targets: Part 2)

A/N: Hello, hello! Welcome to the shitshow, aka my blog. This is part two of a potential 4/5 part series that I am co-writing with the lovely @sweetestrequiems. Click here for Part 1. Each chapter is focused on a different queen or issue related to the queens. This specific chapter is Catherine Parr centric, but the other queens are all very present.

Please note the following ships are canon in this fic’s universe: Parrlyn, Aramour

{Trigger warnings: anxiety, mention of blood, slight violence}

I should also note some passages are written in German and Spanish and should be google searched to better comprehend the story.

Taglist: @sweetestrequiems, @theatergirl06, @silverpetals97, @six-fragile-dreams, @patdfobmcr-yt, @frogs-in-clogs, @mindless-pidgeon

Other than that..... enjoy! Below the cut.

It would not stop.

The constant feeling like something would go wrong.

Katherine Howard could not tell if it was the anxiety, or if it was something else. She physically felt okay, and everything seemed fine, but for the life of her, the girl could not put her finger on that bad feeling. Being so lost in her thoughts, Howard was found, brows furrowed, staring down at her food, rather than eating it. Of course, this raised concerns with her cousin, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Boleyn’s face began to reflect the concern when she raised an eyebrow. Seymour had more of a sad-looking face, but nonetheless, the worry was quite present.

“Katherine?”

“Hey, Kitty… you okay?”

The two voices snapped Howard out of her trance. She looked up, shaking her head seconds after her attention went to the two women. “Yeah, yeah! Just had something come across my mind is all. I’m fine, really. Guess I’m just getting the typical pre-show jitters everyone gets,” which wasn’t a lie, either. But, Katherine did feel a pang of guilt in having to be dishonest with Jane and Anne. Howard was one of the Queens who always got some pre-show anxiety, alongside Catherine of Aragon– (much to everyone’s surprise)– and Boleyn. It wasn’t a rare occasion, though, considering they had just about an hour before they had to head to the theatre. It wouldn’t seem like much now, but this feeling Katherine Howard was having was not a good one.

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During the matinee, Katherine could not shake off that constant thought.

But she was not alone. The feeling had begun to haunt her cousin Anne.

Anne Boleyn’s eyes began to glance around the audience, knowing that Katherine was in the middle of delivering the roast of the century to Jane, Catherine Parr, and Anna of Cleves. A certain man had caught her eye up in the upper level; the second row in the left Circle Slip of the Arts Theatre, to be more precise. Something about that blond hair. And cold, blue eyes. Something about the way he was leaning on the railing while he sat began to bother Anne. Her attention snapped right back to the show when she heard Katherine say, “I can’t even begin to think of how I could compete with you all. Oh wait, like this!” to signal the start of All You Wanna Do. But even with her focus on the show, Boleyn’s glances kept going back up to that strange man.

“I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes!”

What about him bothered Anne Boleyn so much? She did not know.

Was it his face? No, he seemed to be fairly attractive. Was it the way he stared at all of them? Possibly, since he seemed to be rather uncomfortable when Aragon brought up Leviticus and Mary in No Way. He also looked disgusted during Boleyn’s spotlight in Don’t Lose Ur Head. He looked very, very abhorred with Haus of Holbein and Anna of Cleves. But his eyes when Katherine Howard was singing screamed danger, and Anne could see it. Her frequent glancing that first day saw him tense up upon a few lines:

“Tall, large, Henry the Eighth.

Supreme Head of the Church of England.

Globally revered, although you wouldn’t know it from the look of that beard.”

And the end of All You Wanna Do, as far as Anne could tell from where she was on the stage, had him gripping the railing tightly. Was anger the reason he furrowed his eyebrows, or something else? The distance was not helping her much. Overall, she was picking up a few assumptions just from the one matinee show. This guy was either a historian that pretty much agreed with Henry VIII’s horrible decisions in life, or someone the Queens knew personally. What Anne decided to think though, was the former. Maybe this guy was just a historian and unimpressed with the show, right?

That first show could have not ended sooner. But as the lights on the stage went somewhat dim to allow the six ladies to exit, Anne Boleyn paused and allowed the others to go in front of her. She kept her gaze on that very man, and watched him stand up, turn around, and head on out of the seating area. The fact that she was the last one to leave concerned Cleves a bit. Right before she could even reach the dressing room, the queen in red put a hand on the green queen’s shoulder. “Moment mal, Anne. Was stört dich? Du hast anscheinend nicht dein gewohntes Lächeln am Ende der Show gehabt,” the German gently gave the shoulder a squeeze. Boleyn found herself sighing. “What’s going on? You normally smile and you were barely holding one up today by the end of the show,” Cleves made herself translate what she had previously said.

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess I thought I saw someone that Maggie knew in the audience. It was weird. I’m normally not out of it either. Anyways, if Aragon took the couch, she’s going to regret it. It’s my nap time,” the cheeky grin came back to the ruby lips. A nod from Cleves, and the two were well on their way to the dressing room. Was Aragon on the couch? Absolutely. And Anne 100% kicked her off of it just so she could lay down and sleep after she changed back into her comfortable clothes. No space buns, no makeup– just a giant hoodie and some sweatpants.

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The other dressing room was a little more lively for a good while.

Katherine Howard was up on her feet, bouncing around with energy. Catherine Parr had decided to join her this afternoon. What were the two doing while Jane Seymour took the time to answer some tweets and messages? Dancing. The two ladies were dancing, which was almost the catalyst for Jane setting her phone down and joining them. In fact, she just wanted in on the fun. The three danced around for maybe half an hour, before a yawning Katherine Howard took to the couch to take a nap herself. Parr and Seymour stayed awake, with Parr looking for her notebook and Seymour going back to the tweets and messages.

“Cathy, look at this,” tapping her counterpart on the shoulder, the blonde woman moved her phone to be between them both. “It’s us with our kids!” If there was one thing Jane Seymour loved about the fans they had, it was all of the fanart of them with their kids. A smile was brought to Catherine Parr’s face as she looked up to meet Jane’s eyes. “If there’s one thing I have always appreciated, it’s that they know we aren’t the only Tudors that kicked some serious ass.” The laugh both of them shared was quiet, as to not wake Katherine up from her post-show nap.

The calligraphy pen twirled around Parr’s fingers for a solid minute or so before she finally began to write. Each queen had their thing to do post-matinee if it was a two-show day.

Catherine Parr wrote notes about her performances.

Jane Seymour responded to fans. And to as many of them as possible, too!

Both of the Beheaded Cousins slept their time away.

Anna of Cleves did various things, such as meditate and listen to music.

Catherine of Aragon normally left the dressing room to find a quiet spot in the theatre’s backstage to pray.

This normal routine was going to be shaken up a little too much. So much that Boleyn and Howard were too tense to take their usual between show naps.

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The same seat every damn time.

Who the hell was this guy?

And why was he now looking so bitter towards Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard?

Three weeks since the mystery man had first caught Boleyn’s eyes in the middle of a performance. But now it was a pattern. Two night shows and a matinee, and always on the exact same nights. Exact same seat, exact same everything. This was starting to piss Boleyn off, and scare Howard. He looked at them with more than just malicious intent in his eyes, to the point that Katherine sometimes blanked on her lines. It was to the point when Anne was singing, she’d put more emphasis on “Hold up, let me tell you how it went down.” just to spite him. This historian guy, or whoever he truly was, did not settle well with the cousins.

But on the night of a Sunday performance, the Queens all got a rude awakening they were not ready for. And the two to be given the first wave were none other than the Beheaded Cousins themselves:

Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard.

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This tension was so chilling that it even caused Anne to fumble a few of her lines. Even the infamous “Yeah, I read.” was not the usual confident, snarky remark it usually was. Having made eye contact with the mystery man while trying to deliver the line was definitely part of it, and for a moment there was a stiff awkwardness in the air. They’d recover quickly, of course, but the general consensus between the group was that something was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

The man quickly left, before the end of bows, and somehow located an usher and told him he was an old friend of the girls’. The girls weren’t too akin to refusing to meet people, so immediately after stagedooring and meeting fans, they all headed backstage to meet whoever had requested a personal meet and greet. Kit’s the first through the door and she stops dead in her tracks. Those eyes. They were the same bright blue eyes that she saw in her dreams at night, the same eyes she stared into right before… well…

She swallows, backing up a little. Anne comes crashing through the door, chaos embodied, and happily dances around for a moment before noticing the anxiety seething from Howard’s small frame. “What’s wrong, love?” Kit simply points to the man, and Anne’s heart drops to her stomach as well. She too, can’t look away from those crystal eyes. The blond hair. The everything.

Anne can barely talk above a whisper could even tell it was him would make the situation less real. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he was just another person. One can hope, but no luck there, Anne. She can feel Kit shaking, and reaches to take her hand, letting out a shaky breath and considering shouting for Parr.

The others trickle in quickly after, the ‘mystery man’ still just staring at the two cousins with ferocious intensity. The last to enter, though, is Jane Seymour. The metaphorical mother of the group, the caretaker, any other synonym you can think of. Jane is never one to cast judgement. She walks in, and despite the obvious tension, says a polite hello to the man. He simply nods in response.

Parr joins Anne at the hip, whispering to her. “Is he what’s got you all rattled, love?” Anne lets out a small nod. “It’s him.”

That statement reaches Jane’s ears and immediately her demeanor changes. She stands up a little straighter, setting her microphone down on the dressing room’s main table, and just looks at him. She moves a little closer, pushing the other girls behind her, and she can only say one thing.

“...Henry?”

He steps forward, and while the other girls move back, Jane stays planted to her spot. He smiles, trying to turn on the charm, reaching for her hands. “The one I truly lov—” He’s cut off by a slap. Yes, Jane Seymour just slapped a man. He brings a hand up to his red cheek, eye showing that it indeed, hurt. Cleves stifles a laugh.

“Don’t ever associate that word with me. You don’t know what love is.” A few tears well up in the blonde’s eyes, but refuses to let them fall. Not for him. “Love isn’t keeping your wife from holding her newborn child!” Her voice breaks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, centering herself.

“You all look so different.” The scruffy voice chimes, and immediately Kit visibly tenses up. She, unlike Jane, is unable to hold the tears in. Though they flow silently, they flow heavily. “There’s no need to cry, Katherine… or should I say ‘Kitty’, now?”

“Don’t speak to her. You do not have permission to do that.” Jane moves to block his view, but he simply repositions himself. Anne elects to go in for a dig. The devilish smirk returns, though small, and she gives Kit’s hand a squeeze before moving a tiny step forward.

“You know, mate, if you’re still having trouble… you know, with your little friend, we can get you a prescription for Viagra. Or Cialis, plenty of options.” She emphasizes ‘little’ by using her thumb and pointer finger to indicate his size. It makes Kit smile a little. The silence in the air was broken by a stifled laughter. That had to be the funniest thing Cleves ever heard Boleyn say outside of the wit written in the script. Aragon gave her a nudge, but even she agreed with the sentiment.

The blond man, finally revealed as the reincarnated Henry VIII, just narrowed his eyes. “How funny, laughter coming from someone who couldn’t perform.” Anne’s smirk went away, as she looked back towards Cleves with a hurt expression. Cleves’ grin was gone, with gritted teeth behind a closed mouth replacing it. Aragon let out a sigh. “That’s low for the man who so easily says he believes–”

“Catalina, don’t even get me started on you either.”

Not a single comment from Catherine Parr. She just stood there, feeling herself drift between a rational mind and pure impulse. Did this guy just come back to insult them, and get a second wind to take Katherine? Oh no, that was not happening. She saw it all, too. Jane’s reddening face from holding back the tears, Cleves’ rather tame anger, Aragon’s scowl… Kit’s pale face from the fear, and Anne being powerless. Jane Seymour honestly, had lost her mind way before Catherine Parr did in this scenario, but… there was always going to be a breaking point for the quiet one.

“So you and your whore cousin think you can just slander my name like that? I’d have you both back at the scaffold in front of the Tower if I had–”

“Scaffolds don’t exist anymore, you twat,” Boleyn hissed under her breath.

“Enough, Henry.”

This was where Parr had enough. The other Queens gave a glance at their surviving counterpart, who wasn’t even looking up at him. She was staring at the floor, but for now. “Cathy, you should probably not… y’know, say anything,” Boleyn barely managed to get that sentence out, considering the crushing feeling she had inside of her chest. All that got as a response was a laugh.

“The survivor, Catherine Parr. Tell me then, my love, are you just as stubborn as you were back then?” He got every other one to crack, but little did he know that he would be the one about to shatter like glass. “Because you should’ve been the one to meet an untimely fate like your counterparts here. Of course, new body means a second chance at being able to–”

Henry stops when he sees Parr’s shoulders shake a little. She’s… laughing?

That’s why she was looking down. When she did look up, one saw her smile shining on like a light. Safe to say, Catherine Parr was about to tear someone apart. “You’ve still got quite a loud mouth for an old man. Tell me, did you ever finally learn to take care of yourself, you bobolyne? Thinking you have any right to talk to the mother of not only your damned son, but also the woman who was loyal to you for twenty four years?! And even better, the one you so graciously called your sister after your marriage? You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

Jane felt a little insulted that she had to take a jab at Edward, but had the feeling it was necessary considering the situation. Hopefully Parr would apologize for it later on.

“Okay, okay… fair. Not bad, Parr. But why do those two get to wear shiny chokers while the rest of you have crowns? Does it further emphasize my point that Anne Boleyn’s just a hell of a tempting woman and that Katherine Howard–”

The smile from Parr’s face faded. The anger was present and everyone was mortified to see someone so quiet speaking up like she was. With vitriol in her voice, Catherine Parr officially lost her temper.

“You KNOW exactly what the fuck happened, Henry.”

Aragon felt herself go to cover Katherine’s ears as her goddaughter began to lose her composure. “You KNOW why they have to wear those. You know damn well the crimes you fucking committed against them both, especially Katherine! She was a child, Henry! A fucking child who got manipulated and used! I want to hear nothing from your mouth, you snoutband! You have nothing to defend yourself with!”

Wiping a tear or two away, Jane Seymour began to lean into Anna of Cleves for some form of comfort. Even the German was surprised to be hearing the resentment coming out of such a powerful and rather cool-tempered woman. Just as Henry went to open his mouth, he stopped.

“Oh no, no sir! You have no right to talk here! Anne Boleyn lost her head over what, your delusions that she was out and about with men when you were just going around like you weren’t married? And because of that, she has to struggle to change her name? Are you actually insane or some shit?” The northern accent Parr had was thick. She was angry, and her voice said it for her if her facial expression did not. “Jane Seymour never got to hold Edward because you took him straight away for his christening. And she had to sit there, alone, in bed! Suffering through illness until she died without saying goodbye to her baby boy!”

Boleyn goes pale. Where did this anger even come from? She had no idea, but Parr was scaring her.

“My damn godmother was near a saint with all of the bullshit she had to put up with! Twenty four fucking years, and it wasn’t Anne who ruined the marriage. It was YOU. Aragon did some insanely remarkable things despite how you treated her! And Cleves! You just decide to take Cleves and humiliate her because she wasn’t beautiful enough for you? You’re an absolute wandought, Henry! You brought a Spanish lady and a German lady out of their comfort zones all because you didn’t know how to use your damn brain!”

At this point, Aragon had managed to sneak off into the dressing room, with Cleves now being the one to hold Howard. Boleyn was now hugging Seymour, actually terrified of not just Henry, but Parr.

Henry began to go pale. He was not going to recover from this.

“Who am I missing… let’s see, Katherine Howard? No, I got her. Anne Boleyn? Also got her. Jane Seymour? Check. Anna of Cleves? Check. Catherine of Aragon? Oh, yeah, her too. Would you look at that… I’m the only one left. Surprise surprise, the fucking survivor surviving again and this time, she gets to give it to you the exact way she wants to.”

“Cathy–”

“Shut up you lot. My turn to finally talk.”

A flinch from the group. Aragon had to take glances in and out of the dressing room.

“Oh wow, Catherine Parr. The survivor. The one who draws lines in arbitrary places, blah blah! She had two other husbands, what good could have she done being a Tudor queen? I DIDN’T TAKE ANY OF YOUR BULLSHIT IS WHAT I DID. Those books that everyone rumoured a woman was writing? Surprise, you tallowcatch! It was me! I’m the famed author of Tudor history. And I published under my own name once your pitiful body finally died. That can’t be that bad, Cathy. What a sad excuse for a sob story, right?”

Katherine Howard began to tremble more than she already was in Anna of Cleves’ arms. Catherine Parr made herself stand face to face with Henry.

“Ah, right, because she survived she deserves the backing vocals. WELL GUESS WHAT, HENRY? I’M HERE TO STAY. I HAD TO GIVE UP MY LIFE, MY LOVE, AND WHATEVER ELSE I WAS DOING TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SORRY ASS. You might have forced these women into submission but no, I am not going to submit to some sad old man. You took away their rights, you took away their children… and poor Katherine…” A laugh. “You took poor Katherine’s childhood. You turned her into a disgraced whore. She is not and will never be one. She is a victim of your bullshit.”

“Catherine, my love–”

“No excuses now, Henry. I’m through. Your love ran cold years ago. And call me love one more damn time. See what happens.”

“My love–”

The weight of the sleeves helped Parr send her fist flying into his face. He stumbled back, feeling a warm sensation drip from his nose. Blood. He… was bleeding? “You actually got the nerve to punch an English King? You’re a mad woman, Parr. I’ll have you thrown on that scaffold just how–” A second punch, and this time, there was an audible crack of sorts.

“You wear a crown, but you’re no king. You’re a disgrace to human life, Henry. And this is for all of the women you hurt, manipulated, abused… and killed,” a lunge forward. The third strike was to his jaw, and the fourth was a solid kick to the chest with her heel being the first thing to make impact. Henry, having been taken by surprise from every hit, stumbled right back into a pair of men. Shaking her fist off, some of the blood ended up getting on the floor, and part of it remained on her hands.

“I’ll be back, Catherine! Mark my damn words! Let go of me, you imbeciles!”

“Like hell you’ll be back!”

And just as she took a step forward, Aragon went to hold on to one of her arms. “Someone help me hold her back!” Aragon needed the help. Parr was under such a fit of rage she was dragging her godmother across the hallway. Seymour had to let go of Boleyn to try and hold on to Parr’s other arm. She slowed down, but still had enough adrenaline surging through her to keep going. Cleves just gave Howard a gentle kiss on the cheek before running over to help the other two ladies. No arms? No problem. She just held on to one of Parr’s legs.

Boleyn pulled her cousin into a tight hug, feeling a shaky exhale leave her body. “Kitty? Kitty, are you okay?” Just a nod. Howard was terrified to open her mouth after seeing the ungodly wrath unfold before her eyes. “I-Is… she mad at us, Annie?” Quiet and almost inaudible. The poor girl was terrified to even talk out of fear that Parr was not just angry at Henry, but at them too.

“Catherine Parr, what in God’s name has gotten into you?” Aragon furrows her eyebrows. “This is not you. What is going on? Talk to me, please.”

Anne reaches to take Kit’s hand. “She’s… upset. Not at us, I promise.” Anne had to admit, all of the ferocity coming from Parr scared her a little bit. The yelling reminded her a little of when Henry first stormed in and accused her. Of course, she would set it aside, but it was scary in the moment. She looks in Kit’s eyes, which are now full of tears, sighing and pulling her into another tight hug and rubbing her back. “It’s okay, babes… He’s gonna go away and we will be okay, I promise. The girls aren’t gonna let him get to us.” Kit just buries her face into Anne’s shoulder and lets out the remainder of what she wouldn’t let out in front of Henry. Thank goodness the men had taken him into another room until the police arrived.

Anne pulls out of the hug for a moment and then walks Kit outside. “You look absolutely knackered, love… maybe we should head home as soon as all of this is over. Do you wanna change into something else? C’mon.” They both decide to change, but do so in the staff bathroom rather than in the dressing room. On the off chance Henry was able to see into the dressing room, they didn’t want him to see anything. Anne also thought a door with a lock was the safest.

Once they finish hanging up their costumes, the two settle into the couch, and just hold each other. Anne hums a little of La Vie en Rose, and quickly, Kit falls asleep. Anne doesn’t mind. They were all done with the day, it had already put them through the ringer.

There’s an apparent veil of exhaustion amongst all of the women, except Parr.

Sure, Henry had been apprehended at this point and he was stuck with his hands cuffed behind his back, but that didn’t stop him from being inches away from Parr’s face with a very devious smile. “I’ll be back, Catherine. And you six will have to deal with me all over again. Especially Kat–”

“Like hell you are!”

Catherine Parr broke her left arm free from Catherine of Aragon’s grip, and her right arm from Jane Seymour’s. The right hand took a vice-like grip on his shirt collar before her left fist came swinging at full power, and thensome since the weight of the costume added force. That impact had a very, very nasty sound to it. Even Cleves flinched at it, soon seeing the blond man fall straight to the floor with a bloody face. “Get anywhere near us and I will have you laying your head on a prison bench just how you made poor Katherine and Anne lay down as you murdered them!”

The officers picked up the unconscious Henry, and kindly thanked Jane, Anna, and Aragon for their cooperation. Parr however, got a warning, but that was about it.

Giving it a moment, knowing they would be out of earshot at this point, Parr releases a rather annoyed grumble. “He’ll fucking pay for his crimes against all of you. I swear on my life he will rot in a prison cell for what he did. If he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and come back here to take us for fools, he’s wrong,” she almost hissed at the end. The thickness of her accent was making Aragon concerned, since to see someone as rational as her goddaughter be in such a state was a rare experience. Cleves and Seymour both looked up with mortified faces. Ever seen revenge personified as human? No? Now you have.

And her name was Catherine Parr.

“What in heaven was that?” Maggie asks, getting up and peeking out into the hallway. A small laugh. The thud was actually loud enough to wake the cousins, and they both get up, confused a little, and sleepily walk to join her at the door frame. Anne rubs her eyes and yawns, looking at Henry, now being pulled up by two police men.

She glances to Parr, and then to Henry, and upon sight of Parr’s hands, she lets out a small, startled gasp. His blood was actually on her knuckles. Probably mixed with her own, if her knuckles had bust. Kit has a similar reaction, coupled with hiding behind Anne at the sight of the wicked man. “Cathy… let me help you get cleaned up. Mags, can you grab the first aid kit out of my backpack?”

“Let’s just go home, first.” Parr says, a little cold, while watching an officer take Henry away. She wanted to watch up until he was inside of the car, so she could ensure he was going away for good. The other officer asks her a few questions about the situation, and she tells him everything that happened, down to the fact that they would be filing a restraining order, and that Henry was not allowed to see their show again.

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The six women had gone home after waiting… maybe an extra ten minutes after Parr finished talking to the police officer. The car was dead silent on the ride back to the house, too.

“I’m actually mad about the fact that he’s actually attractive now,” Boleyn rolls her eyes as she walks in after Seymour. “I’m kidding, obvs. But how is he alive? We’ve been free for… who knows how long now and he comes back? What did he want, anyways?” Seymour turned to face Boleyn, giving the brunette a gentle pat on the head. “It sounded like revenge, but I think Cathy has the actual answer to that. We can talk to her when she’s a lot calmer, though… she’s very…”

“Upset, angry… name it, I am probably feeling it.”

“We all are, love…” Anne goes to her, gently taking her hands, looking at them carefully. One’s very busted up, and the blood has now dried and solidified. “Let me clean you up, c’mon.” She motions to the kitchen, and the two head in there, Parr sitting on the counter while Anne gets the first aid kit out. “I’m not ashamed of what I did today.” Parr stares at the floor, expecting some sort of lecture or argument to happen, but it doesn’t.

“You protected me. That’s all I could ever want.” Anne kisses her quickly on the cheek before pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze cloth. Before she starts to press it to Cathy’s knuckles, she looks the girl straight in the eyes. “Don’t be mad for how much this is going to hurt, please.”

While those two work on that, the other girls drop their bags next to the door and slump into the chairs around the kitchen table, an apparent awkwardness in the air. Jane is the first to speak, and it’s absolutely filled with regret and apology. “Ladies, I am so sorry I lost my cool today. I shouldn’t have gotten so ‘up in arms.’ He just… I never…” She’s tearing up a little, and Kit offers a hand for her to squeeze as she tries to work through her words. She takes a deep breath, brushing some of her blonde hair out of her face.

“I never got to tell him all of that. All of the resentment.”

Cathy grumbles from the counter, agreeing with her statement. “He sure got a taste of all of my resentment.” Her cheeks were reddening, and Anne doesn’t know what else to do past wrapping the girl’s knuckles, so she lays a kiss on them, hoping that will calm her down. “Shhh… no need to get worked up over that toff, not again.” Her hand goes to hold Parr’s face. “Let’s be happy, okay?”

“Jane, we all had every right to react the way we did. Even Cathy had a right to bash his ugly face in.” Kit nods reassuringly, and the other queens mumble words of agreement, Anne and Parr silently making their way over to the table. Something about Parr’s energy was off, but the queens wouldn’t question it for the time being. They were all rattled, it didn’t take much to see it.

“I just feel that as the mother of the group, I reacted rather rashly. I think–” She has to hold back some tears. “I think I should’ve composed myself.” This ends with the ladies all essentially tackling Jane with a group hug, even Parr, though not really seeming to want to participate. It was getting late, anyways, and it was almost time for her to begin her nightly writing. It would help.

Anne clears her throat. “I think you did perfectly, Jane. He’s an absolute tosser for thinking he could face all six of us at once.” Kit laughs in agreement, and the two head upstairs. Parr quickly dismisses herself, Aragon trailing quickly behind after giving Jane a tight hug.

Cleves takes Jane’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Gute Nacht, Jane. Versuche nicht zu viel darüber nachzudenken.” Jane sighs. “Still don’t speak German, love.”

“Try not to think too much about it.”

“Catherine,” Aragon knocks on the open door, furrowing her eyebrows. “Mija, what got into you today? That isn’t you. Where… where did you even go?” A sharp look from the sixth wife to the first, before it softened up. It eventually became more of a look of shame as Parr’s eyes went to the bandaged hand. She really did do a number on herself, but that blond haired Tudor nightmare deserved it. She wasn’t wrong, was she? Or, had her morality become such an ambiguous grey area that maybe it was wrong for her to have sucker punched the man who beheaded Katherine Howard so unfairly.

The shameful eyes look up, seeing Aragon’s concern despite the slight scowl. “I’m sorry, Lina. I… no se. Yo lo vi y... Me congelé. Es como si todo el sentido racional dejara mi cuerpo y me quedara con impulso. Lo juro, no... siempre así. Tu lo sabes! Aunque asusté a todos, no?” The hurt in her voice was evident. Parr knew she became the morally ambiguous of the group, which was normally not the good thing. Aragon’s expression lightened up just a little as she approached her goddaughter, and pulled her into a side hug. “Sucede, amor. Pero no te enfades tanto con alguien tan horrible. Seguimos amándote, y siempre nos preocuparemos por ti. Ninguna de nosotras te tiene miedo, y eso te lo prometo.”

Those last words gave Catherine Parr just a little bit of hope. Catherine of Aragon gave one last hug to the woman before heading on out the door, but not without “Don’t stay up late.” being the last thing she said to the sixth wife.

Kit and Anne stand in the hallway, chatting before going to their rooms, which were across from each other. “Lock your window, Annie, please.” It’s evident that Kit is still very worried about Henry figuring out where they live or figuring out how to get in. Anne nods, despite the fact that they lived on the second floor.. “Of course.” The girls hug and in a matter of seconds, they are both behind their respective closed doors.

Kit leans against the door for a moment after closing it, but not locking it, and a few silent tears fall before she starts to change into her pajamas. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” She mumbles to herself, turning on her string lights and turning off the main light of the room. She debates what kind of music to listen to, mulling over it for a few minutes before turning on some classical. It was different, but it would work.

Anne, on the other hand, immediately goes to lock her window and pull the shades closed, which was slightly saddening because she did enjoy looking at the night sky before she fell asleep. She sits on the edge of her bed for a moment, deep in thought about Cathy. She had to admit, the girl she saw today was one she had never seen before, and one she was pretty afraid of seeing again. That fire, while endearing… shook Anne a little. She has to force herself to shake off the thought that anger immediately translates to a person being anything remotely similar to Henry.

“Right, then… bed it is.” Anne shuts off her lights and lays down, picturing that starry sky in her own mind. It would do.

Jane settles in with the current book she was reading, a copy of Pride and Prejudice. A story of true love, one could say, and the text was actually helping to calm the blonde down about the events of the day. Aragon peeks in for a moment, and Jane gives her a soft smile, an unspoken agreement that they would be okay.

Though it seemed as if everyone was settling down, Catherine Parr had a storm bigger than a hurricane brewing inside.

––––––––––

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Catherine Parr let that be the only sound to fill the silence. Normally, it would be music or something, but not tonight.

The calligraphy pen in her hands danced around her fingers, barely having touched the pages of the open notebook. Her vision was still blurred, much to her own surprise. Wrath was a powerful thing, and to have something take over the body for an amount of time would lead to consequences later in the night. In her case, it was a very horrid case of insomnia. While she dealt with insomnia most nights, she had the slightest feeling this was not the typical time to go to bed at 2 in the morning case. The pen began to slow down in her hand, and she held it still for the first time that whole night.

“It’s not the first time you write about how you feel, Cathy. It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine.”

It was not fine.

No matter how many times she told herself it would be fine, she could never believe it. Catherine Parr saw her hand shake, just the slightest, every time she wrote. Every memory from the last few hours was hazy, but simultaneously at the forefront of her mind. The usually clean lines of her penmanship were just the bit off from the feelings. Word after word, the anger began to flow onto the pages like water flowing down a river’s stream. So shaky, and so violent were the movements of Parr’s wrist. In comparison to the surprisingly smooth transition from thought to thought, her actions made her look a little crazed. One could even say she looked oddly desperate to finish writing.

Almost as if she was running out of time.

She was a writer in her past life. An author, really. The woman wrote books, psalms, meditations… name it, she probably has a manuscript of it somewhere. But this? This was not her. This frantic drive to write and write until the pages could take no more and the ink began to go through them was not Catherine Parr. In a way, it was almost symbolic. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

There it was again. The ticking of the clock.

Time was no longer a relevant thing for Parr. She just let the time go on.

Last she could remember, it was midnight. But nay, the clock spoke otherwise. A glance at it revealed it to be four in the morning. Her hand and wrist were cramped up, and the tears that she felt falling were drying on her face. The pages had become full of nonsensical phrases, mostly a result of the anger still in her system. But that anger began to fade from anger into a depression.

Why couldn’t she be stronger?

Why didn’t she do enough at the moment?

The pain finally struck her heart. Silence began to be her worst enemy, and something she thought she’d never do is what she did. Parr slams her hands on the desk, crying out, almost as if it were a scream or cry for help. The scream was enough to wake up Catherine of Aragon in an instant. A second and third one woke Jane Seymour and Anna of Cleves up. The fourth one got to Anne Boleyn. In a worried hurry, Aragon got out of bed and ran down the stairs to get to the door before almost ramming it down with her own body.

“Cathy? Mija, what’s the–… Cathy?”

What she saw was a torn woman in front of her. Her bandaged hand had a little blood seeping through the ends. Some of the curls were sticking to her face, and her eyes were all puffy and red. Aragon gently pulled Parr up and into a tight embrace. “Escúchame. Todo está bien, Cathy. Estamos en la casa.” Normally, Aragon had a commanding nature that gave off the feeling of someone being safeguarded behind a wall, but this was one of those moments she was willing to let her wall down. Parr’s grip tightened, with the tears coming back and rushing in like an ocean’s grey waves.

Catherine learned just a smidge of Spanish for her godmother. Enough to get by with a conversation or two, but she was not fluent in any way. “Duele, Lina,” a sniffle. “Todo esto duele y no hice lo suficiente para ayudar.” And there was something about her goddaughter using Spanish in such a defeated manner that made Aragon crack a little on the inside. Her own eyes were welling up with tears as she looked to the door.

Seymour, Cleves, and Boleyn.

All three of them with wide eyes and fairly concerned expressions. But it was Anne who saw the tears forming in Aragon’s eyes and threatening to spill. The two lock eyes and it takes everything in Anne to not crack too. She gives Aragon a look that says, ‘Let me try.’ Lina nods and gives Cathy’s hand a small squeeze, and Anne goes and kneels on the floor in front of her.

The other three stand in the hallway, knowing it was probably best to give the two a moment. “Did that not wake Kitty?” Cleves pauses, and then points in the general direction of Howard’s room, loud classical music streaming through her closed door.

Anne takes Parr’s hands. “Cathy, please talk to me… please, love.” It takes Parr a moment to look into Boleyn’s eyes, which are also filled with tears at this point. “It kills me to see you hurting.” A hand goes to wipe some tears from Parr’s cheeks. It lingers there, cupping her cheek, Anne’s thumb reflexively going back and forth to wipe more tears as they fall.

“It kills me to see you hurting.” Her statement is coupled with a small voice crack, and not one that you would usually find endearing. This was out of pure sadness and anger. She sighs. “I should’ve done more.” She looks at the floor, past Boleyn, though her head is now resting on the girl’s hand.

“He’s the one that deserves to be on a scaffold!” She starts to sob again, leaning forward, and Anne catches her, in a sense. Shaking with anger, she lets it out, nearly soaking Anne’s shirt in a matter of seconds. “He deserves to die! Why is he here?” Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, heaving breaths joining in with shallow sobs.

The three in the hallway silently elect to let the two work through it. It really seemed as if Anne was the only one who was going to be able to get her to calm down, even if only a fraction. Aragon lingers for a moment, and then decides finally to go back to her room, leaving the door open in case anyone needed anything. Jane does the same, but reads for a few minutes before going back to sleep.

Anne isn’t sure what to do, so she stands both of them up, having to support Parr a little, and just holds her, swaying back and forth slowly. “Shh… babe… he doesn’t deserve your tears…” Anne, you preach this, yet you’re a mess too. Albeit, a mess because Cathy is crying, but a mess nonetheless. “He… he’s getting his karma. He has to watch us thrive. And he can’t do a damned thing to us. We’re untouchable.” She was also telling herself this.

Parr nods quietly, latching on to Anne even more, as if letting her go would mean she’d disappear into thin air. Though she hadn’t actually said it, she knew she loved Anne. More than anything, and if punching Henry in the face was what she had to do to protect her, she’d do it every day for the rest of her life.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She speaks softly, voice scratchy as a result of the outburst. It was nearing five o’clock at this point, but it didn’t matter. With no hesitation, Anne replies with a simple “Of course,” pulling away slightly to look Parr in the eyes. Those tired, red eyes, still wet with tears formed over a man who didn’t matter one bit. Not in this moment, he didn’t.

The two make their way to Boleyn’s room, a twin bed being the only place for them, but it would be plenty of space. Anne lays down first, patting the small space next to her for Parr to join. It’s almost as if they’re out as soon as they cover up.

Kit sleeps through all of this. Perhaps it’s the music blaring from her speakers, or the exhaustion from the events of the day, but it’s the first night the girl doesn’t wake up screaming. The other queens are really surprised to see her downstairs in the morning, looking well rested and pouring herself a cup of tea, seemingly fine. “G’morning.” She yawns, and the others just kind of look at each other as if reality has shifted. “Where are Cathy and Annie?”

“In bed, still.”

“Ja.”

“I should check on them.” Kit says, setting her tea down. Cleves joins her, cringing a little when Kit knocks awfully loudly on the door and pushes it open. “Halt die Klappe, Kit…” Kit turns and looks at her, a puzzled look on her face. Cleves rolls her eyes jokingly, and then whispers again. “You’re too loud.”

The sight upon opening the door is a combination of comedic and sweet. Parr is absolutely sprawled out on top of Anne, snoring loudly and taking up most of the bed. One of her hands is on Anne’s cheek, as if she had fallen asleep holding the girl’s face. Anne is awake, quietly scrolling through TikTok with headphones in. She looks at the two in the doorframe and smiles, looking down at Parr. ‘We’re okay.’ She mouths, and Jane and Aragon peek in, a small laugh coming from the Spanish queen. It warmed her heart to see the two all bundled up and Parr seemingly at peace, even if only for a moment.

Parr makes a small noise and shifts, essentially pulling Anne closer and wrapping a leg around her. The ladies all smile, electing to leave the two alone. It was evident that everything would be okay, at least for now. Anne kisses Cathy on the forehead, letting out a happy sigh. Parr subconsciously replies with a small snore, and the two stay there, safe in each other's arms, for most of the day.

A couple hours seem to pass and it’s about… noon, when Parr starts stirring. Anne notices this, and begins to smile. At least she was waking up. However, things were not going to go to plan, because in comparison to Anne, Catherine was a whole lot taller, and took up just a bit more space. Thinking for a moment she was still in her room, Parr went to try and roll to the other side of the bed, but immediately woke up at not having anything underneath her. A loud enough thudding noise got everyone’s attention.

The other four queens almost immediately ran to the doorframe, and Anne was sitting up.

In typical Boleyn fashion, she was laughing.

Parr on the other hand, was not very happy. “Ow…” Looking up, she just sees the green queen essentially laying back down because of the laughter, and a glance to the doorway reveals four others holding back laughter. “Oh haha, funny that Cathy Parr fell off a bed now is it?”

Through the laughter, Boleyn responds.

“It’s marvelous, love!”

#tw: blood #tw: violence #six #six musical #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #catalina de aragon #anna of cleves #anne boleyn #katherine howard #kitty howard #The Beheaded Cousins Write #sixfic #six fanfiction #parrlyn #aramour

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dreamcatcherfication · 4 years

Text

And Then The Earth Would Shatter

@nightingale6374 I tried not to do it again but I just had to

Hello everyone, welcome back to another episode of I’m dying inside - today we have: I’ve Been Watching We Are The Tigers On Repeat And I’m Sobbing While Also Binging Bandstand On Playbill!

Current Mood: T I R E D. But anyway, anon requested a dark secret being revealed after one of the queens’ shows! I thought I’d do a Jane-centric fic because I don’t have enough of those. Unfortunately, that also means Jane is hardest for me to write, so I apologize if she seems a little out of character. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, you can read the above section for my excuse.

Writing Masterpost

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

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

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of beheading, implied disassociation

Big moments tended to start out normal, Jane realized. Every time there was a surprise in store, no one would be expecting it. That’s what made it a surprise, wasn’t it? The fact that before anything shocking happened, there was normal. The calm before the storm.

The queens had just finished another evening show and were absolutely beat. Everyone was milling around the theatre, some of the queens even stagedooring. As for Jane, she was curled up in her dressing room chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It had been bothering her for a while, but today seemed worse than usual. Lately, during Anne’s song, Jane had been feeling a pit form in her stomach every time Anne shouted, “Oh my God guys, he’s actually going to chop my head off!”

Even though all of them brushed it off, they could see the small hint of fear in Anne’s eyes every time she spoke the words. It was eating Jane up from the inside out knowing that it was her fault. Yet still, she couldn’t say anything. She was known for being the silent one to the point where it was natural for her to hide everything - big and small. She never told the others that she was allergic to dogs, and she kept it hidden even when Anna and Kat would make her go with them to the dog park. That was something small, something inconsequential that no one had to know.

Then there were the bigger things. The things that haunted Jane everyday of her life. Her hollow eyes stared at the mirror, unblinking as white noise rang throughout her brain. It was the only way she could keep herself from thinking terrible thoughts. White noise and complete blankness was her only option. “Hi Jane,” she was broken out of her thoughtlessness by a voice at the dressing room door.

It was Cathy, of course it was, although a voice in the back of Jane’s mind told her there was more to it. That ‘Cathy’ was here for something more than to say hello. “Before you yell at me, I know it’s my fault.”

Cathy was understandably confused by Jane��s choice of greeting. “I wasn’t planning on yelling at you -”

“But you would have, I know,” Jane continued, her voice rising. “I know exactly what’s going to happen. You’ve been waiting for this moment, I know you have!”

When Jane’s voice got louder, the other queens slowly started filtering into the room to investigate. Aragon shot Cathy a questioning look, but Cathy could only shrug. She had only come to get changed out of her costume, but now Jane was having a full on breakdown. Anne had an arm around Kat as they walked into the room, the smiles on their faces fading slightly as they caught on to the atmosphere. Anna was standing in the doorway, silently watching everyone in order to make sure nothing went awry.

“Is everything alright, Jane?” Cathy asked, approaching the other queen. “No one is mad at you.”

“You will be,” she muttered, eyes breaking away from her reflection. “You’ll all hate me for it.”

Anne let go of Kat and moved next to Cathy. “What is ‘it’ Jane?”

All expression fell from Jane’s face as regret came over her. “Oh Anne, I’m so sorry.”

Unease started to build in Anne’s chest at Jane’s words. “What is it Jane?” she spoke more forcefully.

Like she had snapped her fingers, everything came tumbling out of Jane’s mouth, the dam breaking under the pressure of her guilt. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. But when Henry said he wanted to marry me, I knew it would be impossible for an annulment. I thought - it was only a possibility, I didn’t really mean it.” Every sentence was a stutter out of Jane’s mouth.

“Jane,” Anne’s lip was curling upwards into a snarl, “Tell me what you mean.”

“It was my idea for Henry to accuse you of adultery. I thought if you were convicted of a crime, it would give him reason to break the marriage. I didn’t think he would kill you, Anne! But it was because of me that all of this happened and - and I have to live with that everyday.”

Fire was raging behind Anne’s eyes. “Oh boohoo, you have to live with the trauma of causing somebody’s death. Well guess what, I have to live with the trauma of my beheading. Do you know what it’s like to wake up every night, clawing at your throat because you’re back on that chopping block? No, you don’t. All you know is the pleasures of being the King’s favorite.”

“Anne -” Jane tried to explain, but the queen was hearing none of it.

“I trusted you Jane. I learned to trust you and you didn’t even have the decency to trust me back. So don’t bother apologizing, I don’t want to hear it.” And then Anne stormed out of the room, her footsteps loud as she got far away from the dressing room.

The other four queens were in varying degrees of shock. Cathy was watching Jane with disappointment, her head subtly shaking. “The least you could have done was told one of us,” she whispered, and then exited the room, off to go track down the furious Anne.

Aragon’s hands were shaking, even when she tried to hold them still. She wasn’t focused on Jane, instead dealing with her own inner demons. “I need a moment to myself,” she confessed, before following Cathy out of the room and making her way towards a bathroom.

That left Anna and Kat with Jane. Kat immediately collapsed into her chair at Jane’s revelation, her eyes glazed over and faraway. Anna tried to get her to stand up, but Kat flinched away. Despite her momentarily catatonic state, Kat didn’t want to leave her spot. Anna decided to leave the girl be and moved over towards Jane. “Jane?” she spoke lightly, her voice steady and emotionless. “Are you alright?”

“Why aren’t you yelling at me,” Jane choked out, her eyes refusing to meet Anna’s.

Kneeling next to the other queen’s chair, Anna shrugged. “Maybe because I’m not mad. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with what you did,” Jane frowned and sunk further into her chair, “but I’m not going to yell at you for it. You seem to know your actions were wrong, so there’s no reason for me to lecture you. And you’re going to need someone on your side if things get bad.”

Jane glanced up, meeting Anna’s eyes. “You’re on my side?”

The German queen nodded, standing from her position next to Jane. “Yes, I am. And I’m going to help you make things right. Or better, at least.”

Ruefully, Jane picked at her shirt collar. “How am I supposed to do that? Anne will never forgive me for what I’ve done, no matter how much I regret it.”

“Anne’s angry, she’s betrayed,” Anna explained, “but she’ll forgive you. Maybe not today, maybe not for months to come, but she will. It’s your responsibility to earn her trust back. We’re going to do this one by one if we have to. Starting with Kat.” Anna pointed to the frozen girl next to Jane.

The way Kat didn’t even respond to her name worried Jane, but she shoved it away in order to stand up and put herself in front of the girl. “Kat… I shouldn’t have kept that secret. Knowing what I did to Anne, knowing how it affects you. It was wrong of me. I should’ve said something and I’m sorry.”

Kat mumbled something, but it was too quiet to be heard. “What?” Anna prodded, putting a hand on Kat’s shoulder. The girl pushed it off and hid in her chair.

“You don’t have to say sorry to me,” Kat murmured.

“I should,” Jane replied, moving her hand to Kat’s but then thinking better of it. “My mistake affects all of you, and I have to make up for that.”

Noncommittally, Kat’s eyes wandered the floor. “Apologize to Annie. Once she’s willing to forgive you, then you can apologize to me. She’s more important.”

Jane wanted to argue, but she knew Kat was right. Turning to face Anna, Jane hardened her face. “I’m going to go track down the others. You stay with her,” she spoke with resolve.

A small smile made its way onto Anna’s face as she nodded. “Do what you need to do Seymour.”

As Jane left the dressing room, she practically crashed into Aragon. The other queen seemed to have bags under her eyes that appeared out of nowhere, as well as sweat dripping from her forehead. “Catherine?” Jane questioned her friend.

“I would’ve done the same,” Aragon admitted, hanging her head in shame.

“What?”

It took all of her willpower to look up into Jane’s confused eyes. “Your idea for Henry to accuse Anne of adultery. If I was in your position, I would’ve done the same thing. And I hate myself for it.”

Jane grabbed her friend’s hand. “But you love Anne.”

“I didn’t back then. Neither did you, that’s why you did it. That’s why I would have done it,” Aragon huffed and clenched her fists. “That was a long time ago when we were pitted against each other.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have done it,” Jane scolded herself.

Her breaths were shaky, but Aragon tried to offer any consolation she could. “Don’t tell yourself off for things you did in the past. It’s done. Focus on the now. Isn’t that what modern life has taught us?” Without waiting for a response, Aragon left Jane and went into the dressing room where Kat and Anna were waiting.

Standing alone in the hallway, Jane took a moment to psych herself up. If she said anything wrong, anything that wasn’t 100% perfect, Anne would never forgive her. Maybe forgiveness wasn’t the goal. Maybe she was shooting for something else. But she needed to get this right. Gathering up all her courage, Jane started marching down the hall to where she knew Anne would be waiting.

When Jane reached the door to the rehearsal room, she was met with Cathy crossing her arms. “Jane,” she stated monotonously, “I don’t think it’s a good time.”

“It won’t ever be a good time,” Jane sighed, wringing her hands. “I made a mistake Cathy, I can say it a million times. But I need to talk to Anne.”

Maybe Jane was imagining it, but Cathy’s face morphed into one of respect as she stepped away from the door. “If you do anything wrong, she’ll never forgive you.”

“I know,” Jane said for what felt like the hundredth time.

Inside the room, Anne was pacing furiously. She turned around when the door opened and shot Jane a glare. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. “What do you want? Come to tell me you planned to kill Elizabeth too?”

“No!” Jane gasped, putting her hands up. “I would never.”

“Yeah, well I’m not so sure anymore,” Anne hissed, digging her heels into the ground. “I forgave you, for everything that happened. You know, I probably would’ve forgiven you if you told me the truth from the start. But you had to lie and ruin everything.”

Jane looked at the ground and inhaled, preparing her words. “I’ve lost your trust. And I understand that. I hope that one day we can build it back -”

“Cut the bullshit,” Anne rolled her eyes. “I don’t want your premeditated, Oxford apology.”

Keeping her voice as steady as she possibly could, Jane answered, “You’re right.” There was a long pause between the two of them before Jane continued. “A lot happened in the past that we can’t change. I hate that I had a role to play in your death, but that’s the fact of it. So whether you like it or not, I’m going to do everything in my power to make this life better. I’ve already failed once by not telling you the truth. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking for a second chance.”

At first, Anne seemed like she was going to reject the idea. Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at Jane, her nostrils flaring with malice. But she surprised Jane by saying, “We’ve already gotten second chances. What you want is a third chance.”

“Well then, I’d like to have a third chance Anne. Third time’s the charm?” Jane extended her hand as an olive branch. A hug didn’t seem quite right, but she wanted to offer something.

Anne watched the hand warily, her stance defensive. At Jane’s hopeful look, she gave in and grabbed her hand. “Last chance Seymour, make it count.”

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Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #request #the title is from the song high #yes it's by preston max allen #from his carrie 2: the rage parody musical #it's so hilarious and i love the music #i have a problem guys #i didn't have much time to edit this #so it might not be great #jane seymour #all the other queens are there #but it focuses on her #not my best work but i still hope you enjoy!

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oh-boleyn · 4 years

Text

jane / infamy

words: 6216, one shot, language: english

anne / jane / katherine / catherine

as I said on my ao3, this might be my last one shot in a while (I’m really struggling with college right now, like in this moment I should be doing two assigments which... clearly I’m not doing), but still I hope you all enjoy this piece of garbage of story!

TW: canon, Jane being mean? probably more swearing that what is expected from a jane one shot

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Jane Seymour

Remembered for: being the only wife to provide Henry with a son and male heir.

(…)

Jane Seymour was relieved.

The light is brighter, and her dizziness is starting to fade.

No more pain or ache in her lower body, and she feels quite better than in a long time. Her arms are longing to hold her baby, dear Edward, who has just secured her the position of queen.

She opens her eyes, but instead of finding her chambers, she is in a strange looking room, with Anne Boleyn and Catherine of Aragon. Jane wants to cry, knowing immediately what it meant. She is dead, there is no other way to turn it around. She died and was found guilty of her sins, was it her hell? Being with the other two queens? God punishment for seducing a married man?

They all stare at each other, not knowing how to proceed.

(…)

Virtue and common good sense.

(…)

The new house is nothing like what she was used to, and sharing a room with both Catherines wasn’t exactly in her dreams.

She had less problems with accepting Catherine rather than Anne, after all, with the last the relationship had been more than rocky, but Catherine probably wasn’t Jane’s biggest fan either. Even after the older queen’s death, Jane had always tried her best with Mary, attempting to help her image, trying to reconcile with the religion.

Parr wasn’t bad, but she was quite closed. They weren’t acquaintances in their past lives, but that didn’t mean Catherine would introduce herself and invite her to grab a snack or something. It was hard to think about her, how connected both were but how apart too. The most she would talk was about history, or science, or another thing Jane couldn’t bring herself to truly understand and would be left just nodding along.

(…)

When she died, he actually sunk into depression, officially mourning her for two years before marrying again.

(…)

Looking for a job is not an easy task, it’s not like she ever had to do that before. Her kinsman secured her a good place as the lady of the queen, and even when the court became hostile and fell apart, she managed to still have her place.

But now jobs required so much, not just her needlework and knowing how to perform the arts —whatever arts you want that to mean. Modern positions searched for way too many qualities she doesn’t have.

When Catherine offers the idea of doing a show, she says yes out of desperation of not knowing how to do anything else, not even how get the oven to work. Once it goes out of her mouth, she truly wishes the rest of the queens don’t notice how needy she is of the opportunity.

(…)

By that account, she was practically a saint!

(…)

Opening night was stressful to say the least. There are at least a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and her song – her song! While everyone clapped along Aragon’s and Boleyn’s, her part was different, way out of the upbeat modern pop style.

She couldn’t even have a fun, upbeat song.

It’s not like she didn’t want to, Jane tried so hard to add comic relief to her story, trying puns and obnoxious screaming. But her song was slow, more of a ballad instead of the pop-rock songs the show featured. And, to top it, she was the only one who talked about understanding Henry, about loving him, staying by his side.

Of fucking course, she had to be the sweet woman who just happened to love a horrible man.

(…)

Jane was Henry’s true love.

(…)

It is hard to fill her place, her own shoes she left behind when she died.

Jane Seymour, known because she was the one he truly loved. The one he asked to be painted years after she died, instead of just letting her rest in peace. Jane, the dutiful wife, the one who had the son he so desperately wanted.

And the audience loved it, they loved to see the dutiful mother, the one who can’t stop talking about her son. They cheered, they heard everything they always knew.

Because she wasn’t an interesting character in the story, she was just another woman there to obey the orders of the king.

She wishes she was known for something else, but that’s not her life. Of course, playing another character would be fun, being the temptress, the evil stepmother, the fun one, someone people actually cared about. Instead, she was the tedious, boring perfect wife. Reduced to her uterus capacity, and ability to shut her mouth.

(…)

I assure you she is as gentle a lady as ever I knew, and as fair a Queen as any in Christendom.

(…)

“Good morning, Katherine.” Jane says.

The teenager enters the kitchen with heavy steps, still not quite awake from the night of sleep.

“Morning.” She replies, voice small.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“Do you know how to cook?” Katherine retorts, a smug look on her face. “Don’t worry, I will buy something. Maybe cheesecake? Or apple pie?”

“Why not a chocolate cake.” Jane offers, getting the water off of the stove, almost burning herself in the process.

“Do you like chocolate cake?” The younger asks, “I would have pinned you as a vanilla kind of person.”

Jane feels judged. The smile on Katherine’s face just says it all.

“I prefer it, but never mind.” The teenager finishes.

(…)

Here lies Jane, a phoenix / Who died in giving another phoenix birth.

(…)

They move into a new house.

The moment Jane enters her new room, she knows it will take at least two months to get it completely clean. There are spiderwebs, and the white walls look more of a light grey. She makes mental notes to buy bleach, and other cleaning supplies.

At least her bed is clean, but she makes sure it doesn’t touch any wall for the sake of it not getting dirty.

(…)

Jane Seymour was a kind woman too, a better person than Anne.

(…)

“Are we coming to the bar tonight?” Anna asks.

Cleves is nothing less than an interesting character to say the least. They never got to meet in their past lives, but the woman knew her son. She even lived long enough to see him dead.

“I’m not sure,” Jane replies, “I don’t think that Boleyn is going to want me there.”

“But I would want you there.” The fourth queen says easily. “If it’s your decision, that’s alright, but I would like you to come.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

(…)

Her ladies-in-waiting and her maids were held to a strict code of behavior and insisted that they “serve God and be virtuous”.

(…)

The people, and society as a whole has changed.

Feminism is a common term, and women can –almost, to a certain point– hold the same power as men do.

Still, Jane feels more judged than ever. In her past life it was easy, if she did exactly what she was told, nobody would question her. She was bound to serve and obey, and planned to let everyone know about it. Unlike Anne, she was not going to take her chances. She couldn’t say that it brings her happiness, but it gave her peace of mind.

Nobody would contradict the orders of their king.

Nowadays it is different. People talk about freedom, about being able to own yourself, your body, your choices. Nonetheless, they talk about her. Judged her for saying good things about Henry in her speech, for loving him when it was her only choice.

It was her choice to keep her hair long, not like Anna’s. Her choice to wear make-up, to prefer dresses rather than pants. To talk about her son, to own her past. The public sometimes hated her for it, for her decisions, calling them a part of patriarchy leftover from the century in which she used to live.

They hate that she reduces herself to it, to being a mother, to fill what was expected of her, but that is still the only thing they know about her.

(…)

Jane herself was known for her quiet and soothing manner.

(…)

She sometimes sees it; the way Aragon and Boleyn are mothers.

Sometimes it is just a word, a name. Something totally irrelevant that snaps them into it, into caring in a way only mothers do. The way they treat Katherine, or how they look at a little kid on the street. How they talk to the younger fans of the show.

Jane feels like she doesn’t have it. She doesn’t care about babies and kids. Doesn’t have an attachment to them, to the idea of being a mother. If someone handed her a baby she would probably freeze and don’t know how to proceed.

Was it justice? Did she die so Edward wouldn’t have to put through with her as a mother?

Jane thinks she was just not born for that, to have a kid, to care for them. There were women who had maternal instincts, but she didn’t. Instead, when having to tend for Katherine, she grew overwhelmed, not having a clue of what to do next.

(…)

We will never know if Jane sought the king’s favor or was a frightened pawn of her family and the king’s desire.

(…)

“Would you like to go to brunch tomorrow?” Aragon asks one day.

It’s Saturday night, which means she is totally exhausted after a two show day, but still, she nods. Slowly, Aragon and Jane had started to rebuild the good relationship they once had. Both of them holding so much respect for the other.

“Have you seen Kat?” Parr interrupts Jane’s thoughts.

“She was here just a minute ago.” Aragon says, looking around.

“Well, Anne is looking for her and there’s no trace of where she could be.” The survivor explains quickly.

“Let’s look for her.” The first queen concludes, taking action.

They pass fans, excusing themselves, still taking a few pictures just for the sake of fulfilling the stagedoor the queens always did. Once they are out, a cold breeze hits their faces. Walking through the streets seems dangerous, but luckily enough Kat is near, curled up in herself. They signal to Anne and Anna to quickly come with them.

“Kitty, can you hear me?” Anne is fast to get on her knees, getting to be at the same height as Katherine.

“We should take her inside,” Jane states, “it’s not safe here.”

“Outside air can help, Jane.” Boleyn snaps at her. “Kat?”

She wishes she could be mad at her, but at the same time the second queen is just trying to do the best for her cousin. She acts almost instinctive, as if anyone would do that. The way she stays near her, but without invading personal space amazes Jane, even if that decision makes sense. She would’ve tried to pull the younger girl closer, thinking about it makes it seem like not such a good idea, the immediate response to fight or flight after a panic attack wouldn’t help.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is small. “Can we go home?”

Jane nods, and starts walking behind her towards the car. It comes as a surprise the fact that Katherine rides with them, instead of Anne and Anna as she usually does, but they don’t say a thing. She maintains her eyes on the girl, worried about her.

Once they arrive, Katherine is the first to get into the house, leaving the other two queens alone.

“I’m worried about her, should we try to have a talk?” Jane asks, Catherine denies with her head.

“No, we have to just make her trust us,” she says easily, “once she does, if needed she will come to us. Confrontation is mostly not the way to go with teenagers.”

“How do you know that?”

Aragon smiles.

(…)

She was the only one of his wives to be buried next to him.

(…)

If Jane said that she never wanted to be queen, it would be a lie.

The idea always sounded appealing. Who wouldn’t want to be one? Even in a modern context, girls still pretended to be queens, to live in the prettiest castles. Being queen came with power, not nearly as much as men had, but still a fair amount. The chance to change things, to have opinions. Not counting how good it could be to the family, to secure a future.

Jane would be lying if she ever said that becoming a queen was not something she longed for. But she didn’t want Anne to suffer such a horrible death, no matter if it was or wasn’t fair.

(She used to think that another kind of death wouldn’t be as bad, to die for natural causes would just be God’s will, and to have a divorce would be the Man’s will.

Now she thinks every ending is horrible until proven different.)

In this life she kept quiet about it, knowing how she might have interfered in what Henry ultimately did to Anne. She preferred to not talk about her time as queen, how he threatened her with the same fate her predecessor suffered.

She once thinks about boarding the subject with Parr. She saw that the writer went through the same, a warrant order for her head that was never finished, and the painful death after a childbirth. Still, she doesn’t do so, knowing that her and the survivor are not the same.

Catherine Parr was smart, got her way because of her words. Jane Seymour was just the ignorant fool who kept quiet to please the man.

(…)

The ladies in waiting were expected to wear a belt of pearls with at least 120 pearls in them, and if they didn’t, they weren’t allowed to appear before her.

(…)

“Did you bring something for the cold?” Jane interrogates.

“Yeah, my pink sweater, I left it in the dressing room.” Katherine explains.

“Okay, I will look for it, finish taking your makeup off.” She orders.

The third queen stops staring at the queen, instead looking around. Finding the piece of clothing, she reaches out for it, but winces for a moment when the younger talks.

“Jane, just stop it, okay?” Katherine asks.

“It’s cold, put on a coat or something more, you will catch a cold.” She tried to give the teenager her pink sweater, but all she got was rejection.

“Just don’t. Stop acting as if I’m a child.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise, after all, Katherine usually snapped at her.

“You are nineteen.” Jane indicated, anger bubbling up in her voice.

“I am like almost five hundred years old.” There was bitterness in the statement. “Nobody cared about me being eighteen when the king beheaded me. They didn’t even care when I was younger, why now?”

“Because I care about you.” The words come out before she can really think about it.

Did she really? Cared for the younger?

Of course, she didn’t want harm to come to her, but then again also not to any of all the strangers she knew in this life. Nonetheless there is something about Katherine, an innocence, a broken past. Jane wanted to take care of the girl, to help her through whatever she was going through.

“You shouldn’t.”

It comes out almost aggressive, like a threat. The queen who died of natural causes doesn’t know how to feel about it.

(…)

She learned pretty quickly that it was best to stay out of religion and politics, and instead focused her energy on domestic issues.

(…)

Jane doesn’t break like Katherine, but she still does.

The way Katherine breaks suddenly, they can all point at that moment and say that is when she started changing. Harming herself in not obvious ways, drinking more caffeine than what she should, sleeping less, eating the unhealthiest food she can find. They notice, but their own egos and need to not gossip in order to not be the catty bitches fighting against each other like history has painted stop them from acting as a group.

Instead, the way Jane breaks is slowly, anger destroying her. Consuming every inch of her, growing and taking parts of her life.

It starts as a bitter, indignant feeling when she is left to cook or help cleaning up, but it quickly grows. Gets infuriating, maddening when people call her good . She is not, she might have been in another life, but not in this one. She was not innocent, but rather had a fair amount of guilt. It evolves to be hostile when she realizes that nothing will change it.

Jane Seymour, the mother figure who not only failed at being educated and staying alive, but also failed at having maternal instincts. The good queen, who did nothing but harm. The mother of the king, a king who died young and so did she.

She hates herself for it.

(…)

Her ladies-in-waiting and her maids were held to a strict code of behavior and insisted that they “serve God and be virtuous”.

(…)

She tries to self-isolate, to take a step away.

It doesn’t help, instead the anger comes back stronger each time, and she hates it. Jane hates how violent the feeling can be, how abrasive. She controls herself as she had always done, but it doesn’t make it any better, a resentment towards her fellow queens growing.

Seymour was not a jealous woman, not in her past life and not in this one. She didn’t want to be like the other queens knowing that there were so many things wrong in their lives. It was not about it.

It was about making a mistake, and how she never got to commit those. Jane couldn’t regret anything in her life without someone telling her that “she had it easy”, after all, she was the one he “truly loved”. Even when her problems were addressed, it always came before a way to minimize it, or worse, blame her for them.

The queens knew that it was none of their faults, but people still pinned them against each other, choosing favourites, giving each other a role. And she couldn’t say a word, because hers was good.

It didn’t matter what she truly wanted, or what her opinions about it were, because their mind was made up.

Why change something that is not broken? Why get mad over a good thing? What was better, being a bitch or a saint ?

Jane thinks that being the villain of the story would be easier, liberating. Heroes are just too unreal to exist, but pushing the narrative meant forgetting her own flaws, thoughts, problems.

But who cared?

All they ever wanted was a devoted woman.

(…)

Jane curbed her tongue and accepted her place as the dutiful wife.

(…)

"Can you stop being such a stuck-up child and act mature for a fucking moment?" The third queen asks, becoming irritable, "I just fucking asked you to do one thing. One fucking thing. You are not a toddler, stop throwing a fit!"

It turns out, living up to five hundred years of expectations become harder the angrier you get. The worse the feeling of burning grows, the worse it hurts inside. Jane refuses to let it slide, to let it show, but Anne is not making it any easier.

"Go off, Janey," the green queen laughs, "or chill out, it's not that deep."

"Except, it is." She demands. "I asked you to please do one thing, and it's not the first time. I ask you, you do it for a week, and then forget about it. Are you taking me for an idiot?"

"Honestly? No," she replies easily, "I just don't care enough."

They stay watching each other for a moment.

It brings back memories, but their roles are reversed. In another timeline Jane would be childish, not caring enough, or maybe caring so, so much, about the locket and chain around her neck. Anne would watch her with such a fury in her eyes, and the blonde would internally laugh.

She regrets it. Jane hadn’t seen it coming. The dreadful ending.

“But I know you do; I will try to change it.” Anne answers, her voice just above a whisper.

A soft: “Thank you” it’s all Jane can say.

“You’re welcome, darling .” A playful smirk passes through her lips.

“Bloody idiot.”

“I know.”

Boleyn gives her a sincere smile.

Maybe sometimes yelling is useful.

(…)

It is also true that she was not as sharp or witty as Anne Boleyn.

(…)

It doesn’t last long. Before she knows it, the show must keep going.

Jane smiles, sings her song, sings about Edward. Edward, her Edward. Her brother too, was named Edward. He died. Her brother too, was Thomas. Thomas who did so much wrong. Thomas who apparently loved Parr. Thomas who got sentenced to death.

Thomas and Edward. Thomas. Edward.

She doesn’t realize how much panic creeps in until she is alone in her room crying. An unexpected feeling of grief for the family she once had, as much grief as hate and resentment towards them. Horrible atrocious acts made just for the sake of it.

The Internet says that her son, her little baby, luckily died young.

They talk about luck, something good. And even as much as she wants to believe that her kid won’t ever be a threat, she knows his father. Henry was atrocious, ruthless. Growing under his influence was probably not the ideal childhood. If only she hadn’t died.

Her skin aches, and she has to ground herself controlling her breathing.

Was it possible that every man in her old life was terrible?

(…)

She never seemed to cause drama or do anything without her husband’s permission, and she managed to maintain her carefully crafted image of being virtuous, loyal and obedient.

(…)

“Jane, can we talk?” Aragon questions, knocking on the door.

The blonde nods, slowly looking up.

“What’s going on?” The divorcee asks, rather bluntly. “You stopped coming out of your room, and when you do, it’s just to fight. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m good. Great even.” She smiles.

“Do you think I’m a fool?”

Bloody hell.

Jane doesn’t want to hold this conversation, knowing that she has all the cards to lose it. But at the same time, she wishes to reach out, to explain what is going on. To say that she doesn’t know how to be angry, how to defy someone, how to speak up. All she knows is shouting, crying and hiding her real emotions.

She must conceal what she feels, to not let it show. The less she thinks, the less she feels, the less danger it represents. Jane can’t be the next one. If what happened to Aragon was an awful experience, where she couldn’t see her daughter or talk to her for the last years of her entire life, and Anne’s death was way worse, what is left for her? Torture worse than death.

“ Bonita, breathe with me.” Aragon commands, sitting a hand on Jane’s shoulder in an attempt to ground her. “Jane, breath in. Hold. Breath out.”

“Go away, Catherine, please . ” The queen begs.

“No. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you here, please .”

“I just want to help.” Catherine says, trying to get closer.

“Why don’t you try and help yourself first? I know I’m dumb, but even I can notice what you do, Catherine.” Her voice becomes steady. “Why are you so obsessed with fixing people? Is this because you couldn’t fix Mary from the monster she became?”

The venom in her words acts quickly, Catherine’s face changing in a few moments. First a pained expression, then developing hurt. She stands up from the bed, and Jane rage rises.

“Why can’t you just keep for yourself, Aragon?” She expels the name. “Is that because you don’t know us? Is this a trick? I know you loved him, is this your way to check us as competition? Or just because you want to see which one of us can take the blame for what happened with baby Mary?”

Catherine stays silent. Humble and loyal after all.

“I told you I wanted you gone.” Jane finishes.

“And I told you, you need help. You should seek it before it becomes too late.”

(…)

Jane’s son Edward was at best a useless boy-king, and at worst a divisive religious extremist who disinherited his sisters.

(…)

Maybe no other queen truly understands her.

Or maybe she doesn’t understand the others.

How Anne talks about her beheading makes it sound like a celebration, a great day everyone was looking forward. She talks about how people cheered, even if it sounds mostly like an old tale made by people who hated her. Jane doesn’t try to tell the truth. She hides it in her silence, just like she hid from Henry.

She should. She should make it better for Anne, but a part of her can’t do so. Can’t bring herself to tell the truth. To confront the other queen. She can’t break the need to be perfect, the need to be good, and innocent.

Talking to Boleyn would be an admission of guilt she is not ready to commit.

(…)

Jane Seymour fulfilled her most important duty as queen, but she was never crowned and died just twelve days after the long and arduous birth.

(…)

Catherine is distant, which shouldn’t surprise her.

Asking for help sounds like a trap. She can’t trust anyone. Even if she knows how much it would change things, even if she doesn’t feel like the queens would hate her or judge her, deep inside something tells her they will. And she can’t allow that.

She can’t break the idea of being perfect after fighting so much for it in the past.

(…)

The fact that she had died producing Henry’s only surviving male heir gave her a mythic near-martyr status in his eyes, and he would do creepy things like having her appear in a family portrait eight years after her death (and not even as a zombie or vampire, much to my dismay).

(…)

“Why are you here?” Her therapist asks.

Wasn’t being a reincarnated Tudor queen who died after giving birth to the next king of England enough reason to be?

“I think I’m having problems with being impulsive, and out of control, and managing my emotions.”

“Which emotions would this be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s good that you are looking for help, Jane.” The woman says.

She takes the files and starts asking more questions, Jane finds herself being more honest than in a long time.

After the session she feels happier, lighter.

(…)

Let’s get down to business and look at just why Jane was in fact not a cute little wifey BUT a calculating master manipulator.

(…)

It doesn’t last long, and that is what hurts the most.

Feeling good for a moment just to then descend into the pain of unbelievable sadness that invades her. Not knowing how to handle it, making her go slowly mad.

It makes her think of her death.

Everything was good, happy, easy. But then it started going bad, failing. Her own body, organs shutting down, fever, agony. A pain in her chest that barely leaves her breathing. Death coming to her. And sometimes she feels it again.

Short, confused breath. A weight so heavy on her chest. Her thoughts all over the place. Death creeping on her. Her psychologist calls it a panic attack, stress coming to her. And she doesn’t know how to react to the idea that it’s just her brain. Drowning in thoughts, so deep that she can’t see the surface.

(…)

That’s two Queens brought back into the folds of power, a feat Jane achieved in just 6 months, thanks to her skill at manipulating Henry without him even realizing.

(…)

Anna doesn’t come to her, just the contrary. Jane tries to help.

Watching the queen crumbling down, makes her feel smaller. Just the contrary to her stage presence. This Anna is not partying, no joking. She is broken. Not a unidimensional character that they pull each night. Cleves has kept a mask for so long, that is just now breaking.

Jane can’t help but wonder if they all do. But it’s different. Jane had always been allowed to be sad, to cry, to be sensible and weak, while Anna never had that privilege. Each role assigned to them had their good and bad parts.

“We might not be great. I know I’m not. But we are here for you. We are all in this.”

“Do you really mean it?” The fourth queen asks.

She doesn’t doubt it. It’s just the way it worked, everyone had their places, what they tried to fulfil. It was harder on some of them. To keep or to destroy what they were. Create a new self being idyllic, impossible.

“Of course, I do.” Jane smiles.

(…)

Jane was not beautiful. She was not outspoken, or alluring, or exotic.

(…)

An article said he was sick for months. That he died slowly, painfully.

Her son had died when still young. And she never held his hand. She wonders if he was scared. If he thought what death might have felt like. Sometimes it keeps her up at night, her sick son who had to lay in a bed. Who she can’t help.

She wasn’t scared of death, as she never quite understood, fever coming to her, letting her slowly go. Making her confused, as she didn’t understand if she died until she came back.

What was better? To go without knowing or to stay knowing that the ultimate end is near?

Jane used to be catholic, used to devote herself to religion. But since she came back it all feels like a lie, an elaborated truth that kept her from making errors. Still, for his supposed last words, she hopes God had mercy on him.

(…)

Nobody wants an unfun queen.

(…)

“Jane, may I sit with you?”

The older nods, making space on the sofa. Katherine practically jumps to the spot but doesn’t relax until Jane opens her arms for the girl to get into the embrace. They stay like that for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s company.

They had managed to somehow have a good relationship. Maybe because Jane never feels as if Katherine judges. Maybe because Katherine never met her in life. Maybe because they know the least about their past. It somehow brings them closer.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” The third queen wonders.

She keeps in mind Aragon’s words, if Katherine feels safe enough, she will open up. Slowly the changes had been more noticeable, especially after starting therapy.

Maybe it’s the need to be a mother, maybe it’s just the way Katherine can charm anyone, with shy smiles and childish glee.

“I feel bad.” Katherine admits. “I… I have tried to ignore things and I just feel guilty about it.”

Jane nods, knowing what the feeling is about. Remorse is an even more common feeling in the queens’ household than it is probably in others.

Maybe they are both broken.

“What about?” She wonders.

Maybe it’s just meant to be.

“They beheaded the woman who helped me.” Katherine admits. “They beheaded her too.”

Maybe it’s because they both feel the blood on their hands.

“But it wasn’t your fault. You can’t make yourself responsible for others’ actions.” Jane confirms.

“I never cried. Since I came back, I never cried for her. I just pushed it to the back of my mind, acted as if it did not happen.” Her eyes water. “She died for me. And I am back, and she is not. I still don’t try to bring those memories back.”

“Some emotions need time.” The older one tries to explain. “Grief it’s not lineal, there’s denial, there’s guilt.”

“She didn’t deserve it.”

“You didn’t either. But you can honour her. We have a second chance, something impossible.”

“What are you using your second chance for?” Katherine wonders.

Jane doesn’t have an answer.

(…)

Jane Seymour: (shrug) enh.

(…)

Sometimes talking with fans is easier. They comment about the play with blissful glee, about the shiny costumes and loud music. Some go as far as making copies of her costume, to draw her, to write letters. They still don’t know her fully and they mostly don’t care to find out.

Jane can’t help but wonder if Edward ever felt love like that, blind, from someone who doesn’t know who you are. She can’t help but wonder what her son knew of her, because he never met her. She didn’t get to really meet him either, but she has Anna, who sometimes would drop a funny story of a young king, Katherine who remembers a little boy, and Catherine who talks about how smart he was.

She hopes that he had someone to tell him her story.

(…)

In her entire 18 months as queen, Jane Seymour failed to say one single thing that anybody thought was worth preserving for the future.

(…)

“Catherine, can we talk?” Jane asks.

The first queen nods sternly, sitting in front of her. Even though their relationship had been less tense since she started therapy a while ago, things were still not quite resolved within them.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Catherine starts. “I shouldn’t have pushed, specifically not when I told you not to push Katherine.”

“No, it’s alright.” The blonde smiles. “Katherine shouldn’t be pressured, that’s true. But we are different. I didn’t understand what you were trying to do but now I do. And I’m sorry. I have been realizing things slowly and it’s just a matter of time until I will feel better again.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” The first queen asks.

“It’s the idea of being perfect. To fill in my own shoes. To comply, and obey and serve. You knew me before, and you know me now, but I just feel so much responsibility to be who people think I am. I talk about how I stayed, firm by his side, but in reality, I didn’t. I was scared. I am scared. And it’s such a weird feeling, because it drives me to do the exact opposite thing of what I try to do. My death was just something that happened, but I can’t help and think that I was lucky to have died. Who knows what could’ve been of me otherwise?”

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

“But I do.” Jane replies. “It’s just my place, and I’m a character. I just have to learn where and when I should be myself.”

“Are you sure? No one is expecting anything.”

“They are. And it’s okay. They want it, the love story, the tragic ending. I wish it was like that, but it was not. But I’m going to be fine, because I’m pretty tough. And it doesn’t come from screaming, being the loudest or the most anything. It comes from me, and I don’t have to prove it to anyone else.”

(…)

Or, god forbid, are you a fan of the insufferable Jane Fucking Seymour?

(…)

“I might miss some foods from the past, but I love this.” Anne said happily, devouring some chocolate lentils.

“Stop it! I want some too.” Her almost namesake replied, trying to take some.

“Anna, don’t worry about chocolate and help me pick a movie.” Parr insists. “I saw that this one was good, this account said that they used a new kind of animation to do it. Created a new program and all.”

Jane smiles, laughing lightly at Catherine who can’t keep facts for herself. Each time it becomes better, less superior talking and more nerdy, passionate about useless knowledge.

“Whatever you choose, please let it be short, I’m so tired tonight.” Aragon asks.

“That one is ninety minutes long.” Katherine offers.

The third queen sits, gossiping about the plot

(…)

So, don’t overlook Jane. Sure she’s quiet, but remember it’s the quiet ones you have to watch.

(…)

Second chances were overrated, that much could be said for Jane Seymour.

Sometimes, people don’t change, themselves or their minds. In her two lives, she dealt with it all. With trying and not, with fighting and keeping quiet, with being looked up to and with being irrationally disliked. Society, as a whole, would never be pleased. Setting standards too high, as much as those vary from time to time, from one century to the other, there was always going to be something wrong.

But it didn’t mean she had to just follow it.

Second chances were overrated, wasting hers into demonstrating things to anyone except herself. The general opinion might not change, but Jane does. She learns, grows. She cries, gets sick and has horrible days, she fights, speaks out, she loves, she smiles. It’s hard, to live a life she shouldn’t have, but it means that is her opportunity, not to be revolutionary, not to be a queen nor a mother.

Jane learns to be herself, to explore, to know her limits. And it never ends.

Second chances were overrated, but it doesn’t mean that Jane was going to try and make the best out of hers. Maybe it is boring, or naïve to not try to take an impossible opportunity, but she doesn’t need it. To be true to herself is more than just enough.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #jane seymour

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Note

Fanfiction request here!! Anne drinking energy juice and everything’s fine until later on during the show she starts to feel ill..... Aragon just wants to make sure Anne doesn’t vomit on stage....

Sorry for this being so very late, anon.

Not sure if what you wanted was Very-Soft-Aragon but...well, what you got was Very-Soft-Aragon.

She doesn’t want to cry, not on the tube, not in front of everyone, but she does.

She can’t believe how much she’s let everyone down. She doesn’t even have tiredness as an excise- yes, she’d been tired (they were all tired) but no one else had been stupid enough to think that three energy drinks plus caffiene tablets on a two show day was a sensible solution.

It hadn’t even worked properly, that was the really frustrating thing- she’d still felt exhausted, just jittery too, and she’d barely been able to keep still throughout the show. And she’d never even considered the other side effects- she’d felt sicker than she ever had in her life,to the point that she’d had to duck into the wings during House of Holbein, for fear she’d actually throw up on stage, and on top of everything, she’d just felt so paranoid, so anxious.

Her voice had sounded wavery and weak even to her own ears, her cocky stage-persona unconvincing. The end of her song was deliberately a bit shrill but this time, she’d sounded terrified from the first verse.

God, what a mess.

She can only imagine what the fans thought of her disaster performance, and she’s trying not to think about how the other queens are going to react when they finish with stagedoor and come home.

It hadn’t exactly been agreed that she’d leave early or that Aragon would take her home- it’s just what ended up happening. A little part of her is afraid that Aragon just wants to scold her privately, to tell her what a disappointment she is- and the thought makes the tears come a little faster.

Aragon doesn’t comment or even look at her, keeping her eyes on an advert for Kumon lessons (extremely clean looking children bent studiously over blank workbooks) but she slips an arm around her shoulders and gently rubs up and down her upper arm.

It’s unexpected but still nice. She takes a chance and lets her head rest against Aragon’s coat, lets her eyes close and the tears slide slowly down her face to her jaw, drying stiff on her skin. When she licks her lips, eyes still shut, she can taste the salt.

She’s so very tired.

She hates you for ruining the show. They all hate you for ruining the show. She’s not talking because she hates you-

She just about manages to shut the train of thought down, with some effort.

She knows Aragon doesn’t speak for the other queens but it’s a comfort at least to feel that at least one person is still on her side. Aragon may not be talking but she keeps up her gentle movements on her arm and it soothes away the nibbling anxiety that’s never too far from the edge of her mind- no one pets angrily.

Eventually the tube shudders to a stop and Aragon unwinds herself. There’s cold air in the place of warm queen as they walk to the ticket barrier and it makes her want to cling and refuse to be unpeeled- she knows how quickly her mind can spiral if left to its own devices- but just as she’s beginning to feel herself getting shakey again, Aragon nudges her arm.

‘Ok?’

She nods and tries to smile.

‘We’re nearly home-’ Aragon says something else, something about ‘all sorted out’ but a lorry passes, laying on it’s horn and drowns nearly everything out.

‘Oh- yeah-’

Of course they’ll need to sort this out- of course that’s the priority (she pushes down her very-strong desire to crawl under her duvet and forget everything for a few hours, she tries to stop thinking about how long it’s been since she’s eaten anything, about the headache throbbing behind her eyes).

‘Should I-’ She desperately wants to show Aragon that she’s taking this seriously, that she understands how bad it is, that she’ll do everything she needs to do to make amends. ‘Do you think I should do a tweet or a video first? Or- or see what everyone is saying first, see how bad it is-?’

It will take hours, she knows how quickly comments pile up online...but it’s the least she can do-

‘What are you talking about?’

Aragon has stopped walking and is looking at her really strangely and it makes her stomach clench up- perhaps she really is angry, perhaps she really does think that she’s an attention-seeking, self absorbed, shallow, pathetic, worthless-

‘Anne?’ Aragon touches her arm and brings her out of a spiral for a moment. It’s a gentle touch but it still makes her flinch a tiny bit.

‘Just-’ Her voice is very small. ‘You said- you said we need to get everything sorted out-’

‘I meant-’

Aragon pauses and she holds her breath, waiting: her eyes are burning again and as much as she’s trying to hold herself together, a tear escapes. Stupid, selfish, attention seeking.

She’s squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for Aragon to say the words out loud- she surely must be thinking them, she just hopes she doesn’t tell all the others about how she’s still, after everything, trying to manipulate pity.

Then gentle fingers brush her cheek. ‘I meant you, you silly thing. You look awful, you need a hot shower and some sleep. And when did you last eat actual food?’

She shrugs, not meeting Aragon’s eye.

‘I knew it! Supper, shower, bed then, in that order, and no more energy drinks. At least we’re all off tomorrow, you can have a day to rest up-’

Aragon is confusing her- why is she talking as if she’s sick and deserving of sympathy, as if this whole thing isn’t of her own making?

‘But what about- what people will be saying? I ruined the show-’

Aragon is looking at her with her familiar look of fond exasperation. ‘I don’t give two hoots about what people are saying- and that’s assuming anyone even noticed anything was different-’

‘But-’

‘For all they know, you were just playing yourself a bit differently tonight- who are they to say you weren’t?’ Aragon tucks her under her arm and starts walking again- it’s a little bit difficult to keep in step but there’s no way she’s going to move away. ‘If anything, I’m sure the fans will love it-’

‘But- how could they?’

‘Remember when Jane and Anna had that bet on?’ Aragon’s voice is very certain, very assured, and she clings to that certainty- perhaps she hasn’t completely destroyed their reputation.

‘Yes-’

‘Remember how much the fans went wild for it? Remember the hashtags? And all the people begging them to keep it up? Remember how disappointed everyone was when they went back to normal?’ Aragon’s voice has fallen into the soothing cadence of a bedtime- and she DOES remember, how Jane spent a show imitating Anna’s brash cockiness, while Anna made herself temporarily vulnerable, and how fans had blown up the whole thing into a story of almost mythical proportions.

‘Do you really think they’ll think that for me?’

‘Of course. And if not- well, we can always tell them that’s what you were going for.’ As they get to their familiar front door, Aragon turns and looks her straight in the eye. ‘It’ll be all be ok, alright? I promise you, it will be fine.’

She can’t quite bring herself to agree, but she doesn’t want to contradict her either, settling for a shaky nod.

Aragon smiles as she digs out her key and unlocks the front door.

‘You’ll see I’m right, and when I am, I’ll remind you of it forever. You’ll be sick of me saying it.’

She gives a weak smile, that fades as she realises just how queasy she still feels. Aragon notices and tilts her head sympathetically.

‘Still feeling bad?’

She manages a nod.

‘Let's get you upstairs- you’ll feel better after some sleep. The others won’t be back for a bit-’

Standing under the shower is an effort but it’s a relief to wash off the stickiness of the day, even if she has to steady herself with a hand against the tiled wall.

Damp-haired and pajama clad, she makes her way back to her bedroom and finds the covers of her bed turned down and her curtains drawn. As she gets under the covers, she finds a hot water bottle at the foot of the bed and the thoughtfulness of it almost makes her want to cry again. Or maybe she’s just really tired and overly emotional and coming down from the biggest caffeine high imaginable.

It’s hard to tell really.

There’s a tap on the door and then Aragon enters, balancing a tray which she sets down on the bedside table.

Water, paracetemol, a mug of soup, some anti-nausea pills.

‘Here- I know you probably don’t feel like it but you should try and have something.’

‘Thanks.’

She expects her to leave but instead Aragon settles herself down on the edge of the bed, and she finds she’s grateful for the promise of company, even if she’s still half waiting to be told off.

‘Jane texted while you were showering-’

She pauses, the glass halfway to her lips.

‘She said to tell you that they all hope you’re ok.’

It’s a surprise, for all of Aragon’s reassurances.

‘Really?’

‘She said they all feel bad for not coming with us- she said if you’re asleep when they get in, they’ll try not to make too much noise.’

‘Oh.’ The thought warms her heart: they’re not angry, they’re not angry.’

‘They also say-’ Aragon shifts position and she makes room for her against the headboard. ‘The fans were sad not to see you at stagedoor- they were all apparently very moved by your new spin on your character…’

Aragon puts her phone down with a smile like a cat in a vat of cream. ‘What did I tell you?’

It’s such a relief, she can’t even reply- it’s all ok. She hasn’t ruined anything. It’s ok.

She leans into Aragon, all the tension leaving her at once, and lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Aragons hands move through her damp hair- it feels good, she lets her eyes drift shut.

‘Hey-’ Aragon taps her arm. ‘No falling asleep on me until you’re properly hydrated- you don’t need to wake up with a headache-’

She knows she’s right but still- she just wants to enjoy the feeling of being able to relax properly for the first time in hours (in days) for a little longer.

‘In a minute.’

Her voice is muffled against Aragon’s shirt but she must have heard- her arms actually go around her properly, pulling her closer.

Her voice is faintly amused and so very warm, so loving.

‘Alright.’ A chuckle vibrates Aragon’s chest as she burrows infinitesimally closer. ‘In a minute.’

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction

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roadtohadestown · 4 years

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6/7/8, 18, 19 :) for the asks

6. Have you seen the show live? Talk about your experience!

I have!!! Most memorable and amazing experience of my life 🥺

Seeing it live was sooooo much different from watching a boot or listening to the albums! This was prior to the whole Broadway album’s release, so I tried avoiding listening to whatever songs were already out. I’d been a part of the Hadestown fandom since January, stuck around near the end of their London run, followed the whole Bway cast until the show’s opening, then saw the show June 18, 2019.

I went in blind not knowing many of the Broadway changes from London. So most of the Bway soundtrack I didn’t know. This was so the experience could be more magical for me, since it’s my favorite musical and first time seeing a Broadway show!

I sat really close to the stage and this was the view I got! (Orchestra L, D11)

I got to see the OBC cast and was really happy. There was so much emotion in the actors’/actresses’ faces and you could really see it!! Everyone entered waving to the audience, and I was overFLOWING with joy. I couldn’t believe I was in the same room as Reeve and Eva and this whole cast of people I only saw through pictures and videos 🥺🥺

Tumblr’s being mean and not letting me properly link it, but my tag #casu’s hadestown experience is where I talked all about it. (I’ll have it in the tags of this post so you can click it from there.)

7. If you’ve seen the show, did you stagedoor? Who did you meet?

Yes!!! I made art for every cast member and spent a month grinding to finish it. I met Eva, Reeve, Ahmad, John, Timothy, Afra, Kimberly, Kay, and Jewelle! (Then I saw T, but he was in a rush and not stage dooring because he wasn’t in the show that day.)

When we flew to New York, my little orange backpack was LITERALLY filled with nothing but this (I didn’t want the art to get squished and was constantly checking on it).

My more in-depth stage door experience is in this post!!

8. If you haven’t seen the show, do you have plans to?

It’d be an absolute dream to see it again 🥺

Answered 18 on a previous ask!

19. What’s your favorite song to jam to?

Both Chants and Wait For Me’s are my JAM!!!

#casu asks #casu’s hadestown experience

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ungodlyobsessions · 5 years

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Starkid Homecoming thoughts

I came back home from the final Starkid Homecoming show and I want to write my thoughts before I forget something (I started writing this at nearly 4 am and now it's 5 am, but I've waited until now to post it) I'm doing this on mobile and I don't know how to do a cut, so WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD

People I met:

~ Darren Criss

~ Nick Lang

~ Jaime Lyn Beatty

~ Lauren Lopez

~ Corey Dorris

~ Jonathan Matteson

~ Jeff Blim

~ Dylan Saunders

~ Gabe Greenspan (not a Starkid but TCB is like SK's child)

People I greeted:

~ Corey Lubowich

~ Meredith Stepien

~ Brian Holden

~ Joey Richter

~ Jim Povolo

~ Nick Gage

~ Denise Donovan

~ Brian Rosenthal

~ Robert Manion

~ Lauren Walker

~ Britney Coleman

Moments:

~ I very briefly said hi to Corey Lubowich before the show, who seemed to be doing tech stuff, but nonetheless he gave a small wave back

~ I waved at Denise Donovan and Nick Gage when they walked through the lobby, who both waved back at me and everyone else

~ My friends, Natalie and Jose, and I all dressed up as TGWDLM characters (Emma Perkins, Hot Chocolate Boy, and Greenpeace Girl respectively) and we received many compliments and some photos for it!

~ I was able to snag a quick pic with Nick Lang during intermission, as well as Gabe Greenspan of TCB

~ I saw Clark Baxtresser onstage before the show started, and I think my heart actually melted

~ Robert Manion SLAYED Show Stopping Number and Working Boys, and yes, he did include his best quality: his wiggles

~ Tiffany Williams actually held up the sky during We Got Work to Do

~ When Joe Walker, as Ducker, freaked out about shadows, Joey Richter comforted him onstage

~ I touched Dylan Saunders' right arm as he walked through the aisle during the sustained note from Back to Hogwarts

~ Denise saw me make a heart with my hands (I was sitting in Orchestra Row C seat 14) and she returned one to me two separate times

~ I'm pretty sure Dylan pointed at me a few times during the performance

~ I think they changed all instances of "fuck" in No One Remembers Achmed to either "love" or "hug"? Or my ears were just being weird

~ Everyone clapped in time to Voldemort and everyone else's tapping in To Dance Again

~ I found myself singing along to songs I've never even heard before

~ Darren Criss made a beautiful speech at the end of the show, and I saw Jaime Lyn Beatty struggling not to cry

~ We met two wonderful people by the names Danika and Eden while we were waiting in line that we ended up talking and stagedooring with for a while

~ Nick Gage was the first person we saw after the show, who had stepped out back to smoke with friends

~ Darren was, in his own words, "exhausted" and "[had] no gas left [in him]," but he had promised to say hi to everyone that was back there, and he kept that promise

~ Darren recognized a Japanese woman who had flown in from Tokyo to see the show, to whom he greeted and spoke Japanese with, and she seemed ecstatic to the point where she began crying. It was a very adorable and beautiful moment to witness

~ I shook Darren's hand and told him my name, and he said it was nice to meet me

~ My dad said there was a large crowd in front of the theatre, and it turned out that some of the performers were leaving through the entrance (see below)

~ Jaime said she saw my Greenpeace Girl cosplay from the stage, and she asked if Mariah Rose Faith saw and I said I wasn't sure (I hope she did though!)

~ I also told Jaime that I'm the one who dree her as Dawn, and it made her very happy

~ When meeting Jonathan Matteson, I asked if he "[Had] a minute to talk about the planet" and he went "NO!" before jokingly pushing me away and walking off, then we took a picture

~ Joey didn't stop for pictures, but he told the small crowd I was in that he loved us, and when I blew kisses at him, he blew some back

~ Jeff Blim didn't really do anything in particular, he was just really sweet and I love him

~ I told Dylan that I love Twisted because of how Beautiful his voice is, and he seemed very appreciative of that

~ Corey Dorris was very kind when we asked to take a picture, and he said he hoped we had a good time

~ Lauren Lopez told me to get out of the street because she was worried I would get hit by a car, and she moved me out of the way so we could take a picture safely (I also heard her calling Brian Rosenthal "Bri," which was cute)

~ Robert was walking in front of the theatre when Natalie noticed him and called his name, to which he turned and bashfully said something along the lines of "Hi, I'm sorry everyone, I have a Lyft waiting, it's nice to meet all of you though!" (He was also wearing a bright yellow shirt, which is not a typical occurence)

Overall, this concert was 10,000,000/10, and I'm pretty sure I shredded my vocal cords from screaming and singing, but it was all worth it because I had so much fun and got to meet some incredible people. Everyone sounded perfect, even Meredith somehow, who has been sick for the past few days. I'm so grateful to have been a part of Starkid history, and this show will remain unforgettable in my mind. Happy 10niversary, Starkid!

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papermoonloveslucy · 4 years

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IT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT: LUCY & THE BOMPS!

by Earl Wilson, August 19, 1950

Lucille Ball wanted to keep Desi home and off the road so she petitioned for him to play her husband on radio’s “My Favorite Husband”. The network balked and Richard Denning got the role instead. When it came time to transfer the show to television, Lucy made the same demand. Now a radio star in her own right, she was able to convince the network - nervous about America believing an ‘All-American girl’ like Lucy would be married to a Latin bandleader - to give them a chance to prove it! The Arnazs’ built a comedy and musical act and took it on the road. When the show got to the Roxy in New York City, syndicated columnist Earl Wilson tagged along and wrote the following feature, which appeared on August 19, 1950. Coincidentally, the Roxy was also the theatre where Desi Arnaz was performing when he wed Lucille Ball in 1940.

[NOTE: Although the text of Wilson’s article is repeated below verbatim, the photos and footnotes were added for editorial consideration.]

Lucille Ball has been one of our most appreciated movie actresses for quite a while, but it was seeing her do a bump on the stage that made me really come to realize how talented she is.

It was after she’d done her clever act with husband Desi Arnaz at the Roxy that I talked to the flamin’ redhead about it.

“Wasn't that a bump?” I asked her, as we got into a cab and pulled away from the stagedoor. I wanted to be sure, because some snooty actresses wouldn’t want it thought that they ever did a bump.“That was a married woman’s refined version of a bump.”

Lucille was sitting back in the cab, exhausted from several shows that day, and clamoring to be taken somewhere to see a show. She said she had been entertaining all day and now she wanted to be entertained for a change.

“Did you say refined?” Desi looked across the cab at her. I was between them. “Any harder you do it and you will knock my hot off,” he said in his charming accent. (1)

At Desi’s urging, she told me a story showing that doing the bump is for her not new. It seems that once she made a picture for Eric Palmer called Dance, Girl, Dance. (2)

“He was telling me, ‘Those bomps. Don’t do those bomps bad or the sansors will keep the picture.’

“So I was doing a very tame dance, not bumping at all. I had on a 27-pound dress, silver lame, with bugle beads, and it rolled from side to side when I shook.

“Durin’ a scene, Palmer jumped up and said, ‘Oh, oh, that was a bomp. I told you no bomps.’

“I went up to him and I said, ‘Mr. Palmer, that was not a bomp. THIS is a bomp.’ “And I bumped and I wrapped those 27 pounds of beads right around his neck!”

It’s a pleasure to talk to two such honest, earthy people after listening to some others who are always posing. A lot of people are astonished that they are celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary because, as Desi points out, “Everyone said it wouldn’t last a month.” “And WE didn’t think it would last a week,” Lucille said. (3)

Being romantically inclined, I asked for the details which most everybody must have forgotten by now but the participants themselves.

“Where did you get married?” I asked Desi.

“The Byram River Beagle Club, at Greenwich, Conn.,” Lucille said. (4)

“Thank you, I can never say that,” said her Cuban husband.

“Yes, you can. Try it,” Lucille said.

“The By-ram River Bee-gul Club,” Desi said dutifully and slowly.

“Faster!” commanded Lucille. (5)

“The Byver Regal Civer Club,” responded Desi.

“Oh, my,” said Lucille, “We were married by Judge John J. O’Brien. He’s the one who married Tommy Manville so many times.” (6)

Although Desi missed a show at the Roxy, where he was then appearing, to get married, he remembers, just as vividly, how on his wedding night he woke up the bride about 5 A.M. and demanded that she get him a glass of water. The funny thing is that she did.

“About 9 o’clock she woke me up,” Desi recalls, “and she said ‘Listen, you—, the next time you want a glass of water you get it yourself!’” (7)

Desi explains that he’s never made such a request since.

Desi and Lucille have formed their own company which they call Desilu Productions, this being a combination, of course of their two first names. “First time I ever got top billing,” Desi says.

They plan to do concerts, radio, television and movies together. Lucille comes from Butte, Mont., and, as everybody knows, has red hair. (8)

Lucille made up a description of herself around which a movie will be made. The title which describes her so accurately is "Blazing Beulah From Butte," and we figure it ought to get the money. (9)

Never underestimate that Desi.

When they were getting married it appeared that she might not be able to because of a commitment to Harold Lloyd.

Desi called Lloyd from New York and defiantly announced to him that Lucille couldn’t be available that week, as he was marrying her. “Y-yes, D-desi, c-can she be back next k-weeek?” stammered Lloyd, who never does. (10)

Desi is pretty masterful; when he speaks, to Lucille he is her master’s voice.

FOOTNOTES

(1) The ‘bomps’ discussed are undoubtedly from the “Cuban Pete / Sally Sweet” number, where Lucy gyrates her hips while singing “Chick-Chicky-Boom Chick-Chicky-Boom.” The routine was repeated (with ‘bomps’ included) on “I Love Lucy” in “The Diet” (ILL S1;E3) in October 1951.

(2) The article consistently mis-spells Erich Pommer as ‘Eric Palmer.’ Pommer was the producer of Lucille Ball’s 1940 film Dance, Girl, Dance at RKO.

(3) Lucy and Desi’s marriage lasted twenty years, from 1940 to 1960, although Lucille divorced Desi in the mid-1940s, Lucy never signed the paperwork. After their second divorce was final, Lucy revealed that Desi was unfaithful and a drinker, and that they were no longer compatible. Lucy charged “mental cruelty” and told the court of Desi’s temper tantrums. Some years later, she described the reason for the split as “the same old booze and broads.” Both Ball and Arnaz remarried, although they stayed friends and later admitted that they had always loved one another.

(4) Lucy and Desi married in Connecticut due to its shorter waiting period on licenses and blood tests. The Byram River Beagle Club in Greenwich was originally a Hunt and Kennel Club that became a speakeasy during Prohibition and after that a supper club. It was a favorite hangout of baseball great Babe Ruth. A single-family home now stands on the property. In April 1952, “I Love Lucy” aired an episode called “The Marriage License” (ILL S1;E26) that was largely set in Greenwich and mentioned The Byram River Beagle Club, although no scenes were set there because Lucy purposely left Ricky’s wallet at home and they ran out of gas!

(5) In “The Marriage License” Ricky also had trouble pronouncing the name. On “I Love Lucy” making fun of Ricky’s English was a usual source of comedy - mostly by Lucy - just as it appears to be here - in 1950.

(6) Thomas Franklyn Manville, Jr., known as Tommy Manville (1894-1967), was a Manhattan socialite and heir to the Johns-Manville asbestos fortune. He was a celebrity in the mid-20th Century due to both his inherited wealth and his record-breaking 13 marriages to 11 women, which won him an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records. At the time of this interview, however, Manville was only on his 6th wife! The termination of his marriages usually resulted in gossip, widespread publicity, and huge cash settlements. At the time of his death it was estimated that Manville spent more than $1.25 million on divorce settlements.

(7) This exchange (with slight variation) was later worked into “I Love Lucy”!

(8) At the start of her career - and apparently well into 1950 - Lucille Ball purported to have been born in Butte, Montana, despite her actual birthplace being Jamestown, in upstate New York. Ball (who then went by the name Diane Belmont) thought it sounded more interesting and exotic.

(9) Despite the alliterative title, "Blazing Beulah from Butte” was never made, perhaps because shortly afterwards Ball admitted her true birthplace. “Blazing Beulah from Jamestown” doesn’t have quite the same ring. It’s also likely that this was a clever bon mot on Desi’s part to create a more colorful interview.

(10) Comic actor and director Harold Lloyd had put Lucille under contract for his film A Girl, A Guy, and A Gob, to be filmed in 1940. There was some speculation that marrying Arnaz would interfere with the shooting schedule.

TRIVIA

While Lucy and Desi were at the Roxy, the theatre was also showing Night and the City, which had premiered there on June 5, 1950. At this time it was common for a larger entertainment venues like the Roxy to present both a stage show and a first run film. Night and the City starred Richard Widmark, who Lucy and Desi later convinced to guest-star on “I Love Lucy” in “The Tour” (ILL S4;E30) in May 1955.

In “Return Home From Europe” (ILL S5;E26), Ricky gets a long-distance telephone call from the manager of the Roxy, Mr. Rothafel, offering him a job, if he can get back to New York immediately. In reality, Rothafel was the name of the founder of the Roxy, Mr. Samuel ‘Roxy’ Rothafel. Rothafel died in early 1936, however, so this was probably Desi’s way of honoring him.

Earl Wilson was mentioned on “I Love Lucy” in “The Fox Hunt” (ILL S5;E16). While trying to wangle an invitation to Sir Clive’s country manor, Lucy makes up a story about the Mertzes meeting an Earl in the hotel lobby. When Sir Clive rattles off the names of some Earls to jog her memory, she fibs that he was just promoted from Assistant Earl, the Earl of Wilson, who canceled because he’s got the gout! Lucy’s imaginary Earl is actually a reference to Earl Wilson (1907-87), a journalist and television panelist of the time. His nationally syndicated column frequently mentioned Lucy and Desi.

In 1974, Lucy strikes a pose for Wilson during her promotional tour for Mame.

#Earl Wilson #Lucille Ball #Lucy #Desi Arnaz #Desilu #Roxy #Byram River Beagle Club #1950 #I Love Lucy #Mame #Night and the City #Tommy Manville #A Girl A Guy and a Gob #RIchard Widmark #Dance Girl Dance #Erich Pommer #Vivian Vance

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