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fitrahgolden · 2 months

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Hold My Hand, I'll Walk With You: A Weary Memory Prequel

[NOTE: This is a short prequel to my previous story, Weary Memory. You don’t need to have read it (but you should know that in this AU the timeline of their parents’ deaths is very different from canon). This is simply a very fluffy “when Kate met Anthony” story.

Title is from “Little Talks” by Of Monsters and Men, lyrics by Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir and Ragnar Þórhallsson.]

Kate knew she should get back to socialising. She’d been having a genuinely good time at her first house party since moving to Oxford a few weeks ago. She mingled. She danced. She got loads of unsolicited advice from older students.

She'd taken a break from the nonstop conversations and stationed herself next to the chocolate fountain because, well, she wasn't expecting a chocolate fountain at a university party, and now the delicious setup was too good to abandon.

She was deciding between pineapple, strawberry, and angel food cake when a voice beside her broke through the homogenised hum of the party.

“I’d go with the pineapple,” he said, his tone suggesting he thought he was really helping her out.

Kate looked up and observed the stranger through narrow eyes before plucking a strawberry from the tray. She made a show of holding the fruit underneath the flowing chocolate, then stepped aside and waved a hand towards the space in front of the buffet she’d just vacated.

“Be my guest,” she said with a supercilious smile before taking a bite. She hadn’t meant to be this bold, keeping eye contact with a handsome man while eating a chocolate covered strawberry. Perhaps she was pulling it off, if the way he looked back at her was any indication. At least she managed not to roll her eyes back and moan like a proper seductress.

He looked away from her to pay attention to the spread, and Kate took the opportunity to shake herself out of whatever had moved her to be so brazen. She sipped the dregs of her drink and avoided watching him eat, but looked back at him just in time to see him lick some chocolate off of his thumb. Oh, give me a break.

“Can I help you with anything? Get you another drink?”

Kate shook her head, placing her glass down. “No, I’m good for now.”

He nodded, apparently losing none of the confidence he seemed to have a bit too much of. “Are you here with anyone?”

“One of my housemates.” Kate looked beyond him to quickly survey the room. “Well, she's here somewhere. She knows someone who knows…um, whose ever flat this is.”

“Bert Fife and Caleb Cho,” the man provided helpfully.

“Ah. I take it that you actually know them?”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t, but yes. You, uh… You danced with Caleb earlier, actually.”

“Ha, did I really?”

“Yeah.” He pointed out the man in question across the room.

“Oh, him. Right. What a slag. I'll dance with anyone. Names are optional.”

“I wasn't–I mean…” He suddenly looked sheepish. “I just happened to notice you before. And now, I guess. You're very…noticeable.” The loss of some of his swagger was kind of adorable to witness.

“Am I?”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Which makes me think this must be your first year. Or maybe you're a transfer, a Cambridge escapee? I haven't seen you around.”

Kate could not have stopped the laugh that bubbled out of her if she tried. “You haven't seen me around? That's hardly surprising in a sea of thousands of students, is it?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“No. No, I suppose it's not.” A hint of a wince pulled at his lips.

“Would you like to try a different line? Perhaps one better suited for the environment?” Kate asked encouragingly.

“Oh, think I'm trying to chat you up, do you?” His casual tone was betrayed by the blush creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears.

Kate’s own confidence shook a bit. Could I really be misreading this? “Surely, you can understand why I'd think that.”

Anthony took an eager step towards her. “Oh, absolutely. Mostly because I am, but it doesn't seem to be going too well.”

“No, but not too poorly, either.” She touched his shoulder. He looked at her hand and back at her.

“Oh? Care to help me out at all?”

Kate dropped her hand, and picked up her empty glass for something to fiddle with. “You could just ask me my name. It's not terribly creative, but you’ll find I'm a fan of practicality over flair.”

“Ah. Very helpful, indeed.”

There were several beats where they said nothing, just looked at each other.

Kate bobbed her head in confusion. “Well?”

“I can't very well ask immediately after you tell me to, now can I?” His smile was sly.

With a roll of her eyes, Kate asked, “What's your name, then?”

“Wait– Are you chatting me up?”

“Possibly.” Kate shrugged, trying her damndest to remain breezy.

“I'm Anthony.”

“Anthony?” she asked, with a hard “th.”

He shook his head.

“Anthony,” he enunciated. “With a ‘ta.’“

The way Anthony exaggerated the consonant sound drew Kate's attention to his mouth and the way his tongue peeked out just a little from between his teeth. I wonder if that's a move. He has lines, so surely he also has moves. I bet that “with a ‘ta'” nonsense is the only reason he pronounces it that way.

Kate realised too late her gaze was lingering on his mouth, looking up only once Anthony started smirking. And I totally fell for it, damn him.

Anthony with a “ta” put a hand on the wall behind Kate, and his forearm brushed against her shoulder as he leaned forward. “Would you like me to demonstrate again? Up close this time?”

Kate rolled her eyes. Definitely a move. “No, thanks. I'm a quick study, Anthony.” She noted it must work both ways, judging by how Anthony's eyes darted down to her lips. “Sounds quite posh, pronounced the proper way. Suits you.”

“Why doesn't that sound like a compliment?”

Kate tilted her head to one side, and Anthony seemed to reflexively tilt his head the same way as his eyes stayed trained on hers. “Perhaps because it isn't.”

“Well, if your name isn't the epitome of humbleness, I'll be very disappointed.”

“Kate,” she said simply. “Unassuming enough for you?”

He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were roaming her face. Once his gaze fell back to hers, he said, “I think it's beautiful. Suits you.”

Kate looked down at her feet, unsure how to respond to that.

“Did I just lose points?” The question was laced with genuine concern.

“No.” Kate shook her head and looked back up at Anthony. “No, that was…sweet. I'll reward you by telling you you were right.”

“I love hearing that.”

“I'm not even a little bit surprised.”

“What specifically am I right about, though?”

“I am a first year.”

“What are you going to study?”

“Fine art.”

Anthony lit up. “Oh, yeah? My brother’s in London at the Royal College of Art. He’s brilliant.”

“Oh, cool.” Please don’t try to set me up with you brother. “And what about you?”

“Creative writing.”

“Ooh, you’re a writer.”

“Eh, at this point calling myself a writer would be an insult to writers, I think. But, someday soon, I hope. My family owns a publishing company, so I’ll have a huge audience anticipating my failure.”

Kate furrowed her brows. “Not your family, surely.”

“No, no. My parents are…stiflingly supportive. I mean everyone else at the company. They’re certain I wouldn’t have a prayer without having my family to publish my work.”

Kate said nothing, but he must have read her face.

“You think they’re right,” he said, smiling.

Kate raised her hands, “Look, I don’t know you. You could be brilliant. But nepotism is alive and well, is all.”

Anthony nodded. “No, I understand. I can’t deny I’m in a very privileged position.”

“At least you’re aware. The bar is low, but that’s not nothing.”

Their conversation moved along easily, at a fast clip. Kate eventually felt comfortable enough to let Anthony get her another drink. About an hour later, they were still talking, side by side against a wall in the corner, their arms brushing.

“Hey,” Anthony whispered as he turned to look at Kate.

“Yes?”

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

A surprised laugh escaped her without her permission. Anthony seemed unfazed. He just continued to search her eyes with his, waiting.

“Yeah,” Kate whispered. The room might have been too loud for Anthony to even hear her. “That would be alright.”

She leaned toward him and he met her in the middle. It was soft and tentative. Certainly softer than Kate thought he would kiss her, because she had definitely been thinking about it for the better part of their conversation, and hoped he had been to.

After the first careful meeting, Anthony put a hand up to Kate's jaw, slaying his fingers over her cheek and throat, but applying no pressure, not until his thumb pressed down just beneath her bottom lip, and Kate opened her mouth in response. It was too loud to hear their sighs and moans, so they relied on the accompanying vibrations for feedback. Presumably feeling the need to breathe, Anthony started to back away. Kate let him go, but not before nipping his bottom lip.

“...Kit,” he groaned.

Kate tutted, and their noses brushed as she shook her head. “And things were going so well. Already calling me the wrong name?”

“Never.” Anthony looked dazed. “No one calls you that?”

“No,” she laughed, bemused. “Why would they?”

“I don't know. It just…” He looked down at her lips and made a lazy path back up to her eyes. “...feels right.”

“Because your last Kate was called Kit?” It was a joke, but it sounded a bit too mean to her ears when she heard it come out of her mouth. Anthony didn't seem offended, though. Maybe there was a last Kate. His gaze was piercing when he responded.

“As far as I'm concerned, no other Kate exists.”

Oh.

“I have to give it to you, being renamed after one kiss, that's a new one for me,” Kate said, trying to regain her footing.

“Me, too.” He absentmindedly twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, threatening to throw her right back off balance. “Can I keep calling you that?”

“I think…” Kate started, but cleared her throat when her voice sounded annoyingly breathless. “Whether I want you to keep calling me anything at all remains to be seen.”

“That's fair. I think you like it, though.” He was obviously quite pleased with himself.

“I…” Kate tried her best to muster a glare. “It remains to be seen,” she repeated weakly.

Anthony’s smile was warm. “May I take you somewhere?”

Kate’s eyebrows shot up. “Um… Where were you thinking?”

“The White Rabbit, have you heard of it? It’s close.”

While Kate thought about it, Anthony quickly added, “Or I could just drop you off at yours, and we could talk more on the way.”

“Let me see your licence.” Kate held her hand out as Anthony dutifully dug for his wallet. She exaggeratedly scrutinised the card. “Alright, Anthony…Bridgerton. I’d love some real food. I'm just gonna take a picture of you to send to my housemates.”

Anthony backed up so Kate could take a picture, but he kept making faces, and she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Stop posing!” Kate commanded. “Think of this as a passport photo.

“My passport photo is amazing, actually.”

“Ugh, shut up.” Kate sent the photo she deemed most appropriate to her housemates’ text thread.

>> Leaving the party with this bloke, Anthony Bridgerton. DO wait up.

Kate looked up from her phone to see Anthony looking at her, seemingly impressed.

“What?”

“I need to remember to tell my sisters to pick up the same habit.”

Kate nodded vigorously. “Please do. So, a brother and at least two sisters. How many siblings do you have?”

“Seven.”

“Fuck off.” Kate covered her mouth as Anthony barked out a laugh.“I mean, no disrespect to your parents, but…damn.”

—

Anthony was thankful that the pub wasn’t too busy. He led Kate to a booth and had to suppress a grin when Kate pulled him down to sit on her side. They didn’t move from their seats until it was closing time.

“Let me take you home,” he said after he closed out their tab and they started walking towards the door.

Kate hesitantly took his hand, squeezing when he did.

“OK.”

—

It seemed unbelievable that they had more to talk about on the drive to her house, but they did. Along the way, Anthony inched his hand onto Kate’s thigh, smiling smugly to himself when she squirmed a little and rested her hand on top of his. Again, the time passed too quickly, and before he knew it, she was pointing out her house and he was pulling up to the curb.

“Can I have your number?” Kate asked as the car came to a stop, surprising him.

He laughed as he ran a finger under his bottom lip. “Damn, Kit. You beat me to it.”

“Is that a yes, then?” He’d say yes to anything if she smiled at him like that. He was sure of it.

“Yes, please.”

When Kate passed Anthony her phone, he chuckled when he saw she filled in his name as “Anthony with a ‘ta.’” Once they’d shared numbers, they sat in silence, looking at each other like idiots. Finally, Kate sighed.

“I’m gonna go.” There was no conviction in her voice. In fact, it almost sounded like a question.

“OK.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for letting me take you.”

More silence. The mood in the car was odd, but not uncomfortably so. Anthony just didn’t want the night to end yet, so she was going to have to make the first move.

And she did, but it was not the move he was expecting.

She leaned across the centre console, threw her arms around him, and kissed him.

It was hard to keep up with everything as it happened. Anthony slid his seat backward, too slow for Kate who was already clambering into his lap. He could feel her undoing the buttons of his shirt while he was preoccupied with pulling out the elastic that was holding most of her hair back. Anthony threaded his fingers through her tresses until he reached the nape of her neck. He gripped it tightly as his tongue slid across her lips and into her mouth. Kate whined, grinding down on him as she sucked on his tongue. He slid his other hand along the outside of her thigh, her skirt having almost completely ridden up to her waist, then he pulled back to gasp in some air.

“Can I come inside?” he asked before bringing their lips back together.

She sighed back at him. “No.”

He kissed her jaw, her neck, her shoulder.

“Can I take you to mine instead? I don’t have housemates.”

“Good to know, but not tonight.”

The sound he made was somewhere between a chuckle and a groan as he matched her grinding with his own.

“Tell me what I can do, then, Kit. Please,” he whispered into her hair.

She pulled back. They were both panting as she seemed to think about it. “You can call me Kit.” Her eyes sparkled playfully as she bit into her swollen lip.

“Good.” Both of his hands found her arse, and he kneaded it through the soft cotton material that covered it. “Anything else?”

“Text me,” she almost moaned.

He smiled as their foreheads rested against each other. “OK, I can do that.”

Kate brought both hands to Anthony’s face and brushed a finger across his lips, concentrating, perhaps debating something. “I really am going to go.” She looked up from his lips to his eyes.

“OK.” Anthony pulled her in for a kiss goodbye. She put a hand against his chest, as if it was a necessary measure to stop herself from falling back into him. After one last kiss to her temple, he let his arms fall to his sides. “Goodnight, Kit.”

Kate climbed out of his lap with as much grace as someone of her stature could manage in such a cramped space. She took a few moments to sort her clothes out before turning towards him.

“Goodnight, Anthony.”

With that, she was out of his chair and in a few steps, she was at her front door, keys in hand.

Anthony watched from his car. Turn around. Turn around.

Kate opened the door and disappeared. She hadn't turned around. He smiled to himself.

Next time.

—

“This isn't a text.”

Anthony clinched his jaw as he held the phone against his ear. Kate’s voice was heavy and warm. He imagined her still in bed despite the late hour, like he was, and found himself very interested in what her bedroom might look like. Jesus Christ. A couple of words from her, and my cock is already twitching.

“Want me to hang up?” he asked.

“You wouldn't,” she haughtily challenged.

“I'd certainly hate to. Good morning, Kit.” Kit. He had no idea where that name came from last night, when he’d put his lips on Kate’s for the first time, but it felt good to say it. He’d chanted it over and over again when he got home last night and promptly finished what they’d started in his car.

“Good morning, Anthony with a ‘ta.’”

He could hear her smiling. This woman would be the death of him. Of that, he was certain.

“How did you sleep?” Don’t leave out any details.

“Not great.”

Anthony frowned. “No?”

“It's not a big deal. I'm used to it.”

There was something there, he could tell. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. Are you desperately trying to resist making a joke about helping me sleep?”

“It’s a bit early in the day for me to be desperate.” Tell that to your dick. “And Kit?”

“Yeah?”

“It wouldn't be a joke.” He was rewarded with a soft gasp. Anthony had gotten the impression that Kate was not often left speechless. “Let's go out tonight. Are you free?”

“You're serious?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“We just met yesterday.”

“Yes, I was there. And?”

“You really want to see me again so soon?”

What? He sighed, running his hand over his face in contemplation. “My gut tells me you aren't fishing for compliments–”

“I'm not!”

“Well, frankly,” he laughed, “that would be more believable than you actually being surprised that I want to go out with you. Last night was amazing. For me, anyway.”

“Me, too.”

Oh, thank fuck.

“Then I'll ask again. Can I see you tonight?”

“You can see me tonight.”

A knot in his stomach loosened. He'd never been this keen to go out with someone before. His brothers would have a field day with this.

—

Kate and Anthony settled on a walk through the botanical gardens then a film at the Ultimate Picture Palace. The theatre was relatively empty, and halfway through a movie they had both already seen, Anthony, who had been lightly running his fingers up and down Kate's neck, whispered into her ear.

“Would it be terribly cliché of me to kiss the fuck out of you right now?”

“Yes,” Kate hissed, trying not to laugh, a laugh that died as soon Anthony lightly grasped her chin and angled it towards him.

“Can I do it anyway?”

Kate swallowed and nodded.

“Stay quiet, OK, Kit?”

Somehow, she did. They both did.

—

“Where to next?” Kate asked as they settled back into Anthony’s car.

“Oh, um…” Anthony was surprised, as it had felt like the night was winding down. “Am I taking you home?”

“You could…” Kate shrugged, “but if I remember correctly, which may not be the case as you were pulling down the neckline of my shirt with your teeth at the time, you said live alone.”

“I do,” Anthony confirmed, his voice strained.

“Granted, it’s been about twenty-four hours, but are you still interested in taking me to yours?”

“Very.” He’d answered so quickly, he surprised himself.

“Good.”

—

“I knew your place would be posh,” Kate teased as she took off her shoes and Anthony closed the door behind them.

He turned her around and pulled her so they were chest to chest. “Would you like a tour?”

She felt his hands sliding down her back and over her hips. “Yeah, I’d love one,” she said, unable to stop her giggle.

Anthony kissed his way along her jaw up to her ear before gruffly saying, “Then I’ll give you one tomorrow.”

Then his lips and teeth and tongue were mingling with hers as he pushed her backwards, walking her further into his flat. It didn’t take long before Kate was pressed up against a door. Her hands drifted down to Anthony’s belt, but before she could undo it, he grasped her wrists.

“Not yet, Kit,” he said in a rough whisper before bringing her wrists to his lips and kissing each one. He flashed her a roguish smirk as he sank to his knees before her. His expression changed to something tender and reverent. “Can I?” he asked, running a hand slowly up the inside of her leg.

Kate released a shuddering breath and nodded. “Yes.”

Anthony’s motions were fluid as he pushed her dress up, pulled her knickers down, and lifted a leg of hers onto his shoulder.

Soon, Kate was scrambling to hold on to the wall, the doorjamb, something, anything for support. With the hand that wasn’t teasing her clit, Anthony found and held on to one of Kate’s, intertwining their fingers and eventually guiding her hand into his hair. Kate obediently curled her fingers and held on. The moan that came from Anthony vibrated through her, to great effect.

“Use both hands if you need to,” he said before closing his mouth over her again.

She nodded vigorously as she combed her other hand into his hair, pulling when a manoeuvre of his surprised her in the best way possible, and she choked out a sob. When her climax hit her, she leaned over, and Anthony slayed a hand across her chest to hold her up as he rode her orgasm out with her, keeping up his attentions until Kate had to push him away, suddenly too sensitive to handle it. Kate wasn't a virgin, and a couple of guys had gone down on her in the past. But it had never been anything like that. Perhaps this was a perk of Anthony being three years older than her. Maybe it was a more significant age gap than she initially thought.

Anthony stood back up slowly, kissing her torso over her clothes until he was completely upright. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.

“Can you walk?”

Even though his tone was sweet, Kate wanted to roll her eyes. But frankly, no, she couldn’t walk. “Mm-mm.” She shook her head lazily. “I live against this door now.”

Anthony chuckled–the smug bastard– as he took a step back and placed his hands firmly on her hips.

“Jump.”

“What?”

“I’ll carry you. Jump.”

Feeling just a little bit silly, Kate jumped, and gasped when Anthony slid his hands under her bum and pulled her up so her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Her arms went around his neck.

“Good girl.”

Anthony opened the door he had taken her up against, revealing his bedroom. Not that Kate was taking in much of her surroundings. She was still blissed out when he laid her down on his bed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sat beside her on the mattress, tracing his fingers across her collarbones.

“Yeah. Why are you still dressed?”

He laughed and stood up. He held her gaze as he undressed.

He’s beautiful.

Once he was naked, he crawled onto the bed and encouraged Kate to sit up so he could pull her dress over her head, leaving just her bra, which she quickly got rid of with an air of confidence that she didn’t quite feel.

At first, they just looked at each other, letting their eyes wander. Then Anthony leaned towards the nightstand beside Kate and grabbed a condom out of the drawer. He tossed it onto the bed before taking Kate’s face in his hands and kissing her soundly.

“Come here,” he whispered.

Anthony pulled Kate up to her knees and guided her until she was straddling him. He kissed her again before reaching for the condom. Kate lightly grabbed his wrist.

“Can I put it on?”

Anthony smiled at her as he tore the packet open and handed it to her. Kate reached below herself and started stroking him. They were panting in time with her hand and Anthony vigorously shook his head. “Fuck, you’ve got to stop, baby. I’m ready.”

Kate rolled the condom on and sunk down onto him. As soon as she was fully seated, Anthony started moving. She cradled his head in her arms, muttering in Tamil as occasional expletives fell from Anthony’s mouth. Suddenly, he pushed her onto her back. He slammed into her faster and harder as he pinned her arms above her head.

“Is this OK?” he gritted out between his teeth.

Kate nodded.

“Kit?”

“Yes, fuck!”

Holding her wrists in one hand, Anthony used the other between her legs, moving it relentlessly until she was crying out again, turning into putty beneath him. About a minute later, he followed suit, groaning, cursing, repeating her name–well, his name for her.

“Kit, Kit, Kit.”

—

Anthony was startled awake by the sound of clattering coming from his kitchen. A second clang was accompanied by a harsh, “Aiyoh!”

After donning some underwear and a pair of tracksuit bottoms, Anthony set off to find Kate. She was at his stove, wearing her bra and some gym shorts of his, cinched to within an inch of their life just above her hips. It was perhaps the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Whatever mess she had made of the pots and pans had been cleaned up, the kettle was on, and Kate was leaning over a frying pan.

“I feel like I should be making you breakfast the first time you stay at my flat.”

The first time. He probably shouldn’t have said that. He didn’t want to scare her off. But if his phrasing bothered her, Kate was good at hiding it. She looked up and smiled at him.

“Well, consider yourself in my debt, then.”

“Gladly.” Anthony wrapped an arm around her waist and murmured into her ear. “How soon can I make it up to you?” Her hair was gathered at the top of her head, and he nuzzled her neck as his hands wandered until she took a step away from him.

“Don’t distract me, Bridgerton. The tea is already going to be shitty. I can't even approximate proper chai since all you have is peppercorns and stale cinnamon sticks.”

“Hey, how many twenty year olds do you know who have any whole spices at all?”

“Loads. I’m Indian.”

“Point taken. What are you making?”

“Hotcakes. I make amazing hotcakes. At least, I do when–”she smacked his hand away from her arse “–I don’t have a sex pest at my back.”

“Sorry,” Anthony laughed.

“No, you aren’t.”

“You’re right.”

“I usually am. You’ll learn.”

Anthony bit back a grin at the implication that he’d see her again. He grabbed one of the hotcakes off the plate and took a bite. Kate’s giant eyes got even bigger when she noticed.

“Wait, you need jam!”

Anthony took another bite to spite her. “No, I don’t. These are delicious, Kit.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I actually prefer them to meetha pooda.” She paused and shook her head with a click of her tongue. “Itu aciṅkam,” she grumbled. “My mother would be so disappointed to hear that.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He kissed her temple.

“No need. She died seven years ago.” She immediately winced, as if she hadn’t meant to say that. Over the past two nights, Kate hadn’t given any details about her parents whenever they talked about their families.

“Oh, shit. Kit, I'm so sorry.” Anthony pulled her to him, and he felt her relax a bit in his arms. It didn’t last long, though. She quickly stepped away from him.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she turned her attention back to the stove, and rubbed her cheek in a huff.

Anthony couldn’t think of anything to say, and Kate didn’t seem to need him to say anything anyway, so he just leaned against the counter as she finished making breakfast, every offer to help being turned down.

Her mood had lightened by the time they sat down to eat. While Anthony was doing the washing up, Kate went back into his bedroom. She came out shortly after, dressed and ready to go.

Anthony usurped her before she could put her shoes on and pulled her towards the couch.

“I can’t stay,” she whined, but she straddled his lap all the same.

“Why not?” Anthony rubbed her back as her arms went around his neck.

“Because if I don’t want my first year to be my only year, I need to study.”

“I’ll help you study,” he lied. Unsurprisingly, Kate wasn’t buying it.

“Conflict of interest. I think you're heavily invested in me not being productive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smirked as he kissed her.

Kate sighed, leaning into him. “Anthony.”

“Fine.” He leaned back against the cushions, but kept a grip on her hips. “At least let me drive you back to your house.”

Kate shook her head. “I looked it up. It’s a long walk, but it's a nice morning for it.”

Anthony arched an eyebrow at her. “You know you’re too sore for a long walk.”

“Arrogant twat.”

“Please, Kit.” He squeezed her waist.

She tried to glare at him before breaking into a grin.

“OK.”

—

This time, when Anthony watched from his car as she walked to her front door, Kate turned around.

Damn. I'm in trouble.

He could not wait.

—

[NOTE: Please read Weary Memory if you’d like an actual story with this version of Kate and Anthony.]

11 notes · View notes

pensiveday · 2 years

Photo

Subject: Percy Reed Art: Hiri @hirilelfwraith Writing: Aspens @doveinabowl

[ID: A page titled “Percy Reed” with an illustration of the character from Hello from the Hallowoods taped to it with browned masking tape. Percy is a ghostly young man with a narrow face, hollow cheeks, short hair, scarred lips, and void-black eyes. He wears a tattered dress that wisps around him, and his wrists are wrapped in wire that trails off the page. His expression is grim but defiant.

A smaller drawing shows Percy hovering next to Diggory Graves, a humanlike creature with stitched-together skin, dark hair, sharp-fingered hands, and a spiked jacket. Diggory holds a piano key in one hand. Wire from the piano key trails between it and the hand Percy is holding over his heart. Also on the page is a close-up of a sketched nose and lips with puncture-mark scars encircling the mouth. Lastly is a sketch of a piano key.

The second page is written in blocky, all-caps letters on ink-stained paper, with notes added in different handwriting. It reads:

Dangerous? No (A note adds, “Unless you get him mad--don’t threaten Diggory when he’s around.”)

Sentient? Full sentience - can be reasoned with

Encounter Location: The Scoutpost

Description: Ghost tied to an instrument (piano). The Instrumentalist’s first victim looks to be in his twenties. Short hair (a note adds “He says he cut it himself”), wears (”a tattered collared dress” is crossed out). Has ghost wire coming from wrist to (”piano key” is crossed out and replaced with “bone fragment (creepy)”) kept by Diggory Graves.

Puncture wounds around lips, black eyes. Gaunt--cause of death: Starvation. (A note adds, “Usually shy but when he gets comfortable he can get pretty snarky. He got new clothes somehow (from his dad?). An old-man button-down shirt, sweater, and pants. He’s literally and figuratively inseparable from Diggory (”except for that time he got kidnapped” is crossed out). They’re both kinda creepy but I guess they’re cute together.”)

Abilities: Invisibility, intangibility, telepathic communication, limited interaction with physical objects, ghost lighting and light. (A note adds, “All the typical ghost stuff + lightning strong enough to explode trees. Strong feelings let him touch stuff, except silver, which he can always touch. He says he used silver scissors to cut Diggory’s hair! Hair styling. Keeping watch during long car rides. Recently he’s made some progress on being able to pet cats.”)

Connections: Diggory Graves (”friend?” is crossed out) partner? Instrumentalist--father. Can give information about the Instrumentalist (don’t push: He disappears if he doesn’t want to talk). See also: Ghosts. (A note adds, “One of the Instrumentalist’s ghosts, the one tied to the fife, was his mom. Al - Friend, also a ghost (tied to a toy drum). The Scoutpost--friends.”) /end ID]

#Percy Reed #hello from the hallowoods #hfth #pensive day 2022 zine #hfth podcast #Diggory Graves #Stitches hfth #hfth spoilers

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ninzied · 2 years

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masquerade

kate and anthony meet at the conservatory ball, but with a twist: it’s a masquerade ball, and at least one of them will be left unmasked by the end.

He doesn’t know how he ended up here, in this ridiculous mask, making ridiculous small talk with every young lady of the ton. But after hours of being trod on, and simpered at, and bored into near tears, Anthony can be certain of this:

If he dances one more dance tonight, there is a slight chance he will not live to see morning.

No sooner had his mother announced to the ton his intention to find a wife this season than he’d been surrounded from all sides by eligible misses and their mamas. Shoving their dance cards at his person, making empty inquiries after his family as he turned each of them about on his arm.

The masks have been both a blessing and a curse, shielding any slip in his expression while also making it rather difficult to recall which of them he’s already danced with.

When a young miss who’s just stepped on his foot turns out to be the same young miss who’d stepped on his foot not three dances ago as well, Anthony excuses himself.

He can feel his mother’s gaze on him – no mask could hide that – as he slips behind a column of ivy, heading for the back gardens. He tells himself he won’t be long.

He knows his duty. He will not let her down.

But first, he needs some air.

He steps out onto the terrace, releases a button from his waistcoat, and breathes.

It is a clear night, and the air is both crisp and soothing. The terrace is empty – he’d narrowly missed Fife and the others – and he walks the length of it, grateful for the short reprieve. He wonders, idly, if he should join the other men in the smoke room, but the prospect of what talk would ensue only exhausts him; and besides, the air out here is more refreshing, its fragrance clean and sweet. Lilies, he thinks, though he sees none around him.

And then he hears a sound from the bushes, a jangle of metal – some gardening tools being upturned, perhaps – before everything is quiet again.

Too quiet, even.

She is in a powder blue gown, inlaid with some sort of material that seems to catch all the light as she turns. Her dark hair is offset by a jeweled tiara that is as pretty as it is understated. Her mask covers most of her face, but there can be no mistaking those large eyes, the shapely contours of her jaw.

He looks at her, and feels a smile growing.

“Pardon me, my lord,” she says, her tone cordial but brisk; she gives no indication of having recognized him. “You looked lost in thought, and I did not wish to disturb you with my presence.”

He cocks his head, amused. “What makes you think your presence would disturb me?”

“For much the same reason as anyone else would upon seeking solace out here, I suppose.” The woman spreads her gloved hands about them, and he is struck by both the command in the gesture as well as the grace with which she’s executed it.

Anthony gives a polite nod of understanding. “You speak as one who seeks this same solace.”

“I do,” she allows. “I am.”

“Then,” he continues, letting a hint of something teasing into his tone now, “you are, in actuality, saying it is my presence that is found to be lacking.”

“I—” She stops, then smiles as if in spite of herself. It is a beautiful smile. “I suppose you have me there.”

Funny, that. Anthony is starting to think he would quite like to have her, indeed. Out loud, he says only, “And what could a young miss such as yourself wish to find some peace and quiet from this evening?” He offers her a wry sort of smile in return. “Surely not the delightful rigmarole of courtship that awaits therein?”

“One could say that,” she replies after a brief moment’s pause. “And you as well?”

So she had missed his dear mother’s announcement, then. That she does not even know who he is, much less his plans to wed this season—

It is refreshing, to say the least. Liberating, even.

continue on ao3.

#kanthony #kanthony fanfic #kathony #kathony fanfic #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #*kanthony

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usernoneexistent · 2 years

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As the Crows Caw and the Acorns Fall

A/N: Challenge by @kathrynalicemc. I decided for my short story to be a retelling of the legacy throughout the centuries of the Moss family as told by traveller who loves telling stories to passerbys. Warnings: don’t take everything as fact, some exaggerated facts.

Hear yee! Hear yee! Gather all around and listen to the tale of Clan Moss. Have you ever seen natural blue hair? Many can't say they have, but in the lowlands of Scotland, in a town up North from the residence of the Scottish Kings and Queens, you can expect to see a sight that many claims to be as rare as running into a unicorn in the English forests. In the forest of Tentsumuir, witches, wizards, and other magical beings have talked about sightings of children dressed in white dancing and laughing; french blue hair moved gracefully in the wind while the autumn leaves twirl playfully around them, almost giving these bairns a mystical quality; ghostly almost.

Legend says that a bonnie Scotsman of stallion blue hair and natural legilimency was prophesied to bring down evil a century before his birth; Allister Grierson. Some say he was born with a full mane of hair and eyes wide open, while others claim that his mother meddled with the dark arts as a desperate act to birth an heir to the Clan head. Nevertheless, Allister Grierson was destined for greatness and that he showed. Allister slain dragons with his bare hand, climbed Beinn Nibheis with nothing but a kilt on him, rode on a unicorn and many more tales for later. However, one heroic deed that stood out was how Allister locked away evil in vaults cursed to those who dare enter them. Only those of his blood may tame these cursed vaults.

Though a century ago, this french blue hair was a more common occurrence throughout the Kingdom of Britain and the west of Europe. Many noble houses wanted to claim these as their own and have their own piece of this magical hair as more rumours spread of witnessing magical properties from this hair. It was even acclaimed that the drinker could grant immortality if the potions contained their blue hair and blood. Yet, little do many know that this rumour is false! A farce! A lie! Caused by the greed of those with nothing but making quick gold to fill their pockets. Many men, women, and even children with close familial ties or not of descendants of Allister Grierson were hunted down by muggles and wizards alike. Whittled down to one branch, Clan Moss, an unofficial and unassuming Scottish clan in Fife. They kept their heads and laid low; slowly but surely, bairns with blue locks disappeared out of sight.

A century of silence followed by another and then another until four centuries have passed without another reported sighting of blue hair but don't be hasty to conclude that they are gone. Nay, nay, nay, friends! For one Moss finally cried 'enough'! Enough of living in fear! Enough of hiding! Enough of fearing death herself! They were tired of the crows at the door, so the Wizengamot heard their plea and finally agreed enough was enough. Now when you enter the forest of Tentsumuir, once again in the seasons of an acorn falling, will you see bairns with french blue hair from the cottage near the cliffs, prancing, laughing and bringing joy back to the forest that once seeped with fear.

#lineage challenge #short story #lily’s writing #moss family

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meteorologears · 1 year

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As tagged by @tealdog, my most treasured person.

♫Do you play an instrument? I play fife in Rev War reenactments, bassoon in an orchestra, and piano (there's no reason for this. I just do). Other instruments I have learned to play (and could play) have included: the drums, guitar, bass electric guitar, trumpet, piccolo, and oboe

•Favourite book characters? Probably Dunbar and Clevinger from Catch 22, and more favourite than them would be either Milo or Wintergreen. However, I can't abide by the Closing Time versions of either of them as Closing Time reads more like a fever dream than a real book and thus I've sworn a personal vendetta against it.

•What’s your star sign? Capricorn, which I'm pretty sure is the most boring one from everything I've seen about it

•Favourite colour schemes? Warm grey is my very favourite but I've been an orange enjoyer for a long time. However... recently I've come to love teal :')

•Naps or long sleep? i could go an entire day running solely on periodic naps. fucking love naps

•What languages do you speak? English! I did study icelandic for a while, and I know Spanish and hope to one day become fluent (it's important to someone important to me). I also am working hard to learn ASL, as i'm hard of hearing.

•Dreams/aspirations? my big dream is to work a small little job in a cozy town and live in an apartment with someone special (hi aud :) turnabout is fair play, my dear). Ideally it would be a quiet life and nothing too eventful, but each day would be filled with enjoyable small tasks and would thus be comfortable. A lesser aspiration is to one day become a TV meteorologist, but I could give or take that as I've got a pretty happy tour guide job right now. Also to publish my novel that I've been working on for a year :)

•Long hair or Short Hair? short hair is the best!! i used to have long hair (not very long) but after I donated it to charity, I was much happier with the short haircut. Sometimes I trim it on my own with scissors or clippers, and I've even buzzed it once or twice.

•Tea or coffee? Coffee any day, in moderation. My coffee is usually largely made of milk and sugar too, so it's not Pure Coffee in any sense of the word.

•Bring a book character to life or go into a fictional world? Book characters are in their books for a reason and I'm in the real world for a reason. Neither.

Well, I would've tagged aud but you see how that's ended up. So... I'll tag a few other catch22 guys I know: @peaceandl0ve and @prksoda and @sheepinthebigcity, if you'd like!

#thanks for the tag :')#aud tag #this was a lot of fun!! good excuse to talk about nice things #about

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mvrtogg · 5 months

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HAIR COLOR. ( all verses ) his hair color is brown. it gets lighter when exposed to sunlight, making his hair dark blonde. ( leprechaun verse ) he has ginger/auburn hair. EYE COLOR. ( all verses ) he has hazel eyes. ( leprechaun verse ) they are green. BODY TYPE / BUILD. he's 6'1", gangly, and fairly fit. when he was a marine, he was more toned that "fit". he was constantly working and lifting/moving around, which made him have some muscle tone. when he became a pirate, he was forced into manual labour for many years which caused him to bulk up and gain muscles which makde him pretty damn fit. long story short, he's a himbo.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. he is bisexual. he has no preferences between the genders / sexes. if you show any interest in him, he's most likely going to be attracted to you.

HOBBIES. ( painting and drawing ) he's a very skill artist. ( wood carving ) he likes to make wood carvening and small models of ships. ( flautist / fifer ) he is a skilled flute and fife player. ( coin throwing ) he does enjoy coin throwing and is pretty accurate with his aim.

MARKSMANSHIP. he is a very skilled marksman and sharpshooter. with a brown bess musket, he can accurately hit a moving target from 50 yards away. this also is transferable to flintlock pistols. he can also shoot and reload 3 / 4 times within one minute. SWORDSMANSHIP. he pretty skilled with a sword. he's not the best but he can hold his own against far better swordfighters. his skills get better once he became a pirate.

FEARS. he suffers from severe lilapsophobia, the fear of hurricanes. this became apparent when he survived going through a class 3 hurricane while aboard the dauntless off the cost of tripoli. he has a mild fear of rejection.

MENTAL ILLNESSES. he has situational anxiety. he suffers form mild PTSD since he became a pirate. he also suffers from mild depression.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. he speaks english and some irish gaelic. EDUCATION. he can read and write. he can also read sheet music for the flute.

#[ headcanons. ]

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xtruss · 1 year

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Ha’il, Saudi Arabia 🇸🇦! The South African racing driver Henk Lategan and his co-driver, Brett Cummings, steer their Toyota during the stage 4 of the Dakar 2023 rally. Photograph: Franck Fife/AFP/Getty Images

Vatican City, The Vatican 🇻🇦! People queue to see the body of Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI at St Peter’s Basilica as it lies in state before his funeral. Photograph: Antonio Masiello/Getty Images

Dublin, Ireland 🇮🇪! A woman walks past a mural painted for Women’s Aid by the artist Emmalene Blake, following a spate of recent killings of women in Ireland. Photograph: Niall Carson/PA

Santiago, Chile 🇨🇱! Saurian the inflatable dinosaur in front of La Moneda presidential palace during a festival. Photograph: Javier Torres/AFP/Getty Images

By Patrice Quillard: Gelada! ‘During a trip to Ethiopia 🇪🇹, I wanted to photograph these magnificent monkeys. The wind was strong that day. It seemed an obvious disadvantage but I realised that the weather became an asset in the long hairs of the large males. I spotted one who seemed particularly annoyed by the violent gusts blowing over the highlands. With each squall, his long hairs rose in all directions. There was this moment when his gaze went insistently in the direction of the wind with a grimace that seemed to express all his nervousness’

By Cote Baeza Pooley: Fury! ‘This picture shows Calbuco, a volcano in southern Chile 🇨🇱, erupting and making the surroundings look small even though they aren’t. The photograph shows us the fury of the earth, making us feel how small we really are’

Jaume Llorens: Starlings Take Flight! ‘This is a negative image of the moment when a flock of starlings took flight from poplars near the lake of Banyoles, Catalunya, Spain 🇪🇸. Every day at sunset, a flock gathers here for a short time until they decide to take flight again to the place where they spend the night. Every day, the same routine at the same time and in the same place, moving as if they were a single organism. Convivial behaviour as a system of self-protection against external threats. My intention was to capture the beauty and poetry contained in that moment’

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longspain · 2 years

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Will he make the jump reddit guinea pig

#Will he make the jump reddit guinea pig free

Perhaps Truffles will soon be going onward and upward. It’s worth noting that a second jumping record for guinea pigs, one for height jumped, was set back in 2003 and is practically aching to be broken. Using shoe box platforms, she trained Truffles to jump further and further for bits of cucumber - a vigorous training regimen that paid off with a new world record. 40 Guinea Pigs for sale in York Save Search Boosted Adverts 11 22 hours Deposit Boost long hair guinea-pigs 20 each 0 Guinea Pig Age: 12 weeks Mixed 1 male. dodge challenger years to avoid wagner sawmill serotonin vs dopamine embarrassing american things signs a libra man likes you. The impetuous for the attempt came when Macari noticed that not only did a record for longest jump by a guinea pig exist, but that it was rather short. Buy and sell almost anything on Gumtree classifieds. The jump occurred on February 21st, and was accepted by the Guinness World Record judges.

#Will he make the jump reddit guinea pig free

I hope this helps and please feel free to post any additional questions. Banfield Pet Hospital may have some clinics who offer guinea pig nail trimming as well. It all depends on the groomers who work there. See a video of the record-breaking feat, after the break. You will need to contact the individual grooming salon for this information. Truffles’ 13-year-old owner Chloe Macari lured the elongated rodent into the feat using his favorite food: Cucumber. The main reason I got him neutered was because he was very sexually frustrated (stamped his leg), circled me, 'buzzed' at me, and even mounted my arms:o It was getting very annoying because he would be circling my feet while I was cleaning a guinea. A dog bed protects his joints and pressure points from the hard floor. Truffles, the leaping Cavia in question, jumped an astonishing 12 inches (30 cm) which is nearly 4 inches beyond the previous record. It also helps to make sure your dog always has a soft dog bed where he can lie down. In a story which combines two things we love - cute animals and world records - comes news from Fife, Scotland that a new record for longest jump by a guinea pig has been set.

#Will he make the jump reddit guinea pig

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sambeckdraws · 3 years

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i am here with more Verse sketches that have been collecting dust.

#fife with SHORT hair?? just ignore it its fine #i feel very annoying because most of my art IS this comic but also like its been my life for 3 years so what can you expect #verse #verse comic

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benvironment · 2 years

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Gawd what a beautiful evening on the hill. 80 mins up & down East Lomond and in that short time I saw a pair of short eared owls, curlews, 80 or so golden plover, three red grouse, a brown hare, skylarks and pipits, stonechats, an oystercatcher, snipe....and a half hearted sunset 🙂 So much to see in one small place!

#Fife #Lomond HIlls #East Lomond #birds #wildlife #nature #curlew #oystercatcher #wip snip #brown hair #short eared owl #golden plover #sunset #sheep

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scotianostra · 1 year

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On Monday the 24th of December, 1716, Serjeant William Ainslie was executed.

Most executions in Edinburgh took place either at The Old Tollbooth, or the Grassmarket, some convicted of witchcraft were burnt on Castle Hill, or the Esplanade, as it is now. What is unusual about William Ainslie’s hanging was he was executed over the Castle-Wall.

Serjeant Ainslie was part of a plot in the Jacobite rising of 1715 to take control of Edinburgh Castle. Ainslie and two other soldiers of the garrison had been bribed to admit the plotters via a sally port.

Once there, the Highlanders meant to seize the castle’s ample stock of weapons and cash, and also “fire three cannon; that when this signal should be heard by some men stationed on the opposite coast of Fife, a fire should be kindled on the heights; and that these beacons, continued northward from hill to hill, should, with the speed of a telegraph, apprise Mar of his advantage.”

One minor problem: the whole enterprise depended on the ability of at least 83 people to keep a secret, but “they were so far from carrying on their affairs privately, that a gentleman who was not concerned told me that he was in a house that evening, where eighteen of them were drinking, and heard the hostess say that they were powdering their hair to go to the attack of the Castle!” Even so, the word only barely got out in time, the conspirators self-defeating by showing up late (too much time powdering?) and with ladders that were too short.

William Ainslie, the sergeant who was planning to open the gate for the Highlanders, had to shout the alarm and play it off that way once he realized that the dawdling had wasted the opportunity, but he was soon found out and spectacularly hanged over the castle wall for his trouble.

The inevitable hanging-ballad broadside (“The Lamentation, and Last Farewell, Of Serjeant William Ainslie, who was executed over the Castle-Wall of Edinburgh for High Treason and Treachery, on Monday the 24th of December, 1716”*) emphasizes the pecuniary motive at the expense of the patriotic, but maybe it should have been dedicated to the principle that loose lips sink ships.

Here’s a transcribe of the said Broadside;

Let all Bold Soldiers far and near, That sees my dismal Fall, Lament my sad and wretched End, That’s brought my self in Thrall; Here to the World I do declare, The Castle to Betray. Full Fifty Pounds I was to have, for which I’m doom’d to Die.

My Name is William Ainslie, A Serjeant Stout and Bold, In Flanders I the French have Fought, And would not be Control’d: And Loyal was to King and Crown, my Trust did ne’re Betray, Till I was tempted with that Gold, For which I’m Doom’d to Die.

While I did in the Castle ly, In Irons close Confin’d For my Dear Wife and Children all, My Heart no Ease could find, To GOD I did for Mercy cry, As I in Fetters lay. Both Night and Day to him I’le Pray, Since I am Doom’d to Die.

Ah! wo be to that cursed Gold, That did my Heart intice, To act such a gross Treachery, The Castle to Surprise; But wo’s me, for my Treachery, My Hour is drawing nigh. For I most hang out o’re the Wall, Most Just Deservedly.

Good People, pray do not revile, My Wife and Children dear; Whom I so dearly lov’d on Earth, Lord to my Soul draw naer: [sic] I hope in Mercy he’l appear, For still to him I’ll cry; Since I most Justly, am condemn’d, Over the Wall to dy.

They told me a must hang some Days, Over the Castle-Wall; Until the Rope takes Fire and breaks, Then to the Ground I fall: But since that I must suffer here, Unto the Lord, I’ll pray; Take Warning by my shameful End, I just deserve to dy.

Since many People here is come, This Day to see me dy; I hope their Prayers to God they’l send, For me, before I dy: My vital Breath will soon be gone, With a strong Rope and Tree; But yet I hope my Peace is made, With God who lives on high.

Those that did cause my dismal End, I do forgive them here; For now my Life lyes at the Stake, Oh! Lord, to me draw near: My precious Soul I pray receive, For unto Thee I’ll fly; For I have acted Treason great, And for it I must die.

I wish all People Warning take, That’s come to see me die; The World unto you I’ll leave, For all Eternity: I must away, farewel, adieu My Wife and Children all; For I must hang into the Air, Over the Castle Wall.

All you that sees me here this Day, I desire you all to pray; That all my Sins God would forgive, Since I am brough to die: Let every one both far and near, Take Warning now by me; Your Trust, I pray, never betray, For which you see me die.

#Scotland #scottish #Edinburgh #edinburgh castle #'15 Uprising #jacobites #execution #history

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bcacstuff · 2 years

Note

I read over the timeline again, and I think there was a June window in London (Alex Zane podcast trip), a short one in July too before S Mexico trip. Her stories from London start right after Portugal, same day or so that OL wrapped, seem to continue in UK through return to SA in November. Did I miss something? Very short bursts of time together before traveling twice a deux. 🤷🏽‍♀️ That was a lot of rich food to share a toilette en suite with someone you barely know! Charming! 💨😜

Really, No, no no, not possible.

OL wrapped on June 5, he even had a wrap party at his home. Then off to London, remember the first pic we saw of London? With Cree smoking cigars?

He did record the podcast with AlexZ. And AN arrived and was also seen in London by fans. On June 9 a fanpics was posted. Another one was taken on June 11 but was posted only a month later (confusing us at first since he was already in Mexico by then but we didn't know fr sure at that moment)

He went back to Glasgow with Alex after that week and they worked on MPC videos for that week. See his IG post on June 18 and 19. And we had AN's failure at archery at S's house on June 19 in stories. There was a fanpic on June 20th, the kcalkitchen. Same day the video with tv daughter on the bike was posted (fathers day) and his biker fuel jacket one.

The next week they had a photoshoots in Braemar, Mar Lodge and Fife Arms, with Charlie Grey. The removed pics of Duncan, Gothic pic of AN and Wendy, and we've seen other posts of Wendy and Sophie (dog) so we knew the location.

On June 27 he had his nephews B-day party at his house. We all thought Alex was gone, but he was not since we saw how they biked around allegedly shooting promo footage for the SW campaign. Which wasn't used. There was a fanpic on June 28 at Lush and the drone guy took this pic 👇 They went to Inveraray and Talbert

Completing the week with a well documented visit to Mauchline to watch their wee babies ripen in their caskets and on June 30 we had a fanpic at Starbucks Glasgow. They posted a video on FB in MPC running and on the bike, but most likely not realtime. But it was shot during this period.

AN went back home for the 4th of July. Sam turns up in Grahams garden doing a live IG with him to promote their Almanac. After that he went MIA for a few days. Speculations began, most best were on Mexico. As it later turns out he went indeed to Mexico, despite the squirrel story and the London biking selfie, and the fanpic that was posted around this time but was taken the month before when he was in the first week after wrapping OL S6 in London. Another fanpic surfaced via a fan account, same location, same clothes and hair that didn't match the length we just saw a couple of days earlier. Both fanpics were posted a month after they were taken.

The Nics tried to distract us by going on vacay and staying in his home. No need to mention how much they showed us his home. No sign of the owner himself though, because he was in Mexico with Alex. Confirmed on the next Friday by the first fanpic.

He only came back on September 7.

Anon, we take notes while things occur, we put dates on when pics occur. AN was most of the time with him and Graham for a bit.

Now please stop questioning us, saying they met before, since so far I haven't seen anyone coming up with a logical and solid timeline for it.

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

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26. Pipe

It wasn’t Wally’s firstborn son, Vincent, that took over his company, nor was it his middle child, Jonathan. Instead, it was his youngest daughter, Samantha, who took that knowledge working with pipes and put it to good use, although the repairwoman and plumber couldn’t imagine herself using a pipe like that before... (Set in the FIFE AU, RIGHT at the start, as in, as soon as the Ink’s Freeing everyone because it hasn’t been fed.)

Joey couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he heard the knock at his door and the muffled greeting from the other side.

“Franks’ Repair and Plumbing.” After a short pause, the voice on the other side spoke again. “..Anyone home?”

He took his cane and hobbled over to the door, opening it and jumping back in shock when he saw who was behind it.

In a lot of ways, the repairwoman was the spitting image of her late father; same black eyes, same nose, same eye shape, same skin tone, same lost tooth that was clearly gotten in a fight, ...Same hat; a newsboy cap that Wally wore when he didn’t want to ruin the baseball cap he liked with ink. In her case, it could’ve been the EXACT same hat as it looked very old and worn, and it was stained by ink before she even set foot in his apartment even though he doubted she worked with the stuff considering her job.

There were still clear differences keeping her from looking like a clone of the janitor he killed; like her jet black hair kept in a tight low bun and that she had a much more muscular physique, but the resemblance was still uncanny to him.

“You wanna stop gawkin’ an’ get your shit fixed or do ya wanna keep pissin’ your pants in shock, Gramps?”

Her nametag read ‘Sammy’ and her rudeness certainly reminded him of that musician.

“I… Well,” he cleared his throat “you just so happen to remind me of old friends of mine. And it took me off guard.”

“Uh huh. Let’s just cut to the point, you say you called me for a problem with a rare machine of yours?”

“Yes, it hasn’t been working for five days now and it’s been pumping... ...stuff through my plumbing!”

“A’right, can ya show me da machine?”

“Gladly.” He hobbled into the room where he normally kept it with the repairwoman following him and muttering something under her breath. “Here we are.”

“So dis here is the ink machine?” she circled around it and tapped it with her wrench here and there and muttered more things under her breath as she took a close look at it. “Eitha you should’ve called me in way sooner, or ya shoulda scrapped this hunk of junk and not even bothered in da first place.”

“Well, can you save it?”

“Hmm…” she popped her gum and shrugged. “I’m no miracle worker, but I can try. Don’t get your hopes up though, I’ve never seen anything like this before...”

Joey bit his lip, it was an expected response, but it wasn’t a good one. As Sammy continued to work on the machine, the former animator limped to the entrance to the Ink Demon’s realm, took a quick peek inside, and slammed it shut as he saw Henry speed towards him. He cursed under his breath as Henry started beating on the door.

“What da fuck is that noise?” Sammy called out from the ink machine’s room. “Sounds like someone tryin’ ta break a door down ta murdah ya!”

“I-it’s just the washing machine in the basement!” Joey tried to keep the door shut with all his weight pressed against it. “Remember how I said that the ink machine is messing with the plumbing?”

“Maybe I should go check dat out too then, one bad pipe tends to take the others down with it when you’re not careful...”

“N-no! I’m sure it will go back to normal if the Ink machine’s fixed…”

“I can’t do this with distractions goin’ on, I’ll just shut it off real quick an’ get back ta work on this.”

“I’m sure it’ll die down on it’s own soon! Don’t get up!”

Propping a chair up against the banging door, Joey speed-limped to his desk and drew like wildfire; the Ink Demon emerging out of the machine without Henry going to it first, the Demon breaking down the boards and stuff around it and going right towards Henry. He stopped holding his breath in anticipation when the thumping died down on the other side, the story waiting for him to properly restart it so he could tell it again.

For a few hours, he left his desk untouched as he counted down the seconds for her to hurry up and fix it and leave. The already long hours feeling like an eternity as the hurdle standing between him and his goals grew more and more infuriating with each and every single tick of the clock.

Luckily for him, it sounded like she was making progress, but she wasn’t doing it fast enough for his liking. Thankfully she was far too focused on the machine itself to notice it’s effects on the rest of the house.

Like the groaning swollen searcher oozing out of his bathtub tap, or his kitchen sink slowly filling up with ink with the stolen hearts of ink creatures floating and bobbing away in the messy sink. He swore that the TV turned on on it’s own and started playing “Tombstone Picnic”, but Sammy didn’t seen to notice in spite of the cartoon playing very loudly. Joey just silently prayed she’d get those damn pipes inside it fixed and get out.

“Okay, I think it’s fixed now.”

The phrase was music to the old man’s ears and as he walked in, he could in fact notice an improvement with the machine itself.

“Wanna give it a test whirl ta be sure?”

“I think I will later, thank you.” He staggered as he fished his wallet out of his bathrobe pocket. “I’ll call you if I notice anything out of the ordinary again.”

“So what’s it supposed ta do, anyway?”

“Oh it just makes... things...” Joey handed her a check. “Nothing too interesting...”

The Ink Machine on the floor sputtered to life on its own and spat out a large glob of ink, a long metal pipe, and a tape recorder that was slightly encased in the dark stuff.

“That’s supposed to happen.” Joey lied as he reached for the plug and pulled it out.

“Uh... okay..? Have a decent rest of your day then...”

As she turned to leave, the tape recorder on the ink clicked on on it’s own as well, and a very familiar voice came out of it.

“...Sam..an...tha..?” The speaker crackled in a voice that made her tear up as she heard it. “Sammy, is dat you?! It’s me, Dad! Dis ain’t a recording! I’m in da tape! I’M IN DA TAPE!”

Joey cursed under his breath as the repairwoman turned back in shock and heard a softness enter her voice that he didn’t know that the woman was capable of.

“...Daddy?”

She ran back and scooped up the tape recorder in spite of the old man trying to wrangle it away from her.

“Daddy, can you see me?!”

“Yes!” The Tape recorder let out a surprised, and relieved sounding laugh that seemed like it turned into crying. “I was startin’ ta worry dat I’d never see ya again!”

“I’m here, Daddy” She hugged the tape recorder tightly, the shock of just having her father back outweighed all of the supernatural happenings around her. “I’m here...”

“Othas are down here too! your Uncle Sammy, Norman, Tom, Susie, pretty much everyone who’s eva worked at da studio!”

“What?! How?! And why?!”

“It’s Joey! He’s made some kind of... pocket torture dimension!”

Knowing where this was going and knowing that he was far too weak and frail to take down the amazonian woman of a handywoman himself, Joey opened the Ink Demon’s door and prayed it would come out and attack her. In the meantime, he himself fled into the animated studio just in case.

“SAMMY! LOOK OUT!” The living tape recorder warned as inky tendrils webbed all over the living room. “RUN!”

Sammy grabbed the pipe out of the pile of ink and charged.

“NO! NOT AT DA INK DEMON! AWAY FROM- Huh??”

Wally paused as he saw Sammy shove the Ink Demon off to the side and proceed to run after Joey.

“Sorry Daddy.” She said as she paused to set him down on the table. “But I’m gonna need both hands ta beat down dat sorry son of a bitch.”

“Go get ‘im tiger! I’m rootin’ for ya!”

While her small detour and Joey using his knowledge of the layout to his advantage managed to get some distance between them, the pipe wielding Valkyrie with murder in her eyes was quickly closing in on him.

“THIS IS FOR WHAT YA DID TO DADDY!”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #samantha franks #wally franks #joey drew #batim fife au #fanfic #ink demonth #batim oc

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usernoneexistent · 2 years

Text

𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷 𝓡𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓽 𝓢𝓬𝓸𝓽𝓽 𝓜𝓸𝓼𝓼

Many claim that the Moss family is cursed with tradegies but whether it's a curse or simple bad luck is up for debate. Colin Moss is also one of those tradegies. A shy and unassuming man and like the rest of his family was sorted into Hufflepuff. While many questioned his blood status due to his lack of a father present in his life, he knows the truth which is it's nobody's business. His main goal in life is not to be seen and blend in the background though his overwhelming crush for Euphemia Macnair is hard to miss. Though the only time he is not afraid is by advocating for equal rights for all magical beings.

𝒫𝓇ℴ𝒻𝒾𝓁ℯ

Nicknames: Collie by his mum.

Born: 25th October 1880.

Hometown: Tenstmuir Forest, Fife, Scotland.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Scottish - part American.

Language(s) spoken: English (British)

Accent: Scottish, Edinburgh

Blood status: Pureblood.

Gender identity: Wizard (he/him).

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Face claim: Kerr Logan.

𝒫ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃𝒶𝓁

Myers-Briggs type: INFP (The mediator).

Alignment: lawful good.

Strengths: empathetic, generous, open-minded, passionate, idealistic.

Weaknesses: sensitive, painfully shy, people pleaser, self-critical.

Interets/hobbies: baking, gardening, activist activities, photography, bar tending.

Favourite colour: daffodil yellow.

Favourite food: porridge.

Favourite drink: scotch from Fraser distillery.

𝒜𝓅𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ

Height: 1.85m/6'1ft as an adult.

Weight: 75kg/166lbs

Hair: blue hair keep short but messy (just pretend it's blue from the picture).

Eyes: hazel.

Skin: pale, burns so easily to the point of blisters.

Defects: a burn scar from an accident when he was child on his left thigh.

Style: his style consist of dark greens, blues and browns of casual shirts and boots. Colin dresses like a farmer and does love a good paper boy hat.

𝒲𝒾𝓏𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓇𝓎

1st wand: pear and unicorn hairstring, 14 inches, swishy (originally his grandfather's wand but broken by some bullies)

2nd wand: hazel and unicorn hairstring, 10'5 inches, surprisingly flexiable.

(A sensitive wand, hazel often reflects its owner’s emotional state, and works best for a master who understands and can manage their own feelings. Others should be very careful handling a hazel wand if its owner has recently lost their temper, or suffered a serious disappointment, because the wand will absorb such energy and discharge it unpredictably. The positive aspect of a hazel wand more than makes up for such minor discomforts, however, for it is capable of outstanding magic in the hands of the skillful, and is so devoted to its owner that it often ‘wilts’ (which is to say, it expels all its magic and refuses to perform, often necessitating the extraction of the core and its insertion into another casing, if the wand is still required) at the end of its master’s life (if the core is unicorn hair, however, there is no hope; the wand will almost certainly have ‘died’). Hazel wands also have the unique ability to detect water underground, and will emit silvery, tear-shaped puffs of smoke if passing over concealed springs and wells.)

Animagus form: none.

Patronus: lamb.

Patronus memory: falling in love with Euphemia.

Boggart: shifts to people important in his life laughing at him - humiliation.

Riddikulus: person turns into a plant.

Amortentia (what does he smell?): violet, vanilla, and victoria sponge cake.

Amortentia (what does he smell like?): wet grass, whiskey, and earth.

Magical abilities: legilimens.

𝒜𝓉 ℋℴ𝓰𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈

Hogwarts house: Hufflepuff.

Best subjects: care of magical creatures, herbology, and history of magic.

Worst subjects: potions, flying, and transfiguration.

Third-year options: care of magical creatures, divinations, and muggle studies.

N.E.W.Ts: left half way through sixth year to take over the pub due to his grandfather's failing health.

Quidditch: doesn't part take.

Extracurricular: gardening club.

𝒜𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇 ℋℴ𝓰𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈

January 1898 - September 1948: bartender at the Naughty Cliffs till his demise, part time activist for equal rights for all magical beings.

ℛℯ𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅𝓈

(From top: Rabbie, Dottie, Glenn and Winona)

Family:

Theodora 'Dottie' Moss (mother) - Dottie was the youngest and only surving child of nine to make it into adulthood. A witch who fell in love with a married wizard whom had a child together. Colin loves his mother dearly and fiercely as raised him as a single mum. She did tell Colin the identity of his father but made him swear to never tell anyone.

Robert Moss (grandfather) - The co-founder of the Naughty Cliffs and helped raise Colin. He took Colin a lot to the pub where Colin encountered a variety of magical beings from house elves, vampires to werewolves and goblins too.

Scott Rosewood (father) - They acknowledge each other's existence however they have nothing to do with each other.

Winona Rosewood (half-sister) - Winona sought Colin to tell him that they were related which Colin knew all this time. He was happy that he had a sister to rely on and they became fast friends.

Glenn Rosewood (half-brother) - Colin was scared of Glenn as he was known to be a tough prefect. They hardly interacted with each other until the trial of Euphemia in 1948.

John & Aileen Moss (children)

Friends:

Albert Burke @madelineorionswan - Bertie is Colin's best friend and sworn brother. They both understand what it's like to be painfully shy and have a complicated family history.

Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster - Colin is a little put off by his antics and cannot escape as they're both in the same dorm. But he can be assured that his secret is safe with Lysander, but only because of Winona.

Jim Hexley @the-al-chemist - Dorm mates and later friends but it's incredibly painful for others to watch them be the most awkward people alive but they do get over it...eventually...

He's open to making more friends but mind you, he's quite shy and might need to warm up to your oc first.

Love interests:

Euphemia Macnair - They bumped into each a lot and were in the same herbology class. Colin developed a crush on Euphemia but could never muster up the courage to ask her out until fourth year to the celestial ball. From there they dated and after Hogwarts they got married.

Pets: Ollie, an ancient owl owned by the family. Nobody knows how she's alive despite being struck by lightning twice.

Rivals:

None cause this boy is a sweetheart and would never want to make enemies.

#colin moss #profile #hphl oc #hogwarts legacy

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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