#Fitzroy become an actual

[stupidjewishwhiteboy]

I find it amusing that the ending of season 2 of Miss Scarlet and the Duke involves the organization of what is essentially a police union that threatens to go on strike if one of its officers is held to account for his actions

[mirai-desu]

On the MSATD News

I didn't have time to post a knee-jerk reaction (which those of you from the Downton days know I was apt to do - thank you to all my long term mutuals of my side blog for sticking with me through those days), as I saw the news as I was getting ready to head out for work and it's been… a bit of a day.

Suffice it to say… I am devastated. And my initial reaction was (well after cursing), that it should have ended with S4, but with a different (happier) conclusion. It's called Miss Scarlet AND THE DUKE for a reason. And after all that happened in S4… it really feels like… what was it all for?? Especially if they knew WHEN FILMING THIS?? "Goodbye for now" is NOT "goodbye forever." They really, really really fumbled this.

There's a lot of theories going around, and I will admit it's too hard for me to listen to Stuart's new interview, but going off what other's have said and the parts of the transcript I did manage to read… I just cannot feel like this was actually his decision unless there's something else going on with him (either in his personal life or maybe he has some secret role he's got, because supposedly he hasn't worked since he did ADR on S4). He's been the captain of the ship, and he has always been enthusiastic with discussing the show and had just great insight into playing William. It doesn't feel like he himself was ready to move onto other things (and that's not even how it's worded - some BS about how the show needed it him to be gone for ~longevity~ of the show), like I've seen with other actors are on shows (e.g. Dan Stevens). He still promoted S3 (which came out in the UK after they filmed S4), he still even promoted S4! He was an executive producer for S4!!! Nothing makes sense!

So if it's due to RN… why keep having the other characters say William was only going to be gone a year? Why bother to have the flashback? why bother to have him stay at at Eliza's to recover?? hell I'm surprised they just didn't keep in the coma then--

But really, why even bother to have Eliza write to him? Or have Ivy say what she said to her?? The time apart was supposed to be them looking at their options. They literally foreshadowed him joining Eliza at her agency upon his return. So… what happened?

If it was actually for personal reasons that Stuart left, he has a right to his privacy. But then they should have rewritten S4 to be the end then, since they knew all this time. I can't believe we are getting the full story on this, one way or the other. The more and more I think about it... I do think it was RN's doing though.

Just two nights ago I drafted up a whole meta extolling how one of the best things this show has done has been how they developed William and how he grew as a character. The progression he made as he not only accepted Eliza having a career but encouraging her. His mentorship of Fitzroy. How he came from nothing, from a teenager living on the streets, to become an inspector at Scotland Yard. But they have chosen to toss that all out the window.

Who knows, maybe S5 ends with Eliza deciding to go to New York. But it doesn't seem like they are handling this like Babington's absence in Sanditon. They will make Eliza quickly fall for someone else, and slap fans in the face who have been following their friends to lovers slow burn for five years (because we had to wait for S2 in the first place thanks to the pandemic). And what sucks is that we still got promo saying they are in love with each other. From Stuart, from Kate, from Rachael New herself. We have still gotten promo promoting the romance. Why not have them have a big fight then or something, idk. They gave us hope. And you know what Fellowes says about false hope.

So I'm just supposed to believe that William gives up on Eliza and doesn't return…? No, I cannot. As much as we hated the deaths on DA when they wrote out actors, at least those characters still died in love with their spouses. And while I'd still be foaming at the mouth in anger if they killed him off… yeah.

William's last lines of the show is a flashback including him saying "is it all worth it?" And the answer is… no it's not.

[angstfactory]

@jayparkv

Should he be out for a run? Not if he listened to his parents about it. Fitzroy, however, often pushed himself and felt he had a perfectly reasonable grip on what he could and couldn't handle. Nobody but him truly knew any better, they weren't him. Besides, if he hadn't started to push his body more when he was younger, he probably would be in worser shape now. To him, it was the same concept as working a muscle -- it couldn't build mass and become stronger if it was never worked, right?

That being said, Fitzroy's run was more of a light, lazy jog. Not only that, but one he frequently slowed into a walk often, off and on. The man wouldn't be out for long -- twenty minutes? Just enough to get the heart pumping, or right up to that feeling where his legs might give out if he tried to continue... Whichever suited first.

Deadman Acres was not exactly an ideal area for anyone, but it was rural and he couldn't do this around Hidden Hills now, could he? His mother would shriek, then faint, and then his father would chew him a new one for causing her undue stress and alarm. Fitzroy knew Raven's Peak, though -- his family visited off and on all his life, so he wasn't afraid of these outskirts or whatever lingered in these woods. Besides, demons apparently ransacked the middle of downtown so was he in anymore danger out here?

He entered into another slow walk, reaching up to idly feel the rapidly off-beating pulse at his throat and eyeing his watch. Fitzroy figured he better back off longer this time, he was having a harder time keeping that crazy beat under control. But he continued walking, slowly, along the side of the deserted road and wipe some sweat from his brow -- enjoying the eerie silence around, unaware that he wasn't actually alone.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Please people are now speculating Rose Hanbury's twins are actually William's and how he wants to divorce Kate so he can marry Rose but that would cause a succession crisis because the eldest son would have a better claim to the throne than George 💀

Lmao I've seen the main user speculating about that. They in fact, does not know shit about how this works. And I wanna get into how hard they don���t know how this works.

a) He ain't doing that. Like, I don't know him, but I'd be really surprised if that happened. I think that is a horrible dude, but those are still three kids who've known him as their father and have known their role in this family their entire lives. I think we'd have to go from "an abusive husband and bad father" level to "a psychopath" level for that lmao.

And I mean... listen. William is clearly all about the firm. Those kids? Are in the same place he was in. I think he prioritizes legal, legitimate children born in wedlock over some by-blows~ (their words, not mine!) lmao.

b) It would not in fact cause a succession crisis.

-Regardless of DNA, unless they wanted to go through the rigmarole of getting the marquess to have his name taken off the birth certificate and William's name added to it, which seems... so unlikely! I mean, it's one thing to claim another man's kids, another to literally say "take my name off the birth certificate, I am a clown". This is a 60-something aristo, and if he doesn't have any legal sons, he has no legal heir. If he's the legal father, that's what matters in terms of succession. The kids don't become legally William's because he marries their mom, says he's the dad, and is the biological father.

-You actually can't change the succession just because you want to! I see people citing the change in the primogeniture-based succession made "for Charlotte" "by Elizabeth". First off, that wasn't actually for Charlotte, it was changed (or set into place, can't remember if they got it done before the birth) before George was born. The idea was that if the firstborn was a girl, a younger brother wouldn't supplant her as heir. George's birth made it irrelevant for William and Kate's kids. The only way that it matters is if something horrible happens to George; Louis can't leapfrog over Charlotte.

Anyway, that didn't happen just because Elizabeth wanted it. There were actual legislative processes involved. It's... a legal process.

If William did ACKNOWLEDGE his children by Rose, if they do exist, this would not suddenly supplant George, or Charlotte, or Louis for that matter. Acknowledgment does not equal legitimizing, and frankly, legitimizing does not mean leapfrogging over the line of succession. Do people honestly think Kate, or for that matter her family, or for that matter WILLIAM'S family who have a vested interest would just... go with that? It would probably cause a legal crisis within the monarchy, and it would also make William look VERY BAD!!! The public that does support the monarchy loves those kids; they're the cute mascots. George's birth was celebrated globally. Money is made off those children.

-Legitimate children of the Prince of Wales/the King of England have access to taxpayer dollars. Just adding 2-3 kids onto that payroll? Haha. Have fun with that.

-Past English kings have acknowledged their illegitimate children. William would not in fact have anywhere near absolute power. Kings who have had close to absolute power? Still haven't been able to get this done lmao. Henry VIII actually had (or was rumored to have) discussions about his acknowledged illegitimate son Henry Fitzroy being legitimized, which would place him in the line of succession over Henry's legal wife's daughter. He didn't even try to get it done... for many reasons. It's not easy, and Henry VIII was actually a lot closer to being able to do whatever he wanted to any king today.

So, the idea of him legitimizing kids born prior to his marriage is very far-fetched if not borderline impossible, and if he did, the kids would not automatically leapfrog over Kate's children, potentially not only supplanting them of their inheritance of the crown, but their inheritance of different monetary/land-related inheritances that they would typically be entitled to or expected to be given by their father.

Like. People need to be REAL FR.

[pressure-ask-fitzroy]

🛟/ admin from @exrp624-calisto here hihi! fitz is very lovely i love a good silly scientist oc!! more importantly i wanna know abt fitz's beef with eyefestation... and thank u for the rt too ofc ><! (also saw u inspired him by jiaoqiu which i love too!!)

{Klai Rambling time!}

Omg HIIII~ I am so glad you like my boi 🥹✨ and yeah yeah~ he such a silly lil former scientist guy! He just vibing~😇🫶

As for the beef, well it actually connected to another oc called Piper! One of my friend’s oc! Yuu and I somehow ended up making those two become close friends and funny enough the both of them follow the trope of what I like to call “Got Fucked By an Entity” trope that my friend group has for our pressure ocs lol

I wouldn’t go too deep into detail but during the time Fitzroy was imprisoned and the blackout happen in the site, Piper got jumped by eyefestation and basically got brainwashed by them and now much like Fitzroy, they are a shell of their former self if not worst!

[seconds before disaster.]

And ya know… despite all the shit that happens between the two, Fitzroy still cares a lot about his bestie and he feel so sad seeing piper the way they are right now and hate that dame sharks with passion!

Here is a small example of how much he hate that dame shark!

[PS: this is from an OC sheet interview a friend of mine made - @pastel-rights she so talented!]

Sooo umm~ yeah! Do not be surprised if ya see him use the flash beacon on it each time he sees it, he wanna piss it off out of pure spite lol You can also actually see Piper being mentioned in his lore doc as being one of the divers who brought Z-V0!

But anyway~ YEEEE! ya welcome bestie for the RB! I promise I would send my son on ya way soon so hope ya daughter is ready to meet him ;)

(Also yeah, Jiaoqiu so pretty I had to make an oc that resembles him 🥺🙏)

[eranthiss]

The Dragonsbone Academy, like the BBA has it's own Junior League supported by the region's actual League. The differences is that it has a full set of eight Junior Gym Leaders scattered about the Campus, all type specialized.

•°readmore for length°•

The Elite Four and Junior League Champion is notably more well known, though. They tend to become incredibly high level battlers - upper 5 gym leader, more likely to get offered a elite Four position, a few even end up becoming Champion in other far off regions - It is quite known that one of the Andiiles and Sisciile's current Elite Four members - Charlotte Bergerlund - was a Junior League Champion during a brief term as a Exchange student before returning home and becoming Denmark's League Champion for a whole three years before quitting for her current position.

It's also produced ten other regional Champions in recent history - Three Kalos Champions, Two Unova Champions, a Sinnoh Champion, and one champion each for Ireland, Russia, Egypt, Turkey, and South Korea.

The current Junior League and Elite Four run as such;

Kasane Omoda (おもだ かさね)

Tiny little scrap of a thirteen year old girl who's been seen to brawl with her Machamp and win. Specializes in Fighting types. Very fiery and energetic, can't sit still in most classes. Has expressed a strong desire to return to Johto to take the gym challenge and "Beat Lance's team into the dust where he belongs".

Rhys Castell

A shy boy who specialises in Steel types. Has a very well trained Corviknight who seems to be his Ace - a Falinks he's names Sockembopem. Seems to be genuinely terrified of most Pokémon that aren't on his team, and is currently in therapy for a anxiety disorder. Is doing much better than he used to - he can battle now - and he's frighteningly efficient when he locks in

Has aspirations to become the Galar Champion.

Enoch Ace

Born into a illegitimate branch of the Ace "Dynasty", Enoch specialized in Dragon types- like near enough everyone in his branch. Is rumoured to have the same condition that gives the Unova Champion - and Ex-Andiiles and Sisciile champion their prodigal talents with dangerous/difficult Pokémon- and is weeks from a official HED diagnosis. Is noted for his dislike of people of the legitimate Ace bloodline. Seems to be developing Imposter Syndrome.

Isana Brennan

Current Eighth gym leader in Nubibus town, and widely accepted to be a very formidable battler despite her lifelong health issues often preventing her from participating in battles/regular school life due to frequent hospital visits. In the care of her auntie Shelagh whilst she studies far away from her home region, as thirteen is definitely far too young to be away from family for extended periods of time

Specialises in fairy types - but her Junior League Elite Four team is noted to include both a Bewear and a Metagross for what she claims is "the monstrous beast tax"

Junior League Champion; Mia Fitzroy

Mia Fitzroy is ... Also a young gym leader, being about fifteen - and is legally blind (retains limited central vision in both eyes) . Is noted to specialise in Water Types normally - but her Junior League Champion team is marginally more balanced despite still favouring water types.

Has shredded literally every battlefield she's ever used, some to the point of needing to be rebuilt wholly.

[timesimmer]

Storytelling Secrets

Originally tagged by @abigailsultimatedecadesblog

I originally thought when I started the ultimate decade's challenge again that I would only focus on the Blackburne main household and the siblings in the side households. I just made a royal family just to make it more time-accurate. But after playing their household a few times, I knew I had to start writing storylines for them.

I specifically picked the last name Blackburne for my main household because of my own family ancestry. I love history and researching family history and I found my fourth great-grandmother's maiden name was Blackburn. I've been doing some research on that side of the family and the name just stuck with me.

I started off with just the kingdom of Aethelmark, but that has grown to four kingdoms, all based on certain locations, with a possible fifth one to make it into the storylines soon. They are: Aethelmark--> England, Caledonia -> Scotland, Valois -> France, SierraLuz -> Spain, and the kingdom currently being created Danoria -> Denmark, Norway. Of course, I want to eventually expand beyond Europe, but that will be further down the line.

I have had to pivot on storylines many times due to dice rolls and other sudden gameplay events. I had originally set up this feud between Edward Blackburne and Trystrem Davenport after Edward married Trystrem's sister Elsa. I was thinking that the power that Trystrem got by marrying a noblewoman would allow him to try to take over the Blackburne farm or even have Edward arrested leaving his family without an income. However, Elsa got a bad roll after the birth of her second child, Thomas, and that all changed.

With my storylines, I am trying to use actual historical events as inspiration, but I don't want to follow them exactly. For example, Edward II of England, the inspiration for King Philip of Aethelmark, did have an illegitimate son and Fitzroy is the last name that is normally given to illegitimate sons of the king. However, the relationship between Queen Genevieve and Sir Nehemiah is completely fictional and Philip's attachment to Lady Edrea is mainly due to the soulmate mod that I have in my game.

I love history, but I also am a fantasy girly. I knew very early on that occult sims were coming into my game somehow. I didn't want an occult sim in my main household right away, so the relationship between Nadya and Alaric seemed perfect because I could have my spellcasters in a side household. Although Nadya's original death was the worst thing to happen in my game at that point, it did allow me to send Alaric on the path to becoming a spellcaster to bring her back and it set up a future storyline for another type of occult to come in at some point. No spoilers, but I am very excited!

I seriously was about to cheat and bring Edward back to life and act as if nothing happened. After the plea to bring him back didn't work, I just looked at my notes of every idea that I had for this family that involved him and I honestly thought I was done for and that there was no way I could continue without the first-gen heir. Luckily after taking a step back, I realized that Alexander would be aging up in 1314 (if his roll of the dice is in my favor) and this could open up other doors down the line.

I loved being able to look back and share some of the behind-the-scenes of creating my UDC storylines. The Great Famine is coming up in my gameplay, which I am super scared about, so it was great to take a break and reflect. I'm passing this on to @wynnrhyse @scandisim and @katssimsdecades

[cowboypossume]

Promises

For @kotlcpridemonth2023. Rings

Based *loosely* on this post by @camelspit || Read below the cut

“Can I ask you something?” Fitz didn’t stop stroking Sophie’s hair, but his fingers felt more hesitant now. 

She grinned up at him from her spot on the living room's floor. “You just did.” 

“Haha. Very funny,” He rolled his eyes and she smiled wider. “But seriously?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

His fingers fully stopped and he put them in his lap. “Have you given any more thought about what I told you?”

“To be honest,” She turned her body so her face would rest partly on his legs and partly on the couch. “I don’t think I can like you in the way you like me. I don’t think I feel what you do.” 

“I'm not following.” 

Sophie wished she brought her gloves so she could hold his hand or touch him, use any means of contact to sooth how restless he became suddenly.

“Do you want me to explain?” He nodded, looking down at her hand, now touching his leg covered by a jacket’s sleeve. “If you’re comfortable with it.”

Something was going through his head, and she didn’t know how to figure it out. 

“So,” she got up off the floor and tucked herself on the opposite end of the couch. “When you said you liked me like that,” both their faces got hot, “What did you hope to get out of it? What was your desired outcome?”

“Can I say I don’t fully know?” He took a decorative pillow and set it on his lap. 

“You can, but that makes it harder for me to explain. Especially because I know that isn’t true.” 

“Um.” He busied his fingers with the strings hanging off the pillow. “I guess I wanted you to feel the same. I was hoping we’d become like a couple or something? Kiss, go on dates, ect. Like I wanted -want- was something like that?”

Sophie forced herself to breathe trying not to back out of the conversation now. 

Fitz was looking at her so kindly, and that made the words harder. Especially because she’d never said them before, not aloud. Not to someone so important. 

“What you just described: the want for a romantic relationship, the want to be a couple, She folded her knees into her chest, closing her eyes and letting her oily hair fall across her shins. “I’ve never had that urge. For the longest time I was sure that everyone felt that way; no one wanted to actually date anyone. I thought dating was just a word people used for deep admiration and? Friends? I didn’t know there were different feelings involved.”

“Because you’ve never felt them.” Fitz didn’t look up from the pillow.

“I’ve never felt them.” She forced herself to hold his gaze. “I don’t think I ever will.” 

Fitz stayed still for a while. Sophie felt herself getting smaller on the couch. She didn’t really know what to do or say to ease the tension. “I’m sorr-”

Fitz cut her off. “Can I hug you?” 

“Um. Okay?”

He put his arms around her, an old couch barely making it comfortable. She felt safe as his hair tickled her nose and lavender filled her senses.

“Thank you for trusting me with that. I don't think that could have been easy.” His breath was warm, warmer than his body. She felt comfortable. Moreso than she would guessed possible.

“Yea well,” She hid behind her hair and pulled away. “You probably would have found out one way or another. It’s like, not a big thing or whatever.”

He ruffled her bangs in disagreement. “Can I give you something?” 

“Can you stop asking cryptic questions?

He went over to his bag and started digging around. “So I was gonna give you this under a different pretense, but I think this might be better.”

He pulled out a dark blue bag cinched around the top, tossing it to her. 

She opened it to a pair of rings with little eyes peeking over the center. Both green with a little face staring back at her. “What is this?” 

“Calm your worry,” He sat near her on the floor. “They’re not cognate rings, I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet.” 

Sophie spun the smaller one around in her hand. “Then what is it?” 

“A promise.” He put up his pinky. “I, Fitzroy Avery Vacker, promise that I’ll always try with you. I’m not going to leave because things go a little askew or I don’t fully understand where you’re coming from. I’ll always at least try to understand you."

He took the other ring from the bag and placed it on his pinky, never letting his hand lower. 

Sophie stared at it for a second, then hesitantly leaned down and laced her pinky in his. “Are you ok?”

He thought for a second, fully considering his feelings. “Still good.” “Okay.” Sophie took a deep breath. “Then I, Sophie Foster, promise to keep you in the loop. If I’m scared of the future or your reaction, you’ll still know where I am and what I’m feeling. I won’t block you out because of my feelings.”

She took what’d fallen into her lap and unlocked their hands for a second to put it on her pinky. 

“So are we good?” Fitz looked at their joint fingers and smiled.

Sophie followed his gaze, then leaned down and kissed his forehead lightly, fingers brushing a scar beneath his eyebrows. “Yeah. We’re good.”

[transman-badass]

❔Choose a random WIP and talk about it.

Fuck it. Let's talk about that other Cthulhu Mythos story I've got. It's not set in the same verse as PSI, and is more... Dark academia ish than noir. Features a variation of the same protagonist though.

So this story is set in the modern day. It's about a guy (trans of course) becoming a teaching assistant to Miskatonic University's psychology professor, one T. Fitzroy Grant. The university is a spooky place, and in between the little wars between the students and the strange dreams that started the night he arrived, our hero has his hands full. Of course everything changes when the MC discovers the mummified body of an actual alien hidden in the walls. Turns out there's a little bit of a conspiracy at the University, tied to, among other things, a secret society of students that believed the mummified 'Elder Thing' was the secret to unlocking the truth - the real truth, not the truth interpreted by humans - of the universe. And it went very very badly for them. As the dreams invade his waking life and his own repressed past breathes down his neck, the MC must choose who to help, and who to go to for help. Because it's not aliens he needs to fear, not the long dead students whose pasts he's digging into. It's the entity who has always lurked in the shadows of Earth's past - a being of cunning and cruelty, worshipped by the great Cthulhu and his kind, before the war between them led to their deathless sleep - the soul and messenger of the Other Gods, the Crawling Chaos, Nyarlathotep. And whether the MC knows it or not, he is already watching...

It's another one of those stories where I'm borrowing characters from my friends. Fitz mentioned here doesn't really fit in PSI and I felt bad because I fucking love him, so I cooked up this idea so everyone could come to love him too. And since I'm borrowing characters, if I ever finish it, it'll be published for free, with links to everyone involved so you can donate to them directly. I think that's the most fair way to go about it.

Adding the tag list from PSI because I think some people might be interested:

@slenders1ckn3ss @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @redacted-metallum @actualblanketgremlin @higgs-space @phantomnations @mushabumi @assistantdirector--janson @aldhidbah @yourheartonfireblog @jade-island-lives @arsenwormwood @cecuesta @darkhorse-javert @comicgoblinart @lizadomuch @minutiaewriter @izzyspussy @passthebeat-blog-blog @dragonedged-if @andromedaexists @cyanide-latte @lillis-writes @suckerpunchfemale @late-to-the-fandom @theimperiumchronicles

[halograve]

OCQuestions - 01

god save me i have work in an hour and im so board. wehh

🐺Nate Baskerville 

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who? 

Nate’s voice claim is blaidd (Scott Arthur) from Elden Ring 

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

Dexter is Nates best friend. They met very young when they were taken in by The Operator (and inducted into Amuns cult) and have remained close ever since. Nate was probably around 10 when they met. 

3) What song describes your OC?

The Killing Moon by Echo & The Bunnyman 

Medicine by Fitzroy Holt 

A Sad Cartoon by Loathe 

Chokehold by Sleep Token

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

I peg the song Beautiful by 10 Years to Nate/Drusilla 

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

I do ship him with my partners oc Drusilla. They are deranged and married 

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

I mean he is a tattooist in my fantasy modern setting thing but he’s also a slasher/hunter so yeah just tattooist but he’d also do shit like be a mechanic maybe. Bitches who loves motorbikes...or actually he'd be part of the army. his family are entangled with a lot of those occupations

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

I think for a DnD AU he’d be a tiefling :3c

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

art/tattooing 

Metal working 

Riding and zooming on his motorbike aka his baby 

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

Yes he does. He likes keeping up with it. Tries balancing it out best he can but most times, as a informant or hunting, hes often on the road so in those periods its just being cramped in a car trying to do exercise whenever he can 

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

Oh god he tries but. The horrors. Relatively good but when he has weeks where its shit then its pretty low energy. Saying that he tries keeping up with his meds for his mental health lol. He smokes loads from stress. cigs and spliffs

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

Im going to kill myself but its that guy Stephen Hart from Primeval 

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

Mainly with my partners ocs ill list his besties in order 

Dexter monroe, bestie since childhood. They work together. Nate is his bestie. They make out x 

Drusilla Greyworm. His wife!!! idk who her bestie is. probably Riley

Jobe Greyworm / Amidst Cavallero. They were taken in by the same cult and have also grown up together. His little brothers. Besties together

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

Not anybody in particular but maybe uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Milo. not even a rival more of an annoyance. Milo met him in hell. Nobody knows how milo got there but he was there for a fun time x snuck in while nate was suffering. Milo is a werewolf fanatic and while nate isnt a werewolf he's still a puppy and therefore Milo is gripping onto him. They honestly met by chance

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

Milo

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

Uh 

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

His cult family made him kill his mother to obtain her demon so no. his dad WAS alive but he got battered to death by Nate after he fucked his wife. Oops 

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

Oh god he always feels some guilt when he goes away for long periods of time but he knows they’re well off from his parenting and teachings of self defence. He has four daughters 

he's very ptsd from being parented by his father and family so he really tries his best. always make sure to spend a lot of time and go to all their things. good boy

his lil family tree :3c + with his succubus ex. He doesnt have a relationship with Rodwen, his first son, and is a little awkward about it.

and id say he loves Marlow but she had been gone for years to be a hunter. something he strongly didnt want her doing so in that regard they butt heads and have more arguments. But he'll be there for his daughter anyway when shes going insane

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

He / Him 

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

Bisexual. Love language is physical affection and receiving its the same. Words of affection are cute too 

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice? 

Gun. a knife or big wolf form 

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

n/a 

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter? 

Fighter 

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

Yes!! Even at stupid o clock he will be there 

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

He plays the guitar, piano and the Crwth

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

Yes teehee 

26) What flower do you associate your OC with? 

Black roses 

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

Black hound. Their tamagotchi is Kuyokuyotchi bc it reminds him of his daughter Enid and it looks funny 

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

Ill draw it later but he’ll be in with the punks or greaser guys 

29) what is your ocs favourite fruit?

He’d scran down Jackfruits or gold kiwis 

30) what is your ocs nationality? 

Welsh 

[fideidefenswhore]

My understanding is that when the Princes died in 1483, Elizabeth of York was technically heir to the throne but no one actually considered installing her as Queen Regnant as the system just wasn't set up for that. And yet 70 years later, being a woman didn't seem such a big deal (in comparison) and everyone's major concern was the female heir's religion. Do you think that was nothing but the fluke of all Edward VI's available heirs being women (no one, afaik, thought of skipping all of them for Darnley say) or was there also something about the upheaval in Henry's reign that changed perceptions of female rule, even if subconsciously? I'm not saying it was an ideal situation, but the fact it became even feasible, compared to less than a century ago, I find really interesting. I was thinking that, given how long it took for Henry to have a male heir, and the Pilgrimage of Grace's call for Mary to be reinstated, plus her initial popularity as queen, maybe the average person had accepted by c 1527 that they would have a queen next, and even that kind of uncharted territory was preferable to all the turmoil that came trying to get a male heir. I mean, to many people, Mary becoming queen was probably better than losing the social safety net monasteries provided. And with Katherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn, no matter if you hated them, they were both impressive, resilient figures so maybe people expected their daughters would be the same.

Imo, it wasn't really a 'fluke' insofar as it was that (although there was some instability in the order changing...at first Elizabeth at the total exclusion of Mary, and then the total exclusion of both, and then the inclusion of both, but with Mary over Elizabeth) Mary and Elizabeth had both been made heirs to the throne by Acts of Parliament, and several Henrician measures had greatly strengthened the power of Parliament by that point. The final Act of Succession included Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth, and their heirs. Beyond this, Henry's will did include the proviso that if all of the above died, the throne would pass to the heirs of Frances Grey (but not Frances herself...), and that if all these heirs died, the throne would pass to the heirs of Eleanor Clifford. Margaret Tudor's lineage was not present as potential heirs in either his will or this final Act, and so it doesn't seem Darnley as heir was ever really...bruited.

I was thinking that, given how long it took for Henry to have a male heir, and the Pilgrimage of Grace's call for Mary to be reinstated, plus her initial popularity as queen, maybe the average person had accepted by c 1527 that they would have a queen next, and even that kind of uncharted territory was preferable to all the turmoil that came trying to get a male heir. I mean, to many people, Mary becoming queen was probably better than losing the social safety net monasteries provided.

I mean, I think this depended. The average person, even the average professed religious person, as this book I've been reading recently has argued (Dissolution of the Monasteries, by Clark), also accepted the English supremacy without demur. Entertaining the counterfactual of essentially, what if Henry sat on his hands re: (male) succession 1527-... the court divisions would probably have centered around what marriage alliance their Princess should enter. Or, separate court factions would have emerged supporting Fitzroy versus Mary. The matter wouldn't have necessarily 'settled', even if Henry had been more indecisive about it, for longer.

Those two weren't really inextricably linked, though? Dissolution of the religious houses began on a smaller scale while Princess Mary was still heir, under Wolsey's auspices. Their examination and valuation took place while she had yet to swear to the Oaths, which strengthened her position abroad and emboldened her adherents, the Act for the Dissolution of Smaller Monasteries took place during this period, as well. Their pace was likely to continue regardless of whatever outcome came from her either signing, as she did, the Oaths, or whether she did not.

Tl; dr, while Mary's reinstatement was included on their list of demands, it wasn't necessarily seen in the mind of every person that the Dissolution had only come about due to her disinheritance, particularly because Elizabeth was enshrined as heir two years prior by Parliament, which effectively disinherited Mary.

Again, it would depend on who you asked, there would have also been many that said 'turmoil' over the quest for a legitimate prince was a far better alternative than civil war (especially as it came to pass, and no interdict on trade was actually imposed as consequence for Henry and sundry of pretty much every level of government below him, flipping the bird at the papal briefs being sent). I've mentioned this before, but the Act enshrining Elizabeth as Princess and heir apparent passed by the House of Lords and the House of Commons, which could not have happened had there not been an overall majority vote for both. And in 1536, the Act which barred Mary and Elizabeth from the throne on the grounds of illegitimacy, and vested it in the future children of Henry VIII & Jane Seymour (or any future wife), passed in the same manner. So, as much as this is said to demonstrate that the popular belief was that one Princess was much the same as another, but that Mary would of course always be preferred...well, was it true to the extent that it's argued, that simply wouldn't have passed in Parliament.

I don't think their capability of rule was really assumed based on the characters of their mothers, persay? More that the court factions of their mothers did survive (well, several of them did, several did not), in some sense and form, they made up much of Mary I's adherents and Elizabeth's protectors (mainly, of her maternal family) during the Marian era, and later her own adherents during the Elizabethan era. There was always still the sense that male inheritance was preferred, to wit:

❝ By mid-January 1554, the many rumours circulating about the proposed four-pronged uprising against Mary frequently mentioned Elizabeth’s name. One conspirator thought that although ‘we ought not have a woman bear the sword…[but] if a woman bear a sword, Lady Elizabeth ought to bear it first.’ -Elizabeth I ,Richards, Judith M.

Regardless of whether the person in question was either an adherent of Mary or Elizabeth, that caveat ('a woman ought not to bear the sword [if it could be helped]' or some variation thereof) was almost always either explictly given or implicit. Many of the similar statements recorded during the Henrician era, of dissidents who said that Mary should take the throne, almost always had the detail that she should or would do this after marrying Reginald Pole, or Charles V, or some other named man with some blood claim to either the English throne or another (iirc, Ferdinand, the King of the Romans, was also mentioned, once); just as the conspirators of Wyatt's Rebellion planned for Elizabeth to wed Edward Courtenay.

[straightbaittournament]

only the option with the lowest percentage will be eliminated! propaganda under the cut:

fitzroy angursell and pali avramapul:

I’m pretty sure even the author thought they were straight and endgame when she started writing them. Although initially Pali is portrayed as the love of Fitzroy’s life so that you think you’re going to have to put up with this straight relationship, she’s later canonically confirmed aroace with a lot of subtext around two other women, while it becomes clear in later books that Fitzroy has a growing interest in another man. Tfw you are sure they’re going to kiss by the end of the book and then it turns out that previous marriage proposals were plausibly about friendship in the first place

oscar francois de jarjayes and andre grenadier:

Okay, so this might sound kind of weird but bear with me because I really think they should count. Oscar was afab but her father gave her a boy's name and raised her as a boy (by 18th century standards) because sexism and he had 5 daughters and decided she was going to be a son because they were a noble family and he wanted a son to become a high ranking military official because they're rich so they can just do that. Oscar joins the army and becomes Marie-Antoinette's personal guard. Her and childhood best friend Andre are very close through out the series (he supports her throughout the many scandals that she has to deal with because she works for the royal family) and at the end of the series it is revealed that they are in love, but they are both killed in the war before they can actually get together. The dying before they can be together might fall into the buried straights category but they relationship also has really queer energy because throughout the series it becomes apparent that Oscar usually Does Not Vibe with only the gender she assigned at birth. She sometimes refers to herself as a woman, sometimes refers to herself as a man, but her attitude is usually basically 'I'm a man, I'm a woman, I'm both, I'm neither, stop asking'. So I think they should count as straightbait because we find out that Oscar is nonbinary and Andre loves her no matter what her gender is (and then they die before they can get together).

abbie mills and ichabod crane:

They both start out as main characters, working together since the ep. 1. Next three seasons follow the regular m/f protagonist duo pattern: they need each other's help, there's chemistry going on, there are heartwrenching scenes and dramatic sacrifices, they learn they can only truly rely on each other - so the next step is to let them be together, right? Wrong. The next step is to let lt. Mills make a final sacrifice, which on top of killing the pairing insults her as a character - suddenly from the POV protagonist she started as she's demoted to secondary character who always was just there to be the main guy's support. There are some feelings acknowledged, but no confessions or promises exchanged during the final fleeting reunion. Three-seasons-worth of build-up and then she dies.

angel and cordelia chase:

They met as characters on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but their dynamic doesn't take off until the Angel spinoff Because the showrunners of Angel didn't go in with the idea of putting these two together, the characters' friendship was allowed to develop organically without the assumption of romance, which then made the realization of their feelings for each other more satisfying. Unfortunately the shadow of Bangel (Buffy x Angel) still held over Angel's character, so I think it was a hard sell at the time and didn't gain a lot of popularity in the years since. Both these two characters grew alongside each other, supported each other, and despite knowing that they loved each other, let each other go to pursue their destinies. A really underrated het pairing!

entrapta and hordak:

Heavily heavily heavily hinted/slow burn?

joseph cooper and amelia brand:

These two are explicitly set up as the male and female leads of the movie and shown to have a close relationship with each other, one where in any other movie I would have expected them to end up together by the end of the movie, especially since one of the central themes of Interstellar is love as a force that can change the universe. However, the two do not get together by the end of the movie and there is never any explicitly romantic scene between them.

akko kagari and andrew hanbridge:

Very typical hetero-love-interest introduction, rival vibes, aloof rich boy & headstrong "commoner" girl, learning to see each other's point of view, she dresses up for the first time in the series to sneak into his party to try to talk to him. Just classic 'ugh they're clearly gonna get together' but... they don't. Nothing romantic is ever explicit, and by s2 they're friends and that's it. there's no discussion or drama. they're good friends. literally shocked me. apparently a guy and girl who fit a bunch of romantic tropes... can just be friends

kurosaki ichigo and kuchiki rukia:

Oh man, where do I even begin? So, for some context, Bleach starts when Rukia (a shinigami) gets critically injured saving Ichigo from a monster, and she transfers her powers to him so he can finish it off. Instead of transferring half her powers as planned, however, she transfers all of them, which forces Ichigo to take over her job as a shinigami. During this time period, Rukia... lives in his closet. Yeah. The entire first arc of the manga is dedicated to their relationship, and while a lot of it is playful banter, Rukia's presence in Ichigo's life fundamentally changes it for the better. Rukia then gets kidnapped by the rest of the shinigami who aren't at all happy she gave her powers to a human, and the main plot ensues from there. Throughout the story, Rukia and Ichigo constantly save each other when they're at their worst. When Rukia thinks she deserves to die, Ichigo is there to tell her she deserves to live. When Ichigo is in a funk about his superpowered evil side, Rukia is there to snap him out of it (something his canon love interest explicitly realises she was unable to do). They share a sun/moon motif for crying out loud, and yet like that last sentence said... they don't end up together, but with other people instead. Yeah. No shade to the canon ships, but Ichiruki is peak straightbaiting, honestly. They have a lot of banter/chemistry, fundamentally change eachother's lives for the better, save each other when they're at their lowest, and have a very deliberate sun/moon dichotomy... but they both end up paired off with different characters instead asdfghkl

bow and glimmer:

They didn’t get together until the VERY END of the whole show and even then it was a little ambiguous (was it a BFF “I love you?” 🤷🏼‍♀️)

hardwon surefoot and moonshine cybin:

They’re DnD characters so they’re bi disasters canonically. Just not for each other The best way to describe Hardshine is this: “They’re soulmates” “Platonically or romantically?” “Yes” Literally they care so much about each other. Moonshine cured Hardwon’s vampirism by reincarnating him into a half elf and he told her “I’ve been half elf ever since I met you”. Moonshine is a high level elf druid which means she’ll basically live forever and literally the most emotional scene where she asks her mom “How long do half-elves live?”. Hardwon was always a fish out of water who never really fit in until he found Moonshine and the Crick. Are they dating? Queerplatonic partners? Siblings? Idk man they’re just in love it doesn’t matter how.

good luck everyone! now go vote!

[naoa-ao3]

What We Don't Do

Ravenscar had a new nurse.

A reasonably young and attractive, blond woman named Paula Gibb who by all acounts was utterly normal.

Paula thought she could do some real good at Ravenscar but on her first day she thought the place looked more like a prison than anything else.

The staff however were friendly and showed her around, the other nurses helping her familiarize with the place and the orderlies aparently friendly and willing to lend a hand.

She though that it wasn't so bad and a few a few days supposed that places like this were why she had become a nurse. Underfunding didn't mean they had to have a bad staff.

She wanted to make them better and so she was kind, she was kind to her patients and the other nurses and smoked with them on her break and gossipped and listened to them talk about their families.

She showed them pictures of her children, Nancy aged three and Brian at two. They were the best things she had in life.

They said she had beautiful children and she thought that she was finally off to a good start.

That was all until she met John Constantine.

Her first time meeting him was when she heard nurse Hull calling for assitance from down the hall.

She rushed to the door the woman was standing in and looked past her at a young man who had pressed himself against the far wall.

He looked absolutely distraught and his wide blue eyes searched past them for some kind of escape.

"What's going on?" She asked.

Nurse Hull glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "He won't cooperate." She said. "I need him to take his pill."

The young man shook his head, mouth clamped firmly shut but Nurse Hull didn't look too upset by it.

She put her hand on her hip and snorted. "You know the drill John, take the pills yourself or I'll have Eddie force them down your throat."

Paula thought that a bit harsh and watched as the man drew in on himself glaring hatefully at them. "You keep him away from me!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

Nurse Hull just shurgged. "Your choice, John. You know how this goes and it never goes in your favor. Just take the pills so they can throw you back out of here. You'll be back soon enough anyway."

He twitched and looked at Paula who tried to give the man a sympathetic look, not knowing what was wrong with him.

Nothing. He looked away.

"I'm calling Eddie." Nurse Hull said.

The man gave her a venemous look.

Nurse Hull paged the orderlies and looked at John, unimpressed. "You bite him again and he's going to hurt you." She siad.

He sniffed and Paula didn't know what to make of it. "Surly there's another way-?" She asked.

Nurse Hull sighed again. "Not with this one, dear."

She looked into the little room where the man had pressed himself into a corner and was muttering very quickly to himself, hands over his head. She felt pity for him but here came Eddie FitzRoy, whisteling merrily.

"Alright, Kathy?" He asked, looking at Nurse Hull and cracking a grin at Paula. "Our John giving you some problems."

Nurse Hull held out the little cup with the pills in it. "He won't take them again." She said. "Won't let me get near him. You need Frasier down here too?"

Eddie whistled. "Nah, I don't think so." He said. "What do you think Johnny? Think I should get Bill down here?"

Paula watched as the man in the cell shook his head, wide eyed and stilled.

"Ah, I didn't think so." Eddie said, smirking a little as he advanced on the other man.

The patient pushed himself against the wall and Paula saw him actually begin to shake a little as Eddie pressed an arm against his chest and drew close, pinning him.

"You gonna take these pills Johnny boy, or am I going to have to push them down your gullet for you?"

The man trembled hard and turned his head to the side but Paula saw Eddie increase the pressure he was putting on him, saw his chest take the impact and his back strain against the wall.

Just take them! She thought, watching in horror.

"It's alright, Paula." Nurse Hull said, putting a hand on her arm. "Eddie knows what he's doing and John. . . well I guess you don't know about John here."

"Got you, you little bastard! Swallow it or I swear you'll be drinking your own piss for the next week!"

She looked back and saw Eddie forcing something down the patient's throat and massaging it down while the other man struggled and choked.

"God he's hurting him!" She cried.

Nurse Hull looked back, clearly unmoved and sighed. "It's alright, dear." She said. "It's only John."

"Only John?" She asked.

The other nurse nodded. "It's only John." SHe whispered as Eddie threw the man to the floor and stepped back.

They watched the patient curl in on himself and Paula thought she would be sick. There had to have been an easier way!

Eddie came out wiping his hands. "Nasty little bastard." He said.

"Thank you, Eddie." Nurse Hull said reprovingly, putting an arm around Paula. "Come on dear, I'll fix you up a cuppa. You look like you need it and I'll tell you about our John."

She nodded numbly and let Nurse Hull lead her to the break room and fix her some of the hospital's poor excuse for tea.

She tookthe mug with trembeling hands and looked at her in worry. "What was that all about? I haven't seen anyone treated like that since I got here." She said.

Nurse Hull sighed and sat opposite her, stirring her tea. "John's a special case." She said. "He's been in and out the past few years. . . personally I wish they would just lock him up."

Paula looked up, still feeling shaken. "Lock him up?" She repeated, making Nurse Hull shivver a little and nod.

"He's a murderer, love." Nurse Hull said, sounding sad. "Killed a little girl up in Newcastle. . . police never even found all of her. Poor dear. . . only twelve years old too."

She felt even more rattled to hear this. "I had no idea." She whispered, clutching her mug ever harder.

She thought of the man's scared, blue eyes and the way he had trembled when Eddie had pinned him to the wall. He had killed someone? A little girl.

Christ he wasn't even that old himself!

"Don't beat yourself up, Paula. I think it's good that you want to help people. Just don't waste your time on people like him."

She nodded. "Alright."

"Are you working late?" Nurse Hull asked, changing the subject and lightening the tone.

She nodded, shaking her head a little to clear the dark thoughts out. There was a child killer in the building and now she knew it.

"Oh, I've gone and frightened you. Darling, look he's locked up and if he ever gives you any trouble, Eddie wiill straighten him out." The other woman said, softening her voice.

She nodded again, not knowing how to feel about that. "I'll be okay." She said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She was being silly. The man was locked up and she wouldn't be in any danger.

Nurse Hull smiled kindly. "Of course you will." She said. "Eddie's here."

She nodded and forced a smile, wanting to change the subject and they talked aimlessly for a little while. Paula wasn't thinking about the patient or she at least was trying very hard not to and when Nurse Hull suggested they get back to work she felt emense relief.

She spent the next few hours, helping the other nurses and continuing to find her footing and tried to keep her mind away from the blond man down the hall and what he had done.

Ravenscar could have used a little updating but she supposed funding was always an issue and they were doing the best they could.

She distracted herself with work and checked her watched every few hours.

7:00 P.M.

8:00 P.M.

She said good night to Nurse Hull and watched her leave for home.

9:00 P.M.

She was off at 11:00.

At 10:13 she heard a commotion down the hall from the nurses' station and stopped looking at her charts.

The hospital had been quiet for a few minutes now and almost all of the patients were in bed.

She heard a noise again and put down her charts and pen. Someone's door was open down the hall.

She grabbed her sweater and pulled it close, shoes echoing lightly around her.

It was the killer's room that was open and she hurried to it, hoping the noise meant he was still inside.

Had Nurse Hull not locked it properly earlier?

She stepped to the door and stopped.

Eddie the orderly was inside along with Bill Frasier, Kevin Dunlap and Mitchelle Gordon, all ordierlies she had gotten on with fairly well. She looked around at them until her eyes found the patient on the floor.

He was curling in on himself, arms wrapped protectively around his ribs but there was blood. . . he'd been kicked in the face or something and her hands flew to her mouth in horror. "Eddie!" She squeaked. "What are you doing?"

The man. . . his name was John. . . John Constantine. . . opened blue eyes and looked at her in almost confusion.

Eddie was quick to her side however and covered her eyes, pulling her away in his arms. "Don't look at it, Paula. It's not pretty."

She pried him off. "Eddie! What are you doing in there!"

She heard the sound of boot hitting man and a yelp and she tried to take a step towards the door.

He put an arm out to stop her.

"Eddie!" She cried, voice cracking a little.

"It's not a bad thing we do." Eddie said, jaw tight. "Kathy told you what he's done. . . he murdered a little girl, Paula. That doesn't just go away. . ."

"You're hurting him!" She said, voice more shrill than she had intended.

"Yeah and he hurt a little girl. . . they don't even know what he did to her. . . what he did before he killed her. . ." His face twisted a little. "You got a little girl, don't you? You showed us all the picture the other day. Are you gonna tell me that if someone did to your little girl what that man did to some other woman's little girl, that you wouldn't want this?"

She blinked and felt tears free themselves down her cheeks. "Eddie. . ." Her voice was shaking. It was so weak. Why was it so weak?

"He killed a kid, Paula. The police haven't done shit. He murdered a little girl and no one's done shit!"

She shook a little but he put a hand on her arm, steadying her but as he looke din her eyes she heard a another cry from inside the room and trie dto peer past him.

Eddie blocked her view. "Don't Paula." He asid.

"Are you going to kill him?" She asked.

He shook his head. "Can't do that, there'd be questions but we can make him regret what he did."

She shuddered and clasped her hands to her chest.

"Sometimes, doing the right thing doesn't feel right." He asid. "But there's gotta be justice. You can't kill kids and get away with it."

She nodded and he gave her a kind look. "Why don't you go home early, I don't think anyone would mind. We'll handle old Johnny here."

As if on cue she heard a thud and a yelp and knew then that she didn't want to see what they were doing to him. She didn't want to see justice.

"You're a good one, Paula." Eddie said."Go home, kiss your daughter."

She nodded again, feeling weak and turned away, letting whatever was happening happen. It wasn't justice. It was something else but she would let it happen and just like that she felt is if she had lost a piece of herself.

She went and got her purse, images of her own daughter and of other little girls. . . little girls she'd never met danced in her head. Little girls that disappeared and girls no one ever saw again. . .

They looked like her daughter.

She thought of the blond man and the blood on the floor.

She thought of little girls that disappeared and of the mothers left behind, mothers without children. . . without daughters. . .

To be a mother without their child. . . she steeled her mind as she drove home, driving a little fast and a little recklessly.

She kissed her children when she got home and put in her resignation the next day. She didn't think she could work there any more.

She thought that even if she hadn't done anything. . . sometimes it was what you didn't do that was all the worse.

[bforbetterthanyou]

So I was just working on an AU where Anne becomes Henry’s mistress so of course I was thinking about this and I’ve wondered this for a while now like…what was Henry’s thought process when he made that offer? Because, like, surely by that point he would’ve been aware that Catherine had gone through menopause and, like, he needed an heir. And if Anne was only his mistress then any children they might have would be illegitimate. I mean, did he have some notion that he could make their children legitimate? But if that’s the case, why wouldn’t he just make FitzRoy legitimate?

Ya know, the more I think about it, the more I think we actually don’t talk enough about that. I feel like we’ve all just sort of been like “well yeah he asked her to be his mistress because he’s Henry VIII 🤷‍♀️” as if making this offer was a totally logical, rational decision that he thought about for a long time before he did it. But I can imagine (and indeed it might be more likely) that making her that offer was, like, a totally desperate spur of the moment thing before he came to his senses and was like “oh wait no I don’t need a mistress I need a wife”

[ninjathrowingstork]

Not Quite Free

Chapter 5: Briefed

(yes this is hella late, but it's 8,500ish words so enjoy)

Everything had changed so fast, Court realized, watching the landscape sliding by outside the car. Only, what, two days ago now, was it? He’d been keeping just steps ahead of the teams on his tail, hoping they’d believe Claire was still with him, hoping to stay just far enough ahead they didn’t double back and find the trail to where they’d hoped she’d be safe and far enough ahead he’d have time to decide the where and when of the eventual confrontation. He’d been successful at that, mostly, hunting the kill teams even as they hunted him. The  last one, though, had been more trouble; he hadn’t planned on taking so much damage and being on the run naturally meant no hospitals. Another thing not in his plans, the woman he’d met once, during that shootout months ago. Tori. Finding her had been his best hope of getting help but he’d never have guessed she’d insist he stay   there. Someone, anyone, insisting he let himself be cared for and take the time to rest and heal after an op was. . . uncomfortably unfamiliar. At least not without his being cuffed to the bed, which she hadn’t threatened to do, not yet at least. (She did practically sit on me to make me stay,) he mused, (and she was right that I could have walked out. It’d hurt like hell and chances are I wouldn’t last too long, but I could have left.)  That the tactical clothes he’d been in when he arrived had been either bloody rags or still in her washer wouldn’t have mattered if he’dreally wanted to leave. The shorts and shirt she’d found for him wouldn’t have stood out too much, and he’d have found something to replace them, somewhere, along with new shoes. It would have meant theft, though, and he’d always made it a personal rule not to steal if he could avoid it. (I gave her my money. I don’t have any more caches in this city and in my state there’s no way I’d get anything else to live on soon.) She’d been right; he knew she was making a point that he didn’t really want to leave, despite the danger, and that his chances with her really were better, despite any danger that might be following him.  And that she’d made him stay on the couch, stay comfortable and rest there was another uncomfortable surprise. He found he couldn’t remember when anyone not named Fitzroy had been that concerned for his safety. 

The duffel bag on the seat behind him held his clothes. His clothes. Not something purchased for him for an op, not practical tac gear or tracksuits or prison coveralls or hospital robes, but soft, comfortable clothing meant for rest and comfort that she’d bought for him. For him. It hit Court again how lightly he’d lived for the past years, clothes and possessions only mattering as far as they were functional and useful, and anything nonessential could be easily discarded (as easily disposed of as I was). That was always a disturbing fact to remember, how disposable and expendable he was, but then he’d never really had much of a use to anyone else, even before the program.   

Fitz had been honest, all those years ago. He’d walked out of prison that day, feeling the Florida sun on his face as a free man for the first time since he was fifteen, and then walked back out of the world again. He’d been vaguely aware what the offer had meant when he heard it in the visitation cell, that he was trading the bars and cells for becoming a killer again, that it was the one thing that had made him valuable enough to anyone to bother with helping. For a moment, on that long-ago day, he’d almost let himself hope he’d actually be free again, then the other shoe had dropped and he’d seen it was only the chance for a half-life and he’d chosen a  life in the shadows and the certainty of an early, unmarked grave over the living death he’d survived those eight years. Courtland Gentry had been a scared, angry kid and then a killer and a prisoner. Sierra Six wasn’t much more free, but he was armed and had at least the comfort that his targets they sent him after were truly bad people who deserved the swift death he brought. Sometimes it was his only comfort. 

Then Four and the medallion, and Fitz and Claire, and Miranda. Fitz. Then he’d been on the run again. Hunting and being hunted were familiar, though. 

The past thirty-six hours, give or take, had been more unfamiliar to him. He’d dragged himself to the one place he’d let himself believe he’d be safe and maybe live through the night, and this woman he’d only ever put in danger had almost literally dragged him into her home and not only patched him up and given him a place to sleep, apologizing the next day that place hadn’t been the small luxury of her sofa since she hadn’t trusted her own needlework to hold, and instead she’d made him the rest of the day resting there.  Made. She’d actually been upset when he’d tried to leave. (And she’d been right) he admitted to himself again, as a shift in position sent a new spark of pain through the torn skin on his side. The quiet morning he’d spent reading and dozing on the sofa had been the most peaceful he’d felt in what seemed like forever. And then. And then she’d come home and because he’d only mentioned keeping the kid hidden, she’d bought him a phone. He wanted to tell himself that fuck it, it was only a phone, but she’d seen he was worried and had given him the means to check on Claire and tell her he was still alive. She’d given more of a damn about his concerns than. . . (Fuck, only Fitz ever cared about shit that way. Even if he couldn’t actually do anything because of the op, at least he’d notice and ask if I thought shit was rotten.)     

Then the car bounced going over a bump, breaking into his thoughts as his head was jostled where he’d pillowed it against the window with his hoodie. It had been a welcome surprise, all the clothes had. Even the different soaps she’d been so insistent he use had been . . . nice (She was right about those also, dammit.) He was no stranger to the sting of harsh bar soap on broken skin as he washed away the blood and grime, usually in the dim, dingy bathrooms of cheap hotels or safe houses, or whatever sinks or showers he could find. Prison showers were a distant, unpleasant memory and he’d trade washing in the gas station bathrooms over them any day. The soaps she’d picked for him had been mild and the hot water in her shower had been heavenly . Only long habit had kept the time he allowed himself to take under the flow short, staying only long enough to get clean, regretfully shutting off the water just as he’d started feeling the warmth sink into his bruised muscles. He hadn’t been entirely joking about the pine scent being strong, and as much as he hadn’t outright admitted it, he’d enjoyed it also, and having to leave the heat of the water was almost made up for by seeing Tori’s face when he’d limped out, still shirtless. Sure, it was from enough of a distance she couldn’t have seen the scars just then, but it had been good being the one surprising her for once. There’d been something else in the way she’d  looked at him, mixed with the surprise, but he shook off the idea there'd been any *interest* there  

He’d never been able to shake the thought he was still putting her in danger, though, and every new kindness made it weigh on his shoulders more. As she glared in concentration while changing the dressings on his cuts and re-wrapping his ankle, the guilt over how his very presence endangered her tightened along with the pressure around his bruised joint.                                                      

He hadn’t expected her response when asked why she’d put herself in the line of fire even more just to help him, and without any clear benefit for herself. She’d made him look back at her as she answered, fingers gently cupping his cheek with a touch he’d felt ghosting there the rest of the day. (The right thing to do. She’s really doing all this for me because she believes I’m worth helping.)  This woman was the first person to think that Sierra Six, no, that Court Gentry was worth bothering to save and scrape the broken pieces of his body and soul back together. Once, a lifetime ago, he’d tried to save someone also, tried to be a hero, and all the world had seen was a sarcastic, angry kid. A killer. Somehow, though, she saw him covered in his own blood and barely able to stand, and likely to not have lasted much longer had she not shown up or chosen to help him, and without asking any questions first, decided to give a shit about him. He thought of the Glock in the small black case under his seat. (Might not be able to shoot straight right now, but she’s at least made sure I’m not totally unarmed and helpless.) She’d given it to him like a security blanket, the realization hit him. He could have laughed. Tori had guessed that being unable to defend himself or even move on his own would make him feel less safe, and had given him her gun because having one nearby for protection would reassure him, make him less uneasy about being driven to a new location in his condition. She’d done a lot of that, making sure he’d know a situation was safe or that what was bothering him mattered, hell he kept spiraling back to her even caring he was comfortable. 

When she’d helped him out to the car that morning, he hadn’t expected her to make him repeat the drive from Vienna, not really, but it was still a relief when he found himself helped instead into the passenger seat, with the gun case tucked underneath and the coat she’d bought him tucked under the sling supporting his arm. The drive out of the city had been slow, and he’d listened quietly as she swore at the cars crowding them in. Then, finally, they’d broken free of the traffic and reached the open road. 

“Learned to drive like that from my dad,” she’d grinned across at him. “Hates driving in packs of cars, says it’s safer to stay away from them.”

“Smart plan.”

“Also, it’s just more fun this way.”

And, he had to admit, it was. She was by far not the wildest driver he’d ever had, but as her car wove along the freeway, he finally let himself breathe out the last sigh that anyone might be able to follow them. 

They’d stopped for gas and supplies about an hour into the drive, and with his hat pulled down low they’d both agreed he should stay in the car. 

“No offense, but looking like that you’ll get more folks staring, wondering just what the hell kind of scrape you’ve been through."

"And saying they should see the other guys probably won't make them less worried."

"Probably not" 

He’d said, hopefully, he’d just like some gum when Tori had asked what he’d wanted from the convenience store, and she’d laughed at what she called his “sad puppy eyes”, returning with two packs of gum and an armload of chips and sodas and sandwiches for the road. The gum sat reassuringly in the pocket of his sweats, the snacks held in a bag between his feet as she drove. Even if he didn’t need to keep his mind active or hold off the boredom of prison, it was still a comforting, familiar presence when everything else felt so. . . strange. 

The afternoon sun turned the flat ground around the freeway a baked golden brown 

They were free of the city and anyone following him, and Court squinted out from under his cap as the mountains on the horizon drew closer. Those three core thoughts kept swirling around each other; first that his presence meant possibly putting Tori back in the line of fire, that in his current condition his chances of surviving alone if he even tried to leave the safety she’d offered him were slim to none, and that. . . 

That he’d miss this if he left her, miss being worried about and having someone there to. . . to be mad that he’d been hurt and alone. Miss her jokes and the way she seemed to think he was more than just the blunt instrument Fitz and the others had made him into. Miss the way she’d made him actually laugh again, miss watching her play games and laugh in a very un- assassin-like way as she made the character leap off of rooftops, miss drifting off to sleep beside someone he’d trusted enough with his full name. He’d miss that, too, hearing someone say his name again . And he’d miss the feather-soft touch that had pulled him from a doze of fingers combing through his hair. He’d replayed that sensation of her touch until he’d finally fallen asleep. He’d miss getting to be a person again. It had only been weeks since Miranda had said plainly what he’d known for years, “this is my career, you’re nothing but an asset” and it’d been true if a little too on the nose after she’d drugged and stuffed him in the trunk (also, rude.) It’d been nice, he realized, just being a person with someone who knew even the most general intel on who he was. (Nice, but it can’t last, Gentry. She’s gonna want to know more and then she’ll know who you really are and be done with you also.) Still, he’d enjoy it while it lasted. 

“Hey, Court,” she broke into his musings. “It’s cool if you don’t want to tell me, leastways not just yet, but uh. . .” 

Ok, he realized, that moment she was done with him might happen sooner than later. 

“On your hands, that’s prison ink, right? I mean I recognize the dots from a thing I read ages ago but I didn’t recognize the island so I kinda looked it up last night and found one that kinda looks like that and. . .” She trailed off, glancing across at him. 

“Yeah.” His good hand flexed where he’d rested it on one knee, and he watched the dots on the webbing of his thumb stretch with the motion. (You admitted to Claire when she asked also, you’re only worried about telling Tori now because she's not just a kid you’ve gotta guard.) That wasn’t exactly it, though. (It’s like how I wanted to be a good guy, for her. Maggie and Fitz were the only two people who knew what I’ve done and my time inside and still treated me decently. I want her to still see me as that guy who got her through that shootout, I don’t want to lose whatever this is, but she does deserve to know.) “Yeah, got these in prison. A few of the others, too.” 

A beat of silence. “You said that guy, Fitz, he got you out of somewhere bad. That’s where he met you, right?” 

“Yeah, he had my file and offered to get me out in exchange for working for him.” 

“What were you in for?”

“Killed someone.” 

“Ok. Shoulda guessed that one. Did they deserve it?”

The question caught him off guard. (Did he deserve it?) His old man had been a bastard and the brush of fabric against the scar on his wrist reminded him of every bruise and broken bone he’d had before he was fifteen, and while, yeah, there might have been another way out that godawful night, in the moment. . . “Yeah. He deserved it.”

“Alright, then.” 

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Hey it’s up to you if you wanna tell me more, I’m mostly just filling in gaps here.” 

“Alright.” 

“How long were you in for?” Her voice was light and casual. The crisis had passed but he was still cautious. 

(She’s not gonna kick you out of the car for answering, Gentry,) he reminded himself. “Eight years.” 

She whistled in response, a long, descending note of surprise. 

“And in Florida, too.”

“Oh now that is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Hey, it’s not so bad.” He found himself smiling again at the grin in her voice. “A guy’s got all he can need in there. It’s a little light on reading materials sometimes, but at least everything else is within convenient reach.” Something about that brought back a memory of his first meeting with Fitz. 

“If you’re looking for convenient, just wait until we get to the cabin. I’d bet it’s slightly bigger than a prison cell and goddamn more comfortable, but it does get a little tight in there when you’re trying to fit more than five people inside at once!” 

“Five?”

“Myself, two siblings, and our folks. It’s when the rest of the fam was there it’d get crowded and us three and our cousins there would get the ol’ ‘go play outside and come back for meals’ during the day.”  It was the most she’d said about herself so far, and Court realized that in the crisis of not dying and trying to gain her trust, he’d never actually learned anything else about her . 

She was also an eldest sibling, he learned, and she slid into stories about her younger brother and sister and some of their summer adventures in the mountains. They were surprisingly. . . normal. No, he realized, it wasn’t surprising to hear about a normal family, just that the people with normal lives and families didn’t usually spend enough time around him to tell him about them, in fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even *been* around someone from outside the intelligence community who knew him beyond a cover identity for so long. (Even Claire’s connected to it through Fitz, and that kid’s not exactly normal anymore either.) 

Eventually, the music from the radio faded into static as they left cities behind and she had him play DJ on her phone and pick music for the drive. It was tempting to flip through the contents of the phone, looking through her pictures (just to maybe verify who she is,) he told himself, and not out of curiosity for what her normal life looked like. Their chatter faded back into silence as she focused on the road, the sudden twist into the foothill turns and twists taking all her attention. He’d been tracked through more remote terrain before, he reminded himself. Still, it was reassuring how isolated the area they were driving through was. The road wove through a long, twisting canyon after dropping out of the hills, and the longer they drove off the main highway and into the mountains, the more he let himself finally relax a bit more and start to admit that maybe they’d be safe wherever she was driving him. 

About half an hour after they’d turned off into the hills, and after they’d passed several side roads leading to what Tori said were ranches, and then another long empty stretch of road, they reached the town. 

“Civilization?” He scanned the scattering of businesses and stores, the large water tank with a nature scene painted on the sides, watching it all as carefully as he’d watch any new town he’d been sent to. 

“Not much of it, but the only road leads through here, and we’ve got enough shops to pick up anything else we’ll need.” 

He was more concerned about anyone on his tail finding the town and making trouble, about asking for any other newcomers there than the convenience of a grocery run. 

“And I’ve been coming up here long enough that a bunch of the store owners recognize me and my family,” she continued. “If you’re noticed at all it’ll be as someone with me, and not as a new summer visitor or a tourist.”

“Oh.” It was a little reassuring. “And no one’s gonna find the place if they come asking for me?”

She thought, staring out at the road as they wound through the town. “Shouldn’t be able to, we’ll keep to the cabin for a few days, and folks won’t notice we’re there right away. Anyhow, not everyone knows where all the different cabins up in the hills are, and we’re pretty tucked away.” 

They spent the rest of the drive through the town like that, Court asking questions about the layout and routes in and out of the small community, and Tori answering. (She’s giving exactly the security intel I need for securing an area,) he realized again. (It’s not much while I’m still barely mobile, but she’s gotta know it’s letting me rest easier having some rundown on the place.) 

The town disappeared behind them, sooner than expected, and they were turning off onto another winding road carrying them up into the mountains, and away from civilization and anyone possibly on  his tail. Conversation lapsed into silence again as the incline grew steeper and the trees larger. Yet another knot of stress slipped away as the late afternoon sun filtered down through the trees, and he realized how much he’d missed fully noticing save for any strategic value for so long. Life as an assassin left little time to admire the scenery, even less so when he was being hunted across half of Europe. Now, though, Court Gentry let himself relax yet again as they put anyone who’d escaped his trap and survived to continue pursuing him farther behind. 

At last, the road branched up into a winding track in the cleft between two hills, through a metal gate Tori opened with a fob she fished from the console. “More security for you, it’s mostly to keep folks from accidentally wandering off the road and while you can get around it on foot easily, it’ll at least keep vehicles out.” He doubted it’d do more than slow down anyone determined enough, but kept that to himself. Another few minutes driving up the winding ravine  trail, and they were there. 

The whole drive up the cleft in the hills, the cabin had been hidden in the trees ,but a hard right turn and they were in the paved driveway in front of the small, stone cabin. It was nicer than he’d expected, Court admitted to himself as his companion parked the car, saying she’d be right back after she’d gotten the place opened up, set a little up the hillside with a rough, stone staircase leading up the embankment to where the structure sat. A screened-in porch faced the driveway with the right side of the cabin looking south with what he could only guess was a clear view down the road to the valley below. (Invisible from the road but with full visibility of anyone approaching,) he noted, approvingly. 

In a reversal of their exit from the apartment that morning, she helped him slide out of the seat, and, looking his good arm over her shoulder while carefully keeping the bandages on his side from bumping against her, they step-hopped him up the steep stairs. Which proved more of a challenge than expected. 

“Here, you can put more weight on-” 

“Tori, it’s fine, my ankle can hold-”

“It shouldn’ t be taking any weight right-”

“It’s been through worse and we’re literally just going up the stairs, and me using my foot for a dozen steps isn’t gonna make it much worse, ok?”

Relenting, and with her free hand braced on the stone wall beside the stairs, Tori took more of his weight as he still leaned heavily on her shoulders as the pair climbed up to the level of the  cabin. Glancing out past her, Court saw the view over the road up there was even clearer, and the screened-in porch wrapped around to the far end to look past the hills to the valley fanning out in shades of summer green below. (Doubt I’ll find a better or safer spot to hole up and recover outside being cuffed to the   bed in that basement again. She really was right about this place.)

The outer patio door left to spring shut behind them, Tori supported him the few      steps across to the front door, which she’d left ajar behind her after unlocking it and leaving their bags inside. The semi-darkness of the room was suddenly lit up and Court found himself blinking in the brightness around the living  room of the cabin. 

“Straight out ahead goes to the yard,” Tori waved at the door on the opposite wall, “and through there, to the left, is the kitchen.” 

He glanced where she’d waved at the slatted-wood door in the paneled wall beside him, then finished taking in the room around them. “Tori, when you said ‘cabin’, I assumed it was something more. . . utilitarian.” While the cabin’s main room had a concrete floor, true, the polished surface was covered with rugs, and no safe house he’d been put up in over the past two decades had ever had couches that looked as soft as the pair set up facing the tv hanging over the rough stone fireplace on the wall by the back door. With a word, she’d ducked out from under his arm and started fiddling with the windows, sliding them open and shoving back the shutters. The slightly stuffy air was suddenly mixed with the smell of the trees outside as  the breeze swept in. 

“It’s the family cabin, we’ve all added our own upgrades over the years, but it originally was grandpop’s and his priorities were rugged, easy to  clean, and more importantly cozy.” She looked back at him, one eyebrow  raised in thought. “You wanna set up on one of the couches, or do you feel like coming with while I open the place up? There’s a walking stick or something buried around here somewhere you can use to stay off your ankle some, but it’s up to you if you feel like moving around after the drive.” 

He thought for a moment, looking around the golden-brown wood-paneled room, at the peaked ceiling and the small table and chairs under the window facing out over the driveway, at their small pile of luggage she’d heaped in the middle of the floor. He was living out of the duffle bag that was still new to him but, he reflected, he was still alive. “I think I’ll take a look around, and stretch my. . . leg.” That got a grin from her. He was, he realized, getting to like making someone grin like that. 

“I’m not going to threaten to sit on you to make you stay off your ankle, and I know you must need to know the layout and sight lines and whatever here yourself, but try not to push yourself too much yet, ok? Have a hop around but don’t go too far until I can dig up that stick for you.” Oddly, he found himself disappointed at the lack of a renewed threat to sit on him to keep him immobile.

“Fine, I promise not to go for a hike yet.” It sounded grumpy, but it was the most like himself he’d felt in a while, and from the second quick grin from her, Court knew she’d understood. 

Leaving him to look around the room, she turned back on her way to the hall, “And since you probably also want to know, the whole place runs on solar, we’ve got our own well and septic tank, and I’ll show you how to check the cameras on the gate and drive up later, once we’ve settled in more.” 

Really he’d have preferred to see those feeds now , but she was already gone. (Good enough we’ve got those, and she wanted me to know we’re really off the grid here so our arrival can’t be traced anywhere.”) Finally alone again, he took the chance to pop two more of the painkillers from the bottle she’d given him, swallowing them dry. His. . . well, everything ached, and while it wasn’t the worst he’d felt by far, it still sucked. (Should’a said something  before but then we’d have stopped and getting here alive was more important. ) And also. . . also Tori was worrying enough over him already, down to making sure he had  enough intel on where he was staying to allow himself to relax a little. He didn’t want to get used to this, he mused while  hopping across the room to the back  door, but  there definitely was an appeal to this normality and comfort, almost as though they were. . . family? It was another uncomfortably foreign   thought that he pushed  down, unbolting the rear door and swinging it and the screen door open to look out at the space beyond. It was too overgrown to really be called a yard, but a tarp-covered table and the shape of what had to be a grill on the paved patio spoke of summer nights out under the stars, for fellowship and not fighting to survive. He’d been trained  in finding edible plants if pressed, but couldn’t place the tangle of bushes in raised boxes leading to where the hillside sloped steeply upwards, beyond something herbal and woody, and what might be a thicket of blackberry bushes. Closing the door, he next ducked into the small kitchen, finding it, like the rest of the space he’d seen so far, to be sparse yet functional, with  enough room for several people to move around, by far not the smallest he’d been in. (Beats the hell out of most safehouse kitchens, for sure.) Beyond it, through another door across from the first, he found a laundry area and more storage space with, confusingly, a second refrigerator the same size as the kitchen one. (Family cabin. They’re not gonna want more trips for fresh food than needed, or to live off packaged food for long. Two fridges.)  

His inspection of the kitchen and utility spaces complete, he limp-hopped across the main room, supporting himself when he could on the backs of the chairs and the drop-leaf table as he passed them. The wooden paneling continued down the hallway, and his instincts yelled to check each of the doors along the walls as he passed them, prioritizing the sounds coming from where the hall ended with a final, heavier door that now hung ajar. He found Tori there, in the wide space at the end of the cabin, the strange metallic sound the rolling shutters she was cranking back into their housings to reveal the fully-windowed walls and sweeping view of the hillsides and valley beyond. 

“I know this isn’t as important as getting bedding out or putting away food or starting the pilot light, but goddamn I love this view. Getting these open in the sunroom here was always  what we’d race to do first every summer,”  jerking her chin at the windows, she took a step back, hands on hips, to survey her work. 

“It’s certainly. . . a view. I mean, you get a great look at anyone trying to get here the obvious way and not sneak down the hillside behind us but I agree that it’s a beautiful view.” 

She smirked at him. “Of course you’d think about the strategic value first. And about sneaking up, believe me we’ve tried to hike every slope around here and if you even tried to come down the hill there, you’d end up sliding into the berry bushes if you didn’t go splat one one of the boulders first, it’s that steep.” 

While her colorful yet descriptive explanation didn’t entirely remove the possibility that a more trained and determined force than a few teenagers might try the descent, he couldn’t entirely count out what was the closest to expert intel on an area he had. “I, uh, I’ll take your word for it. Sunroom?” 

“Yeah,” she waved at the oddly structured walls around them. “This all used to be a part of the patio, and I remember Dad and my uncles walling it in with these old windows they got from another old cabin being remodeled so we could sit out and watch the view even during a storm when I was a kid. Get those later in summer, up here.” 

A sunroom. He’d never stayed in a place that had one of those before. There were a few wooden deck chairs in the corner, and Court found himself wondering what it’d be like to sit out there and just watch the sunset from one. (Keep it together, Gentry. You’re down and need to heal but that doesn’t mean you can get sloppy.) 

The flash of her hair beside him broke him out of his thoughts, as she strode back into the cabin. “Ok,” she called over her shoulder, “I’m gonna get the water heater going and find the sheets if you wanna pick out a bunk. Dibs on the one by the door here,” and she jerked one thumb at the last door on the right as she vanished through the door. Following, albeit much more slowly and still leaning on the wall, (what happened to finding me that walking stick?) he trailed after her, picking a door at random, and entering the middle door on the left. He almost laughed at the setup of the room beyond. On the wall to the right, a slightly open door showed a bathroom that connected to the next bedroom beyond it, and across from that was a bunk bed, the upper bunk a narrow twin and the lower a full mattress. (A little cozier than being back inside, but barely.) The rest of the room was a little larger, though not by much, and he joked to himself that having the toilet in a separate room was a luxury as limped across to sit on the lower bunk, flopping back to lay crosswize on the mattress. (As far as prisons go, though, this is a palace. Got nowhere else I’d be safe, even if I could keep running, and as little say as I had in coming here, it’s more than I’ve been  given before. ‘Least I’m not getting orders to pack up for another hit before healing from the last one this time, and  I can put up with another metal bunk and being a sitting duck here knowing I’m not alone or unarmed and. . . and there’s actually someone who gives a shit about my not being dead here.” That last part was still strange, and each time he remembered it felt like something untying itself behind his sternum. He was still laying there, legs bent over the edge of the mattress, staring at the metal frame of the bunk above him, when an amused snort and the weight of a body flopping down on the mattress beside him broke him from his thoughts. 

“What’cha thinking about?”

Pushing away the memories the metal bed frame above his head brought back, he rolled his head to see the pale blonde hair puddled out around her. 

“Oh, just how it’s a good thing I’m not fighting anyone for top bunk in here with me, what with my being down two working limbs and all. Not that I couldn’t take someone in this condition, of course, it’d just be hard. And then someone, maybe you, would get mad at me for fighting again. Got an awful lot of sleeping options to myself in here, now.” 

Her snort of a laugh in response had him actually grinning along with her. 

“You know, we do have other, normal beds here that are meant for grown adults who don’t have to share a room with kids. Or, you know, kids having to share with younger siblings who might roll off a bunk in the night. Since that’s what this one’s for, after all.”

“Oh.” He should have guessed that. Patting the mattress at his side, Court pushed on to cover the embarrassment. “Mattress is much nicer than inside, I’ve gotta say. Haven’t been on one this good since. . .since I was handcuffed to a hospital bed.” 

Again, her snorted laughter. “Not even gonna ask about that.” 

“Hey you might get to hear that one someday. What I was saying is are they all this nice here?” 

“Ok well considering the last two nights you’ve spent on my arguably nice couch and  before then on the floor I’d say yeah they’re all miles better than how you’ve been sleeping, but yeah all the beds here got new mattresses a few years ago, thanks Aunt Mindy for blowing her bonus check after she decided the old ones were making her asthma flare up and staying here was bothering her back, and they all got changed out.”

“Any with that fancy foam stuff?” 

“Memory foam? Completely foam, nah, but one or two have a mattress pad thing on them with memory foam and it’s decadent for sleeping on. You’ll love it.”

He was sure he would, if it was beyond even this bed. For a minute, the silence stretched out with just the sounds of the forest outside and soft noises of the cabin. They’d made it here safely and for the first time in far too long, he thought, maybe, he could feel peaceful here.

“Hey, Court,” her hair rustled under her head as she rolled it to look at him. Something in her tone had changed, it was. . .serious, direct now. “How long’s it been since. . .”

Glancing to meet her gaze, any glib lines to finish her question died out with the weight he saw there. Like in the car on the drive up, there was a caution in her voice, but she hadn’t been this serious then.

“How long’s it been since you actually had your own bed? Not like since you had a bed you weren’t tied to or were using on a . . . on a job or in a hotel or anything, but someplace that was actually yours ?”

Her question hit him like a load of bricks. (My own bed? Fuck, I. . .) He’d slept wherever he could around the globe, CIA safe houses and hotels and in freighters and cargo planes (most hadn’t tried to kill him and he’d only had to fight his way out that once), in trucks and trains and on a cot at Fitz’s home for a few nights two years ago.  

“I- They had me. . . around in the South Pacific, mostly, for the past few years, so there were a few places I was based out of for longer stretches. A couple I’d rotate back to a lot.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know. Tori, it’s hard when you’re- when you do what I did.” 

“Not even a place that was yours when you weren’t, whatever you called it when you weren’t on duty? Somewhere more permanent they'd keep you?” 

There was a thought, ever being done for a time and able to relax  without having to roll out at the first call. “Maybe. . . when I was in training? After I got recruited, I mean.” 

“Shit. Court, even the military folks I’ve known have a place they can  come back to, on or off base.”

“Not military,” and he hated how practiced the line sounded. He hadn’t been, hadn’t been officially in any force or on any books. Hadn’t been anyone. “The deal was I work for them as long as they needed, and we didn’t really discuss my accommodations much. Didn’t really keep me at one station long much either.” 

“Fuckin’ CIA.”

"Hey, it got me out seeing the world, at least. Bit unorthodox some of the traveling, but I got a better view than most tourists.” Eyebrow raised, he rolled his head on the bedding to look at her with a half-grin. 

It almost made the woman beside him smile also, but her voice was still serious. “So nothing consistent, nothing yours since the big house, then?"

“Hey, you can just say ‘prison’, it’s less cliché.” 

“Says the anonymous CIA assassin.”

“Ok fair. But yeah. It’s uh, it’s been a while.” 

An unexpected contact on his arm, and the graze of what he realized a moment later were her fingers as she slid one hand to rest lightly on his forearm between their two bodies. “So then you picked the bunk that reminds you of being back inside but with more room?” 

“I picked it at random, but then. . .” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as tired to her as it did in his own ears. 

 “Court, I know we’re not staying up here that long, and I’ve kinda only known you for two days now, but I promise you you’ve earned this rest here. At least taking some time to heal and just be.” 

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, to argue how wrong that sounded, but of course none of it he could tell her. 

And they just lay there together in silence for what felt like an eternity, with the sounds of the forest and her hand warm on his arm. 

 

Eventually, quietly, they made it back to standing (with a brief wobble as his ankle complained again), and he did, after all, end up in a different room. The next one down the hall, it turned out, also had a full bed with the promised mattress pad and he did agree it was the softest bed he could remember having. (And here I’d thought that pillow last night was nice, I think I could get used to normal life and getting soft with one of these.) 

“Hey, uh,” she stopped in the doorway, returning with his duffel bag of all his possessions, “doesn’t this room get a bathroom also?” 

Her smile turned mischievous as she lowered the bag to the floor. “You’re in one of the grown-up bedrooms now, so we get a different bathroom. The door between their, across the hall, turned out to be that bathroom, which, Court, reflected as he stared in past her, was somewhat of an understatement. 

For a moment after she flung the door open with a theatrical “voilà” all he could do was stare. (Most wanted and deadly man in the world and you’re dumbfounded by a bathroom, Gentry.) “This. . . this is the bathroom in your cabin? A whirlpool tub, Tori? Also from your aunt?” 

With a laugh, she slid by him into the room. “Nah this was grandpop’s addition, this time. Said it was time to modernize the place, and get rid of the old, cracked tub. Though, yeah, I wasn’t expecting this either, at the time.” 

In a display to rival some of the finer hotels he’d been put up in, the room shone in a glimmering white tile display, the wide tub ringed with the black dots of jets a matched gloss, with only a slight layer of dust to show this wasn’t some city apartment he’d walked into. “God, I- I think I could actually lay down in that thing.” 

That drew a laugh, from where she’d crouched down to dig through the cabinets under the sink. “Yeah, I’m still not sure how Gramps and my uncle got it in here, I’m just glad I wasn’t up here then for that. Good, we’ve still got towels and everything under here.” Satisfied, she rose to her feet. “However they managed it, it’s here now, and yes you get to use it too, Court. Both our rooms are technically the ‘grown-ups’ rooms so we get the full bathroom.” 

Why was he surprised she’d pointed that out? It was far nicer than anything he’d actually used before but. . . (Fuck I’m sore enough still that hot water sounds amazing right now.) 

“If you’re not the bath type,” she continued, letting him decide if maybe he was the bath type, “there’s a shower in here also, and I swear whatever they did setting it up the water pressure is heavenly. We all get dusty enough up here that you’ll def need that at some point,and Court”, she looked at him levelly, “you are allowed to take longer than three minutes in the shower this time.” 

“A whole five minutes then?  What luxury?” He’d followed her in, leaning against the wall, and was inspecting the tub for himself, looking over the array of different bottles of soaps and shampoos. A family cabin, he reminded himself. Everyone has their own products up here they can leave behind. 

“Not to say I was timing you before, but make it closer to ten since you’re still recovering, ok?” 

She was grinning when he looked back at her. He liked that grin. 

“C’mon, there’s one more thing I wanna show you before we finish unpacking.” 

Limping, and with her again supporting his good side, they  made it back to the main room. With a flourish, she pulled back one of the tread-worn rugs from a corner by the fireplace to reveal a trap door beneath. 

“Root cellar?”

“Not really, not anymore.” Tugging the handle open, she lifted the door, gesturing at the matching one inside. “Here, it’s lockable from the inside, and we’ve got a full cellar full of survival gear you can go inspect once you can make it down the ladder on that ankle.” It was said with a grin, but Court thought he might be making a trip down to  see for himself sooner than she realized. “Between us all coming up for winters sometimes and needing to have stocks in  case we’re stuck in the snow, and knowing just how fucking isolated we are here, Gramps wanted to make sure we had a safe place to hole up if anyone tried  breaking in here.”

“No exit out through there, though?” 

“Not that I know of that he made,” she glanced back down, scowling. “It’s meant for emergencies and dry goods, more than anything, and any other exits would let the damp in. 

It was a good reason, but still. Old instincts said there should be another way out through there. 

Eventually, the cabin was set up for their stay, and his meager possessions were stowed, and the afternoon sun was growing long as they sat in the kitchen as Tori started pulling out  ingredients for an early dinner. 

“So Mr. Spy man, how much experience do you have cooking?”

He frowned, thoughtfully, at her turned back while she dug through a pantry. “Uh, beyond MREs and field cooking, I haven’t really been trained. . .” 

“So not much beyond boiling water, then?” Returning with an armload, she dumped packages of pasta and frozen peas on the kitchen island. 

“Hey, I can at least boil it without burning the water, I’ve gotten that far.” 

“Gotcha. So you’re on cheese-grating duty for now.”  With a smirk, she’d measured out a pile of ham and begun slicing it up.

“What, I don’t get to use knives in our kitchen now?”

“What?” It came out in a laugh, and once more Court felt another unfamiliar smile tugging in response to hers. “This part doesn’t take so long, but I guess if you want to.” 

Kitchen knives were a little different than combat knives, he realized a moment later as he fumbled the grip. Different handle and blade, but he’d managed to brace the chopping board with his  sling and had the bacon mostly evenly chopped by the time she was ready to add it to the sizzling butter and garlic, with the pasta cooking in water he ultimately didn’t have to boil. Gradually, the room filled with the scents of the salt and oil and garlic, and as the block of cheese she set him up to  grate as promised vanished slowly into small, fluffy curls in the grater, that smell joined the air also. 

A sudden growling split the air, and they both paused, the final egg she’d cracked dropping into a bowl. “Court?”

(Was that me?) “I, um-” he glanced down at his own traitorous stomach. “The food smells good?”

Her grin was more gentle this time. “I know those rest stop sandwiches were a while ago, but Court if you’re hungry you can say something.”  

He wanted to argue, to say that he’s a grown man and yes he can get food when he needs it, but. . . she did have a point. “Tori, I- I’ve been a little preoccupied recently with the business of not getting killed or put in prison again, I don’t always think about food, not beyond just getting calories to keep going.” He thought back to the Skittles he’d swapped a phone for, or the suspicious, greasy burger from a train platform he’d eaten and then used the paper from to clean his slightly grimier face. A part of him wanted to tell her about that, he realized. (Someday, someday I might tell her everything.) “No, I’m not starving right now, but,” this part was harder to say, “it’s been. .  . it’s been a long time since I had anything fresh regularly and right now, as banged up as I am, I’m going through more calories as I heal, ok?” And he glanced up at her, hoping it was enough for them to drop  the uncomfortable subject of his eating habits for now. 

Something in his gaze must have worked, since she shrugged, collected the bowl full of cheeses he’d grated, and mixed in most to the eggs she had. “Fine, but court you showed up saying you’d only eaten a bag of pretzels in the past twenty-four hours, so part of my keeping you alive is making sure you actually eat, also.” With a flourish, the cheese mixture and pasta and pan of meat and garlic were combined, with a small cup of the thawed peas, into an eggy, cheesy mixture of smooth sauce and noodles that smelled heavenly , and, after a suggestion from Tori, they were both set up on the porch outside, looking over the road down the hill, with bowl of the carbonara and glasses of a wine she’d dug out of somewhere. 

“Here,” she raised her glass in a toast, “here’s to us making it here in mostly one piece, and here’s to Court finally getting some damn rest!” And this time he couldn’t help but laugh with her as he gently clinked glasses together. Getting some real rest was  definitely worth drinking to. Swapping the glass for a fork and mentally calculating just how soon he could dump the shoulder sling and have both his arms back, he dug into the carbonara, the golden-yellow sauce gleaming in the golden evening light streaming down through the pine trees. If anyone had managed to tail them, they had plenty of time before anyone caught up and, just maybe, he could let himself relax and maybe use that luxurious shower once. 

The carbonara was amazing. (This,) he realized as they silently ate, in the evening sun, (is something I might just be able to get used to.)

[insipid-drivel]

"Wasn't she really ugly?" - No! Anne of Cleves was not an ugly woman at all! Yes, there are some extant sketches of a subject that's believed to have been her by some historians displaying a hooked nose, among other "unattractive" features, but those sketches have never been totally authenticated as being of Anne, or as being a genuine likeness of her when she was alive. One other portrait by Hans Holbein has been attributed to Anne, painted shortly after her divorce from Henry:

(Source: Wikipedia)

The myth of Anne of Cleves' ugliness was actually the product of a horrible first meeting with her then-fiance, Henry VIII, and some badly mangled politics by Thomas Cromwell.

Here's how it all went down:

It was about 2 years after the death of Henry's third wife, Jane Seymour, who died from complications in childbirth while giving birth to the future Edward VI - Henry's only surviving, legitimate, male heir. There was a bastard son named Henry Fitzroy that Henry had with one of his very first known mistresses, Elizabeth Blount, but she was already married when their affair went on. There was real discussion about making Fitzroy the heir to the English throne in spite of his status as a bastard until the birth of Edward.

After Jane died, in spite of giving Henry the heir he'd longed for, he was still nevertheless pressured by Parliament and the then-Chancellor, Thomas Cromwell, to remarry and continue trying to produce more sons. Cromwell was an avid Reformer and believer in the writings of infamous figures like Martin Luther and William Tyndale, but the Reformation in Britain had been so violent and careless that its Catholic neighbors, like Spain and France, refused to allow their eligible noble ladies be considered as brides for Henry, and the ladies themselves were becoming increasingly afraid of a proposal from Henry. After all, he'd abused and neglected Katherine of Aragon to death to make room for Anne Boleyn, who Henry executed within 3 years of finalizing their marriage, and rumors had spread around Europe that Jane Seymour had died of neglect in childbed. One potential bride, Christine of Milan, famously said to Henry VIII's royal painter, Hans Holbein the Younger, "If I had two heads, I would gladly marry the King of England. Alas, I have only this one."

And so, it became politic to look for brides from the Protestant and Reformist countries, such as the duchies of Germany. England was hopelessly strapped when it came to outside allies, and the Pope had been threatening Henry with full-blown excommunication for several years. The actual Papal Bull for Henry VIII's excommunication had actually been written already, and only awaited the Pope's signature. If it had been officially approved, it would've meant that any and every Catholic monarch in Europe had the duty of invading England, killing Henry VIII, and installing a puppet monarchy under Catholic supremacy.

Enter: Anne of Cleves. The Duchy of Cleves was an extremely important access point for all Protestants and Reformers seeking more allies, and Anne's older brother, William, was the young Duke responsible for choosing appropriate husbands for his sisters. William was known to be a wily and guileful person that was always extremely careful his political alliances, and took extreme offense when Henry VIII first insisted that Hans Holbein paint Anne and her then-eligible younger sister, Sybila, so he could see their likenesses before choosing which eligible lady he wanted to marry. Henry's political attaches were so humiliated that, upon telling Henry about the incident, Henry quickly chose Anne and sweetened the deal (and William's mood) by agreeing to waive the need for a dowry.

William agreed to the match, but the journey from Cleves to England was an arduous one that took many weeks, in winter, with only carriages as a means of travel. Anne's retinue could've tried to sail the whole way, but the Baltic and North Sea were extremely dangerous during winter and known to be absolutely lethal to the most experienced of sailing crews, and so she was forced to travel the much slower, safer route overland from Cleves to the port city of Calais; England's last remaining city in what was otherwise French territory.

Over the weeks of travel, Henry VIII had fallen in love with Anne's portrait. He was in a fever to meet her, but was also grossly obese and chronically ill and foul-smelling from a weeping ulcer in his leg that would ultimately kill him. He was 48, well past his days where he was known as the 'most beautiful prince in Christendom', known to stink like pus and rotting flesh sometimes to his courtiers, and frequently needed mobility aides like canes, glasses (which were thought of as a cripple's tool), and even special chairs designed so a group of servants could lift and carry him up and down stairs. It was also strongly rumored around his court that, by the time Anne of Cleves arrived in England, his failing health and out-of-control weight gain had rendered him functionally impotent.

Anne was just 24 years old, spoke almost no English (but was an extremely quick learner), and knew very little about English manners, etiquette, or Henry VIII's... quirks.

See, Henry had a thing for masquerades. It was during his lifetime that masquerades - or masques - became a popular form of entertainment. All his life, he'd charmed and seduced the ladies of his court by disguising himself in all kinds of ways, from disguising himself like a common peasant, to dressing up like an Ottoman emperor. Of course, he stuck out like a sore thumb no matter how much he tried to disguise himself; Henry was over 6' tall and towered over most of the people at his court, and had very distinct red hair that was commonly called "Tudor red". But, since he was King, everyone pretended to fall for it, and Henry never really did get a clear sense of what people really saw when they looked at him, or how much he really was just being placated by the people around him.

While Anne and her retinue were resting at a purpose-readied manor house after crossing the English Channel, Henry chose to break protocol and surprise her by coming to her early. The plan was that she would be formally received and greeted by him much later, but Henry liked to screw with people like that.

And so it began.

While Anne was enjoying the welcome festivities in the town outside of where she'd stopped, Henry approached her in disguise as a commoner, wearing a hood or cowl that obscured a lot of his face.

Anne had never seen Henry before. Not so much as a portrait. At that point, all she knew of her husband-to-be was what heavily biased courtiers told her. When Henry appeared in the chamber she was in with her ladies, he announced that he came, "with gifts from the King of England," and abruptly forced Anne into a kiss.

Anne, like any 24-year-old young woman on her way to meet her royal husband who'd already killed one wife on trumped up charges of infidelity, had no idea who the old guy with the rotten breath and stinking leg snogging her was, and pushed Henry away. She cursed and admonished him in German (Henry didn't speak German, but according to witnesses, Anne's tone was enough to give him the gist), thinking he was some disgusting pervert that had snuck up on her to grope her.

Their respective retinues quickly explained the mishap, but the damage was done. Anne had shown Henry what she really thought of him: That he was, quite literally, repulsive. She hadn't kowtowed and genuflected like he was used to. She'd shown how gross she thought he really was, and Henry never forgave her for it. As far as he was concerned, she'd humiliated him in front of the entire country.

If you ask me, it would've been smarter to play it off as, "My bride is so loyal to me already that she won't let another man touch her that isn't me so she's completely pure for the wedding night," but Henry's ego had always been extremely fragile. He went through with the wedding, but refused to consummate the marriage on the grounds that Anne had "evil smells about her", and was obviously not a virgin because... her boobs were too big.

Literally, he argued before the whole of Parliament, that Anne wasn't a virgin because she had large breasts. He finalized his arguments for divorcing Anne 6 months later with, "I left her as good a maid as I found her!"

Anne of Cleves was never ugly. She was a lovely young woman that was regarded both as attractive and a wonderful companion to be around. She was good-natured, sweet, generous, and in her brief 6 months as Henry's wife (she was never crowned), her maids and other servants had come to adore her, saying that she was quick to thank them, and quick to reward them for their service, and always showed them appreciation for the work they did for her. Anne didn't even object to converting her religion over to the newly-minted Church of England.

After the divorce, Anne went on to live in comfort and luxury at Hever Castle, where she began to form close ties with Henry's daughters, Mary and Elizabeth. In spite of Mary's zealous Catholicism and Anne's Reformist upbringing, the two became good friends and often visited each other. Anne also became a dear companion and pseudo-stepmother figure to young Elizabeth I, and later expressed her condolences to Henry VIII after Katherine Howard (Anne's own 14-year-old lady-in-waiting Henry married to replace her) had been found guilty of cuckolding Henry with Thomas Culpepper, Henry's groom and a young man much, much closer to Katherine's own age.

Anne of Cleves wound up being the only wife aside from Catherine Parr to outlive Henry VIII, and went on to be a prominent figure at Mary I's coronation ceremony. She faded to quiet obscurity after Wyatt's Rebellion, and later died in 1557 of what was probably cancer, having never left England, and being remembered by everyone that knew her as an easy-going, kind, and generous person to both know and serve.

Holbein’s Anne of Cleves has been restored!