Becky, 23, Chelmsford, Essex, UK
College graduate in Business. Published Poet. wannabe Historian (currently working on a novel set in the 14th Century), Clerical Assistant, soon to be studying BA History

“I like people too much or not at all. I’ve got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.”

"“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”

my boyfriend, late nights & early mornings, cigarette smoke, english pubs, jack daniels, flat shoes, thick tights, winter, festivals, fashion, music, reading, the battle of hastings, harold godwineson, the tudor era and the victorian ere, game of thrones, jon snow, max irons, king edward III, vintage clothes

and the Roberta Waterbury saga continues.

As the candle burned, the wax melting at the heat of the flame, Joan felt her body beneath her gown grow warmer and warmer as Mary concluded, the latter’s creamy hands providing the actions that a woman used to snatch a man.
“You do that my Lady, and your King will not leave your side for as long as he lives… except to go to confession of course!”
Slapping her leg; guffawing, the maid almost fell within the depths of the bed, and Joan; her cheeks aflame, managed a throaty chuckle.
If she performed as such for a man, she’d also be going to confession.
━ me - 2nd draft
Here was a man who had wielded indescribable power once his shackles had been broken; ordering the Mortimer to be strung up like a Christmas goose, overlooking the Queen Isabella’s screams as her lover was arrested before her very eyes at Nottingham, closing his eyes at the harrying of the Scotch plains till naught was left but pulpy remains, a dying wind and mounds of savaged, looted unrecognisable men.
━ me - 2nd draft


*looks at fictional character* nobody loves u more than me

(via jjacksonwhittemore)

There was little point in bothering the Sheriff with such a trifling matter; he was most likely knee deep in preventing the county from the Scotch’s fetid breath and itchy fingers.
Peace, no matter how it reared its head, would never last between the realms of England and Scotland.
me - 2nd draft
"You were there my Lord, you were at Bannockburn?”
Evidently forgetting himself, Richard rushed forwards, his eyes as wide as trenchers. Behind him the priest with his double chin and flushed face crossed himself and Hugh rolled his eyes as if he had been there himself.
Barely hearing the squire, William nodded; his head filled with screams of dying knights as they sunk into the water, their mail too heavy and their mounts confused at the continuous spikes being thrust into their bellies; eyes white; blinded by the infamous hedgehog.
━ me - 2nd draft
Allowing Andrew to kiss his head, William wrinkled his nostrils at his uncle’s odour and ducked away as the man attempted to pull him into a hug.
Spreading his hands, his mouth curving into a wolfish grin, William swung his legs from the trestle and edged backwards.
“Forgive me uncle, but you reek like an old fish-wife,”
Knowing Andrew would understand the jest, William gestured to his arm-pits.
“Ah lad, I know, I’ll sleep amongst the staff yes?”
“Aye uncle, send for Joan in the morning,”
Winking to the bear-like man, William turned and disappeared behind a screen. It was growing lighter now and as he ascended the staircase, he slipped back into the solar and sought the bed where Anne was still lying, her body naked upon the coverlet.
━ me - 2nd draft


one of my favourite moments is when i’m sitting on a toilet completely drunk and i just smile and nod at myself in silence

(via benedictable)

You never mentioned you fought at Bannockburn my Lord,”
“Perhaps he did not mention it because the memories are too painful,”
Punching Richard on the arm, Hugh rolled his eyes and stalked into the corridor which led to the bailey which was likely strewn with glistening, sweaty bodies; mastering the art of warfare, mastering that of surviving the torrent of battle; skewing any man that was on the opposite side.
Finding a smile from somewhere, William felt for his squire’s arm; holding him back.
“Hugh is right lad, perhaps one day I’ll reveal all but the memory is still raw,”
Tearing his scowl away from Hugh who had disappeared through the door at the end of the walkway, Richard’s face fell under William’s dark eyes.
“If the memory is still raw my Lord then perhaps it will never be a feast of a tale,”
“Perhaps lad, perhaps,
━ me - first draft
Soaring through the heavens; tearing through the gloom like a knife would silk, Joan, along with Anne and the on looking villagers, watched as the flaming sphere left a trail of blaze along its wake, the grey clouds now the colour of seared meat.
What was it? Was it a sign, a sign that only death and destruction would be on the horizon for the land of England, a sign that both Scotland and France would crush the land once governed by the mighty Pendragon?
Joan did not know if the rumours were true about the sacking of Portsmouth and Jersey, but if they were, then God help them all.
“Look, its going onwards, we have been spared!”
A great cheer resounded as a large, burly man swung a bone-thin child into his arms, but Joan, fumbling for her prayer beads, knew they had not seen the last of blood-curdling screams as the enemy attempted to slaughter them whilst they slept.
This was England, and never had the English been allowed to live in peace.
━ me - first draft