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my-darling-boy · 4 years ago

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Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

#like this isn’t even half of what I want to say #but I’m gonna stop cos this is So Long #no clowns in my inbox pls #long post #ableism #autism #actually autistic #ok to rb

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darlinggeorgiedear · 3 years ago

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Queen Mary and Romanov jewelry

“This was a private sale and few knew what went on, but whispers later began to circulate that Queen Mary had taken advantage of Xenia and helped herself to the jewels. The rumours intensified after the death of Xenia’s sister Olga in 1960. Grand Duchess Olga ended her days in a flat above Ray’s Barbershop in East Toronto. Unsurprisingly perhaps, she felt that she had not received her fair share of Romanov wealth, and she complained that she had been cheated of her full inheritance. Her grievance was published by her biographer, who claimed that the Dowager Empress’s jewels had been sold for a total of £350,000 but the two grand duchesses had received only £100,000 between them.19 Olga’s two sons tried to find out what had happened to the missing £250,000. It was rumoured that in 1968 Elizabeth II had paid compensation to one of Olga’s sons, thus implying that the Queen accepted that the family had been cheated. This was firmly denied by Buckingham Palace.20

Once again the finger pointed at Queen Mary, adding to her reputation as the kleptomaniac queen. One historian of the royal jewels writing in 1985 described Queen Mary’s behaviour over “Queen Mary bought only four pieces of jewellery, and for each piece she paid the valuation price or slightly more.22 As for the allegedly missing £250,000, it turns out that the full price realised by the jewels was £136,621, and the sisters presumably each received half of this. The figure of £350,000, which Fritz Ponsonby quoted in his memoirs, was just plain wrong.23

The discovery that Queen Mary bought the Romanov jewels at valuation prices or above has far-reaching significance. This is perhaps the only occasion where documentary evidence has been found which exonerates her from malicious gossip. But if the rumours about her are not substantiated on this occasion, there is reason to question the hearsay in other cases where no hard evidence exists. The perception of the Queen as a rapacious predator appropriating jewellery and precious things needs to be radically revised.”

Excerpt From George V by Jane Ridley

Here is an excerpt from Jane Ridley's new book about Queen Mary and the Maria F's jewels. This subject is frustrating since I think many confuse the purchases of Maria F's jewels with the purchase of the Vladimir crown (from Maria P.)

From my understanding the jewels that Maria F. was able to take with her from Russia were incomparable to the ones Maria P.'s children were able to rescue later from Russia, which explains why Xenia and Olga were so poor.

Also, some people seem to think that Mary (and George haha-I have read someone say he rescued Maria F. for her jewels) treated the Romanov jewelry like it was a discounted yard sale, which is ridiculous. Mary truly did not purchase that much (she had a very comparable jewelry collection to the Dowager Empress, since the beyond opulent Imperial jewels that people imagine when mentioning Romanov jewelry was not rescued by Maria F., instead it was just some of her personal collection) and did pay an appropriate amount .

Not to forget, Maria F. lived in England with her sister for an extended period (before their clashes had her fleeing to Denmark), Xenia was given Frogmore Cottage with monthly allowances, and I guess Olga would have been given something similar if she had chosen to stay in England. So, those who act like Mary should have given the Tsar's sisters practically double the amount of money the jewelry was worth since they were broke refugees, need to take in consideration that the British royal family were already generously funding Xenia.

I do feel bad for Olga and wonder if the Danish royal family ever tried to help her financially (since she lived in Denmark before moving to Canada) like the British did with the Xenia.

Of course, these are my views and I am interested in what others think concerning this subject!

On a side note, I do wonder why Edward VIII had Xenia moved from Frogmore cottage, to somewhere near Hampton Court I think, when he became King. I guess it was because he spent a lot of time at Windsor (the Fort), but I always found that slightly rude since she was old and vulnerable.

#king george v #george v #maria feodorovna #xenia alexandrovna #olga alexandrovna #british royal family #romanov family #mary of teck

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fairyoftbz · 4 years ago

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a day at the beach | l. juyeon

🌊 pairing: juyeon x fem!reader 🌊 word count: 4k 🌊 genre: fluff, a lot of awkward flirting, kind of friends-to-lovers 🌊 tw: none, mention of the ocean and going underwater(?) 🌊 synopsis: you spend a day at the beach with your friends and it leads to something new. 🌊 a/n: my second and last work of the summer collab hosted by the lovely @bangchan-fairy ✿ i had a lot of fun writing it and I hope it'll be enough!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

You had forgotten how tiring it was to spend a day at the beach. Soaking and sweating under the sun, running around in the sand and play at different games in the water that have you tired at the end of the afternoon, but it was a good type of exhaustion. It’s the type of feeling where you could fall asleep at any moment, but you wouldn’t mind keep on playing and laughing either.

Laying on your stomach on your towel, you enjoyed the warm rays of sunshine drying the salty water on your skin. Hair was all over the place as you tried to tie it back to prevent it from going everywhere, but it was to no avail, so you gave up and stood up. Ruffling your hair to get rid of the sand trapped in it, you managed to tie it away from your face and neck, finally sighing in content as you could feel the wind caress the skin in the base of your exposed, sweaty neck.

The majority of your friends was still playing in the water, but you still had Kevin, Chanhee and Jacob resting on their respective towel. The eldest was peacefully holding a book, his free hand mindlessly caressing his stomach as his eyes followed along with the story with entertainment. You smiled at Chanhee when a familiar TikTok song erupted from his portable speaker, the action waking Kevin up as he was right next to him.

A few of your friends gestured you to join them in the water, but they all got negative answers. Hyunjae and Eric almost begged you to come, making big arm movements and yelling a bunch of begs until you finally gave in, earning cheers from your friends. You carefully jogged to the cooler, wet sand after tossing your cap and sunglasses on your towel. You let out a shriek when the water touched your feet, all your muscles contracting as your friends laughed at your shocked state.

“It’s so cold, what the hell!” you yelled as a small wave came and crashed onto your calves, sending goosebumps in your entire body as you expected the ocean to be a bit warmer, but kept going anyway. “Come on, Y/N, you can do it!” Juyeon yelled from where he was, dozens of meters away from the shore. Clutching your jaw, you progressively made your way into the water, smiling when the boys cheered again when you dove underwater. It was fresh, almost cold, but it felt uplifting, and most importantly, fun.

Once you reappeared at the surface, the boys were surrounding you and you laid on your back, feet hitting the water hard to splash them. A water fight broke out, and you sunk underwater to escape for a few seconds all the splashing and screaming from your friends.

It was your turn to scream underwater and resurface as soon as possible when two hands landed on your waist, softly gripping the flesh of your hips. You sharply turned around, only to find Juyeon laughing at your frightened face.

“Please never do that again,” you said half-laughing, half recovering from his malicious joke, some flashbacks of Jaws coming back into your mind for an instant. Pushing his gear down, mask and snorkel dangled around his neck, long black fins in hand, he stood next to you, breathing heavily as droplets of water fell on his face.

“Did you see something cool?” he nodded at your question, showing you the net bag attached to his wrist. He found a few colourful rocks, some trash, a few coins and two shells, one catching your eye.

“This one looks really pretty,” you pointed at the said shell, only to have Juyeon nearing his hand to yours. “Take it,” he mumbled, and you glanced at him, refusing with a gentle smile. “No, no, keep it,” you answered, and it was his turn to shake his head.

As your friend didn’t retract his hand and kept looking at you, you shyly took the shell in your hand and thanked him, gaining a smile from him before he got out of the water. Younghoon suddenly shrieked and whined when he felt some seaweed brushing his ankle, making everyone laugh, including you. Some of the other tourists were looking at your group from the side, not enjoying how loud you were becoming. You quickly noticed and quieted them, vaguely motioning to the elderly couple on the beach that was meaningly watching you.

“Are you already getting out of the water? It has only been a quick minute,” Eric asked as you walked closer to the shore, the waves almost making you lose your balance. “I’m coming right back, I’m just thirsty,” you claimed and ran back to your towel, feet burning under the scorching sand.

“Ah, Y/N! You’re here. The water is beautiful, and I’m trying to persuade the boys to come and snorkelling with me. Do you want to tag along?” “Okay, sure? Who’s coming?” you said, looking at the other boys on the beach as you grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler next to Jacob, who put the lid back on as soon as you were done. “The two of you,” Kevin smirked, his annoying, playful tone made you roll your eyes, Juyeon paying absolutely no mind to his comment. “Fine, let’s go,” you said before seizing the mask and snorkel Juyeon was handing you and you both ran back into the water.

“They’re cute,” Jacob mumbled, hand supporting his head as he went back to reading, the two other boys approving his words.

As you quickly tried to put on everything to catch up with Juyeon, he saw you struggling to put on your fins, so he gently grabbed your ankle to bring it closer to the surface. You quickly held onto his shoulder, your proximity with the young man making the other boys coo and gag. Almost hissing at them, you offered them a death glare while Juyeon simply smiled to himself, not paying attention to a single of their comments as he focused on securely tying your fins around your heels.

“Are we good to go?” he asked, and you signed ‘ok’ with your thumb and index finger before placing your head underwater.

You stayed near Juyeon, making sure to heavily splash your friends as you swam away from the coast. Feeling satisfied as you heard them complain. The water was getting progressively colder, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin, but the view was worth the chills. Your eyes trailed everywhere around you in the sand, in search of any kind of source of life through the translucid water.

Juyeon suddenly pointed at the ground, discerning a hermit crab making his way to a safer place, deeper in the sand. You smiled at the sight of the small creature, following its movements before watching disappear under the sand.

Your eyes widened in your mask when you saw Juyeon dive, bubbles coming out of his snorkel. He rummaged through the sand for a few seconds, before going straight back to the surface. You got your head out of the water, watching your friend blow the water out of his snorkel just like a whale. He held another shell, similar to the one he gave you.

“How do you notice those? I barely even noticed the hermit crab you pointed at,” Juyeon smiled as he spat some salty water out of his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand.

“I remembered the spot I searched before coming back to you and the boys. I think it’s a good one, there’s a lot of beautiful things to look at,” he explained, and you nodded, waving at the boys on the beach with a smile. “Look, now we’re matching,” he said as he showed you his shell, a happy look on your face. “Keep it in a safe place,” you suggested while giggling, and he nodded, putting it in his bathing suit pocket before diving back to his searches.

For the remaining hours of the afternoon, you snorkelled with your friend, making beautiful discoveries all around the shore, such as another hermit crab. You gently picked it up from the shell and let it float around for a while, observing its behaviour as Juyeon dove even deeper. You had struggled to pick up the hermit crab because the sand looked way closer than it actually was, and the sensation of the salty water filling in your snorkel to the brim wasn’t the best feeling ever. When you reappeared at the surface, you expulsed all the water from the snorkel and stayed still for a while, moving your fins to keep your head above the water level, your body slowly following the waves.

You were amazed by how the ocean flora and fauna was beautifully hidden from the rest of the world. Letting yourself slowly sink deeper, the water pressure tightening around you, water filling your snorkel in big bubbles, but you didn’t pay much attention. Some small fish swam around you, speeding when you reached out a hand in an attempt to grab or touch them. Being underwater felt good and somewhat reassuring, the noises from outside were muffled by the thick layers of water surrounding you. It was as if you were receiving a big, reassuring hug from nature and nothing could actually happen to you.

As your lungs started running out of air, you felt a presence behind you, only to discover Juyeon observing you. Inside his goggles, you could see his worried eyes and furrowed brows, so you hastened to reassure him about your safety by signalling it with your fingers. He motioned you to go back up to the surface, and you followed him, slowly ascending face to face, his eyes never leaving yours as you stayed close to the other.

You let out a big sigh as you took off your snorkelling equipment, feeling suddenly heavy and tired. A hand running on your skin, you gently wet it to get rid of the marks that lingered on your face due to the tightness of the mask, smiling at your friend as he did the same, throwing his head back to replace his hair correctly.

“What were you doing down there? You got me scared, you weren’t moving. I thought something happened to you,” Juyeon asked as you slowly moved into the water and started getting closer to the shore, feeling the water getting progressively warmer. “I’ve always wanted to stay still in the ocean for a moment, and it felt super good,” you explained a bit out of breath as you were swimming, Juyeon touching the ground before you so he started walking, his flexed muscles tiredly moving as the waves pushed you two closer to the shore.

Almost all your friends were gone, only Jacob and Sangyeon waving at you from their spot on their chairs, just like two parents waiting for their kids to be tired and sleepy. You nearly fell over as you struggled to walk on the sand to get back to your friends, who were watching you out of the corner of the eye. Juyeon walked at your pace and rid you of your equipment when you joined your friends.

“Did you have fun together?” Jacob asked with a smile, hair slightly messy and dried because of the salt.

You tiredly nodded as Juyeon explained where you went and what you saw, still standing up with his hands on his hips as he sometimes pointed towards the ocean. Sangyeon smirked as he caught your eyes lingering on Juyeon's healthy body while listening to him, earning an elbow hit from you as you sat next to him, thanking him with a smile as he passed you your towel.

“I didn’t expect this to be this tiring, but it was a nice experience,” you admitted, and your friends laughed, a genuine smile appearing on Juyeon’s face. “You spent almost the entire day in the water, it’s normal to be tired,” Jacob said in his usual reassuring voice, handing you your bottle of water from the cooler. “Where did the other boys go?” Juyeon asked as he looked around, trying to see if they were any closer or hiding. “They left a moment ago, they wanted to freshen up before dinner.”

“Yeah, we ordered pizza for everyone,” Sangyeon explained and you two nodded, your stomach grumbling at the mention of one of your favourite foods. ��Don’t worry, we got you your favourite,” Jacob giggled as Juyeon was about to open his mouth, only to make you all laugh and smile at how predictable he was. “Thank you,” you said in unison and Jacob sent you a playful wink, taking off his sunglasses as the sun wasn’t as bright as before. Sangyeon sighed while he started picking up his belongings, Jacob imitating him.

“Are you two coming?” Jacob asked and you looked at Juyeon, who was already looking at you with his eyebrows raised, waiting for your answer. “I just want to go one more time in the water before going back to the hotel if you don’t mind,” you said as you stood up, placing your towel on your chair. “Yeah, me too,” Juyeon said, and you turned around, just catching a glimpse of an understood look between Sangyeon and Jacob, the two boys smirking at each other.

You frowned for a second but paid no mind, ignoring them as you walked back to the waterside. The salty foam came crashing on your feet and ankles as you jogged deeper into the water, diving back in, smiling as you couldn’t get rid of that happiness when you were surrounded by water while swimming. Juyeon followed you not so long after, and you waved at the two boys on the shore as they started walking towards the hotel.

“It was nice diving with you, do you think we could do this more often? I had a lot of fun exploring down there,” you said and Juyeon looked at you, a surprised look painted on his face. “I mean sure, whenever you want, we can always do it again! I know good spots in our town where the water is even more beautiful than here,” he explained and you accepted his proposition with a smile, keeping the conversation going as you two remained still in the water.

Once you were tired of trying to keep your head afloat and felt the conversation slowly dying out of presumable nervousness, you rested on your back, gently waiting for the waves to decrease the distance separating you from the beach.

The sky above your head was gorgeous and infinite, tones going through all the colours of the spectroscope as your eyes didn’t know where to look. The water wrapped around your body and the sight of the sky hanging above your head never felt so comforting, you could stay here for hours if it was possible. You let out a big sigh as you relaxed, sometimes shivering, the water getting colder as the sun was close to disappearing.

Juyeon’s upper body appeared in your field of vision and he grinned, observing you relaxing in the water. His eyes disappeared into crescent moons when your back touched the sandy ground faster than intended, taking the hand he was offering you to stand up. He didn’t let go of your hand and ran towards your chairs for the last time, collapsing and sprawling on them out of exhaustion.

Juyeon let out a groan as he repositioned himself in his camping chair, resting his head against the backrest as his legs were spread open in front of him. His right knee rested against yours, but none of you moved away, the action making Juyeon’s ears flush bright red and stifle a smile while closing his eyes. You liked this accidental contact with him, and you wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. Quickly glancing at your friend, you noticed that his eyes started fluttering, pearls of water falling from his messy strands of hair on the far end of his cheeks, rolling down his jaw to crash in his strong neck. As tempting as it looked, you had to force yourself not to wipe the water off his face with the back of your hand, thinking that your gesture would be a bit out of hand.

Out of nowhere, he sat back up, head moving left to right while looking for something, emitting a surprised sound when he found a dry towel resting on his sports bag.

“Is it yours?” he asked, and you shook your head, only to have him unfolding it and wrap it around your shoulders. You opened your eyes wide, startled by his actions, but didn’t dare to say anything, you just smiled at him. Tightening the towel around your body, it felt nice to feel something dry and somehow warm as your towel was completely soaked due to you going back and forth in the ocean during the entire day.

“Do you need anything?” you asked as he furiously blinked, searching for something again. “Can I just use it?” he said, pointing to the towel he had just given you.

Nodding, you were about to unwrap it from your shoulders, but he was swifter, grasping the far end of the towel and wiped his salty, reddened eyes with it, pushing his chair nearer to yours to be more comfortable while doing so. You didn’t dare to move in order not to inflict him a stray elbow hit, smiling at him once he was done.

“Thanks, I just had some sand in my eyes,” he clumsily said, and you shook your head with a smile. “Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, and he offered you a warm smile, your heart suddenly quickening at the sight.

You both sighed simultaneously, feeling the tiredness and hunger winning over you. You both felt at peace as the sound of the waves began to lull you, the comfortable atmosphere making you slightly shiver in delight. It was hard for both of you to stay awake after you had been swimming all day, breathing through a snorkel was as exhausting as doing any other physical activity.

Juyeon had spent his entire day in the water, and the other boys told you that he got up at dawn to go for a run before joining you at the beach, so it was natural for him to be this drained.

What you didn't expect was his head rolling onto your shoulder, lips slightly parted as he gave up, his slumber sinking him into the comfortable hold of Morpheus's arms. You tried not to move too much in fear of waking him up, so you just mindlessly stared at the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see, following at some jet-skis cutting through the waves and a lifeboat ordering some bathers to return to the secure area.

Loud voices made you turn your head to the side and smile when you saw your friends arriving, all dressed in proper clothes, their hands full of soda and pizza boxes. You greeted them with a soft wave, showing the first to arrive that Juyeon was sleeping on your shoulder. Sunwoo smirked at you and placed the sodas in the cooler under the closed umbrella, Younghoon laying two large picnic tablecloths on the sand.

Your friends gently snickered at the innocent boy asleep on your shoulder, taking pictures of him to the potential blackmail. You shook your head with a thin smile, not approving so much of their method, but you knew there was nothing mean behind all of this, just fun. Once everyone was settled in and ready to eat and spend the evening together, you decided to wake Juyeon up by squeezing the forearm that was sprawled next to you.

"Ju', the boys are back, we're gonna eat," you whispered in his ear and Kevin cooed at your proximity from his spot on the blanket, sending a threatening gaze to silence him, which didn't have any effect on the Canadian boy.

Juyeon quietly emerged, suddenly straightening up when he felt he was resting on you, looking all lost and confused. Your friends burst into laughter at his behaviour as he apologised profusely, but you assured him that it was completely fine. His breathing had accelerated, and his ears turned bright red as the laughter didn’t seem to die down. Seeing him like that just because he had fallen asleep on you made your heart flutter, and you allowed yourself to giggle along with everyone.

After putting on your beach dress, you sat down between Younghoon and Jacob, the latter moving to the side as Juyeon sat behind you two in silence when there was more space on the other side of the blanket. The older boy silently giggled, stifling a remark with an amused look that you tried to ignore, asking Eric to give you a soda can.

“I'm fucking starving,” you blurted out as you all threw yourself on your pizza, you and Juyeon eating at a pretty disconcerting speed.

Every single one of you was busy talking and laughing about the incident that happened to some of the boys while you were still at the beach, while a special someone was busy staring at you.

“And then, Chanhee stared at the waiter and they were both confused about what just happened,” Eric explained and you all laughed, Younghoon quickly throwing a glance at his friend next to you, who didn’t have a single reaction since you all started eating.

Juyeon watched you out of the corner of his eye and allowed himself to wipe a piece of tomato on your cheek with the tip of his forefinger, making you turn your head towards him with a surprised look. He explained to you by mimicking the gesture he had just made on your cheek on his and you nodded as a silent thank you, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Half the boys had noticed your little game, constantly looking at each other with understood smirks, but no one dared to say anything and break your little bubble of romance.

"We need to do something for those two, they’re getting mad annoying at playing who’s the most oblivious, they're gonna make me gag," Kevin whispered to Sangyeon, nodding at the two of you. You were too busy glancing at each other and listening to the rest of Eric’s story to hear what they were whispering about. "Just let time do its thing," Sangyeon suggested but received a growl in response, the younger absolutely not convinced.

The entire evening was great, your friends poking fun at Juyeon as the poor boy struggled to keep his eyes open and sit straight due to his exhaustion, shoulders sagged and head falling to the side as he shyly smiled at the teasing. When the sun was long gone and the wind started to pick up, you all decided to go back to the hotel to sleep because you were all exhausted, no matter how hard some were trying to deny it. You helped Younghoon shake the sand off and fold the tablecloths while the others were busy throwing away the leftovers and other rubbish.

All the boys checked that no one had forgotten anything and started walking in direction of the hotel, you bringing up the rear after checking everything back one last time.

Juyeon was drowsily walking and suddenly stopped, waiting for you to catch up with him, letting the other boys take the lead. You shyly smiled at him and kept on walking together, almost tripping over when you felt his hand take yours and hold it tight. He gave you a sweet, tired smile and kept on walking as if what he just did was utterly normal, your hands getting clammy and your heart fastening in your chest for the rest of the walk back to the hotel.

You looked up at him and offered him a sweet smile, to which he answered by squeezing your palm in his and gently move you closer to him. Juyeon felt the same way as you did so he couldn't feel your nervousness, but his behaviour gave you a hint that something will probably change between the two of you, and it was for the best.

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tazwren · 4 years ago

Text

My two cents on the devolution of fandom spaces...

As a former mod of a fandom space and a woman of colour, I do not feel safe.

Seeing what has been done to so many in this fandom, by a particular group of white American women, in the name of moral policing is both abhorrent and demoralising. As it also is to repeatedly see the same narrative being shoved at everyone as the gospel truth.

A narrative that very conveniently either becomes about fic or has nothing to do with fic, depending on how people want to swing things. A narrative that will accuse a person of Jewish heritage of anti-Semitism, a person of colour of racism, a practising Muslim of being an Islamaphobe. A narrative that will define for you and me and all of us comprising this myriad of multitudes in the world what generational or personal trauma includes and what induces the same.

Those of you who know me, know what I’ve been dealing with the past few days & why I haven’t spoken up before now. Before I logged out a couple days ago, I saw what looked like more of the usual nonsense by the same group of people I’ve kept my distance from once their true colours were revealed. What I didn’t expect is that they would think themselves so above the norms of human decency and accountability that they would go after not one but two women of colour this time around in their rabidity. And many others who spoke up, as it turns out.

It hurts to see what these women, that I know of, have had to endure and to see the passivity of the community, save for a few voices, in sitting back and letting the circus rampage through town. It hurt when I was at the receiving end of it and it hurts now.

Why? Because it shows me a microcosm of the world that I don’t really relate to, that makes no sense to me with the values I was brought up with, and which reduces basic human decency to a commodity to be trampled upon and for you to be seen as weak for having. Because people who willingly laud you for your art / writing / wit, meet you with effusive claims of love and affection and friendship, who have no qualms in taking your help when it suits them, will throw you under the bus and let the wolves ravage you when it doesn't.

Before I get into that, let me talk a little bit about what has transpired over the past few days to a week, and what has been systemically taking place over perhaps the past year in this fandom.

One thing is that everyone who makes a statement about anything suddenly has people in their mentions demanding they show what gives them the right to hold that particular opinion. A critical thing people forget about fandom is that it is a place where people hide their identity for a variety of reasons, all valid, and this approach to fiction and conversations where everyone has to reveal every part of their past and identity as a means of establishing their "credentials" in order to present their views comes in direct contradiction with how fandoms operate. It violates people's rights to privacy.

The other is that there has been an increase in the voices that purportedly stand up to “speak for” the marginalised, the abused, those discriminated against and those who belong to minorities who “need to be protected / kept safe”. An admirable sentiment, to be sure. If it weren’t for the fact that none of these groups of people needed saving, speaking for or the protection of this particular group of voices.

Voices who only want to define and use these people as "model victims" to hurt other white women and establish their supremacy over both them and other POC. Voices that will present their "truth" as they see fit and sans context or present you with screenshots of snippets of conversations held in supposedly secure spaces that they have no qualms in violating in the interest of the "greater good" and claim offense / silencing if the misdemeanour is pointed out or action is taken against them, Voices that will conveniently categorize you as a "token POC" or "white adjacent" when you do not support or align with their narrative. Voices that belong to a predominantly white American group of women, whose real agenda, as is evidenced by their modus operandi, has nothing to do with real altruism or a drive for justice or indeed to right wrongs.

No, their agenda is purely power.

To hold sway over groups of followers, to shepherd them as though they are sheep who cannot think for themselves, and to set themselves up as white saviours who call out those who step out of line, or are deemed to be problematic and toxic and unsafe. To be the owners of the only "safe spaces" in fandom and to drive other groups and spaces to be boycotted or worse.

Now, I've long wondered, who indeed are these women to decide that for anyone? In a world comprising multiple cultures, religions, groups, subgroups, genders and which contains multitudes, who are these women and what gives them the right to foist their puritanical standards on everyone, very conveniently disguised as concern for the moral well being of everyone and the consumption, of all things, of fiction?

Certainly, there are many things in this world that people regard with justifiably equal dislike / horror / sadness. At the same time, there is much that is not shared, that is particular to a culture and to a person’s background. There is a multitude of perspectives that make the whole. And the white women of the United States of America have not cornered the market on what those are, or indeed even own any curatorship or censorship of the same. They cannot, because each person’s culture and background and joy and trauma is their own, as are their ways of dealing with it all.

That being said, let’s talk about their pack behaviour and the devolution I’ve witnessed on social media as basic human decency is bartered for clout.

I’m all for standing up for someone who doesn’t have a voice or a platform, or maybe afraid of repercussions to voice dissent. I’m all for being there for our fellow human beings as they face struggles of often unconscionable and unfathomable proportions. I’m all for holding people accountable for their negative behaviours as they impact the larger community.

What I am unequivocally NOT for is treating such situations as an opportunity to preach, to virtue-signal, to shame and to put on blast the alleged wrong-doers. I say alleged because that’s what most accusations are on these platforms—allegations to do with things that disturb our sense of balance or make us wrinkle our noses or that we deem bad, and therefore make the accused deserving of the full force of the community’s misbehaviour and censure.

I ask you if you were found guilty of a crime in real life—you know, the one away from your phones and keyboards—would you not have an opportunity to retain a lawyer, to plead your case in a court of law, to acquit yourself? Or, if found guilty, would you not have the opportunity for correction and rehabilitation? Yes, you say? (If you say no, then that explains the spate of state-perpetuated injustices across the USA, but that is a different matter).

Why then are people treated so abhorrently in this court of public opinion? What gives you, me, any one of us the right to judge people so vilely and with a metaphorical gun to their heads? What gives anyone the right to say you better agree with everything I say, retract everything you said and grovel for it or we will eviscerate you in public, shame you, force you to change or delete the content that offends us and still ostracise you and in some cases even threaten you with bodily harm or death, or doxx you?

Why is there no grace in how people are approached or dealt with? Whatever happened to allowing people to learn from their mistakes, where applicable, or hearing them out and giving them a chance to explain their side of something we may not fully understand?

Why is there no accountability for such behaviour on the part of the accusers?

What makes the rest of you sit back and allow this to happen? What makes you think this is in any shape or form okay to watch? Today, it is a virtual stranger at the receiving end, one you can distance yourself from quite conveniently saying Oh, she just mods a group I am in, or I only read their fics a couple times or I only followed them for their art or jokes or whatever flavour of excuse you choose. Tomorrow, it will be one of your own - or it may very well be you. And you'd better hope there's someone left to speak up for you.

The irony is you will have allowed it to happen by letting the wolf in the fold. By letting these white women manipulate you, and the community you claim to be a part of, so unapologetically, so maliciously and so unashamedly that before you can do anything about it the cancer has taken hold.

If this was happening in the world outside of social media, they would have to follow due process, to present real evidence based on facts (not based on emotions, rumours or perceptions) and would have to allow the person they are accusing to present a counter-argument, to defend themselves or be defended. Failure to do so is a miscarriage of justice and, depending on whether this is a professional or legal proceeding, they would either seriously risk their jobs or have the case thrown out of court. If not face action themselves for attempting to derail the process of justice.

Why then are they permitted to range so freely through the landscape of fandom, snarling and biting at who they please, or who displeases them?

I have no shame in saying I was at the receiving end of their behaviour for defending a friend they put on blast and I will tell you right here and now, I am a woman of colour who feels unsafe and attacked by these so-called self-appointed white saviours of your social media experience, these so-called upholders of the common morality—whatever that means—who will fight for you the evils of problematic and toxic writers who dare to have an opinion not aligned with theirs and who do not bow to their clout. Not that they care, so long as they can ignore this fact since it doesn’t fit their narrative. So long as they can ignore what has just been done to so many people in the name of cleansing the fandom.

If any one of these women were truly interested in alleviating the troubles and pains of the discriminated, the marginalized, the trauma-affected, I invite them to please come roll their sleeves up and help in the multitudes of troubles that wrack this world, not just in the backyards of their minds. My country is amidst a struggle for the basics of human life in this horrific pandemic and, prior to that, for basic constitutional rights for religious minorities. Do not patronize me and lecture me on trauma and racism and discrimination. Do not marginalise me in your attempt to pontificate and set your pearl-clutching puritanical selves above the rest, or assuage your white guilt.

A largely American audience or fanbase in this fandom is purely a function of access and interest—other cultures have vast followings for things you couldn't begin to fathom—and it doesn't mean you are entitled in any shape or form to be spokespeople for the rest of the world. We have no interest in being colonized again by white oppressors.

If you disagree with what I have said, I congratulate you on being a part of their coterie and wish you much joy in being the sheep in their fold. Kindly unfollow or block me on the way off of this post.

#fandom #fandom culture #bullying #gaslighting #gatekeeping #minorities #people of colour #real talk #toxic people #problematic behaviour #problematic authors #problematic fiction #fanfic #reylo #reylo fanfic book club #reylo fic recs #trauma #safety #accountability

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blinder-secrets · 5 years ago

Text

Lion Tamer - part 10

4,211 words

warnings: nsfw, language, canon violence + blood

ao3 link

If Arthur was anyone else, anyone else in the bloody world, he’d have thought he was dead. But he wasn’t, he knew that, because men like him didn’t go to heaven, and women like her would never be in hell. Cause there she was, lying at his side, all golden, like the sun shone out of her fucking chest, as close to an angel as he’d ever be, and so he mustn’t have died yet. He was alive, more than ever, while she was next to him. He’d done some good then, somewhere along the way. Something had led him to this waking paradise. Banked his deeds in exchange for the wealth.

‘Mornin, love,’ he drawled, stretching up to push life back into his limbs. He moved like an old man now, sometimes, just in the mornings. Cracked like splintered doorframes.

She peeled her eyes open to look at him, smiling once they’d focused. He’d never touch whiskey again, he thought, not while he had that in front of him. She put more fire in his heart with half the effort, none of the cost. ‘It’s the afternoon,’ she whispered, ‘we slept all morning.’

And thank fuck we did. His fingers went to her hair without planning to. ‘Good,’ he said. Bloody good, enough mornings, enough work. Time didn’t exist in that room, not to them. They needed the laziness, deserved the peace, they’d spent years waiting for it. ‘Bout time we had some fuckin’ rest.’

He swore too much. Maybe that’s what she thought, why she was staring. He tried not to fidget under her gaze because, well, really, deep down, he knew she’d never think anything malicious, he hoped, not about him. He was just worrying ideas into her head, yeah, putting reason to the gaze that she slung across his shoulders, his chest. She still was shining and it wasn’t just the window behind her, wasn’t the cream silk of her slip. The one that had melted through his fingers like ice, like water, brushed his nose when he went down her body. If he tried hard enough, he could find the taste of her on his tongue still.

Say something, then, Arthur, fill the quiet. ‘Feels like heaven,’ he confessed, thinking of her, thinking of the night before, thinking of everything at fucking once.

Then they’d talked, and talked, and she’d put their schedule together. Decided what they should do, which was good because he hadn’t considered it at all. Had thought they would just stay in bed, go somewhere to eat, then be back in the hotel again. Making a home in the over-priced room he’d booked. Then he could finally have her, properly, see her take him in, beg for him, ask for more. He’d wanted that forever, really, thought about it enough times that it almost felt like they had already. Like he had fucked her before and they’d just never spoken about it. But that was all in his head, all just a fantasy, and now it was real, an actual possibility, he was living it. He’d pinch himself but the heat of her lay against him was enough.

She kissed him and his chest tightened, the blood ran from his head straight into his underwear; how she hadn’t felt him, he didn’t know. He forced a gulp and put his palm to the dip above her arse. I want to listen, he thought, I want so badly to pay attention, to be gentle for you. He tilted his head to breathe in the scent of her neck, because that’s where it was strongest, that’s where she smelt most like herself. And his lips went to her skin like she had a fucking magnet beneath.

‘Don’t know how long I can be a gentleman for,’ he told her. It was the least he could do. He was an animal, right, a bloody chauvinist pig like the rest of them, but he wanted her, wanted her so bad, the least he could do was confess it. Honest. He was always honest with her and he was trying, he was. He’d been as good as he could.

She said something back, but all he took from her words was a ‘yes’, a please, so he put his teeth to the edge of her ear, and her breath hitched so sweetly that he thought he might cum on the spot. It was now then, fuck, it was happening at last.

But the fucking phone rang and he knew in an instant who it would be. Who in the world had the bloody seventh sense to always be there at the exact, wrong, moment, to always kick his shins right before the winning penalty. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he swore. ‘I should take this.’ If he didn’t, he’d just ring again, and again, and he would never be able to enjoy himself, or her. The ringing wouldn’t stop and it wouldn’t help his rhythm, wouldn’t let him find ecstasy, as he knew he would, in her beautiful, sweet, wet—

‘Yeah,’ he said into the receiver, sharper than he intended.

‘Arthur?’ Tommy clarified, as if he could sound like anyone but himself.

‘Yeah.’

‘I need you to do something for me, brother.’

‘Alright,’ he said, agreeing because it was inevitable, it saved time. ‘When?’

She stood from the bed, shutting herself into the bathroom instead of lingering to listen. He looked at the woodgrain while Tommy explained.

‘Alfie Solomons,’ he started, sighing between the words, ‘has asked to hold a meeting, a dinner, of sorts. Tonight. He wants to meet you.’

‘Me?’

He hummed a confirmation; he was probably setting a cigarette into his mouth.

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head a fraction. ‘He’s fucking mad, Tom.’ He’d seen the man only from afar, but heard enough from the boys they had working with him to know that he wasn’t normal, wasn’t right in the head.

‘We’re all mad, Arthur. It’s just how he does business.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not how we do business,’ he grumbled. They were a collective, a trio. He never went into meetings on his own, never without the support, without at least one brother on his flanks.

‘Go with Billy, alright, our man from the bakery. He’ll meet you outside at six.’

‘Billy? Bloody Billy?’

‘I’d go meself, but there’s something I have to do.’ He exhaled. The smoke may as well have poured through the phone and into Arthur’s ear. ‘Just a couple hours, Arthur, then you can get back to your holiday.’

He was seeing a woman too, of course, it wasn’t something, but someone. He thought they didn’t know he was slipping away, to her house in the country. Dossing about with the maids and the toffs like he was one of them. He put a fuck over his brother, threw the bad jobs to the foot soldiers so he could play between her tits.

‘You should be there,’ Arthur said, tutting. ‘Makes no sense, it being just me.’

He sighed. ‘You wanted more control, brother. Now’s your chance.’

Prove yourself, he meant, prove your worth. Pull your weight. ‘I know,’ he agreed. He had asked for more opportunities with the expansion, but he would never have asked to be dealing with Solomons alone. He rubbed at his brows like he could work will-power into the skin. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’ll handle it.’ Because he could. He would.

Tommy coughed into his end, chipping the noise against the side of Arthur’s head. ‘He’s one for theatre,’ he said dryly. ‘Probably just wants to make an impression, alright, and have you running back to me with the gossip. That’s all. Just a fucking show, for sport.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur laughed, ‘well, you better be fuckin’ right, Tommy. Sending me in blind.’

She was back from the bathroom, bumping against the mattress as she waited. He looked at her once and then pulled away again because she looked like snow, for one dizzying moment, she looked like fucking snow. Not literally, but in feeling. One glance at her had the same effect as a line, as a fresh-filled bottled in his palm; his brain fuzzed in anticipation, excited before he’d even done anything, before he’d even rubbed it on his bloody gums.

‘And don’t fucking fight anyone, eh?’ Tommy nagged in his ear. ‘Keep it civil.’

‘Yeah, alright.’ He was nodding, rattling words out to get it over with, to end the call. ‘Best behaviour,’ he agreed. Then the line cut and he put it back on the stand so he could focus on her again, so he could get the reassurances out of the way, and make her gasp in his ear like she had before. If he didn’t hear that again, his head might blow off, he thought, his teeth might chew themselves to gravel.

‘Fuckin’ showgirl, you are,’ he told her, once she was on his lap and around him like wildfire.

It was a novelty still, thinking things about her and then getting to just say them, to bark them carelessly, knowing it wouldn’t cross any line because the line had gone. Gone up in the smoke, away from them at last. He’s always thought she was a blinder of a woman; he’s always looked at her and felt curses pool in his skull, hot-phrases of compliments dying to go out and all over her. Now he said them freely, now she said intoxicating things in return.

‘Will you have me then?’ she asked and he felt like he’d put his head through the fucking mirror.

Like she didn’t know the answer already, like he wasn’t hard against the back of her thigh. Panting, yanking on the bit, he felt like he did when he lost his calm, but this time it was welcome. This time, she was the stoke beneath the flames. Her hand was in his hair, running through it and back again, rough enough to send goosebumps down his spine. He dragged her over him before he went mad with need.

‘You want it?’ he asked, not bothering to sound polite. He was done with being polite. She melted between his hands, went limp and let him do as he pleased. Let him grind her over, and over, and over on his cock, and there it was, that noise again. That chirp in his ear, the sound of her composure splitting, snapping in a soft ping like thin glass. Like fucking crystal vases. ‘Yeah? You like that?’

He wasn’t a genius, but it didn’t take one to know the answer was yes. Yes, yes, fucking yes.

She liked it, and she kept on liking it until he felt like he was the king of the free world, and she was the country. She was the gold beneath the dirt, the water in the rivers, the stars, the fucking stars, that were spinning behind his eyelids as he lay over her, as he panted into her collarbone. Spent. He was bloody spent. He wouldn’t be able to fuck again, he thought, not after that. Not after what she’d taken from him. He pulled his hips back and they both shook slightly, both worn out and delirious, sensitive like they were having withdrawals.

‘I think,’ she said, taking a breath big enough to lift him, ‘that you have something to say to me.’

‘Eh?’ His brows pinched. He was still a ghost behind the pleasure, sunken in euphoria, slowly coming back to reality. ‘What?’

‘You said—‘

‘Oh, right.’ He knew now; it had shot out of him like a fucking bullet before, in his head one minute, into her chest the next. ‘That.’

‘Yes, that, Arthur.’ She was smiling. Her cheeks were still hot, her mouth still swollen from all the kissing. He’d never kissed a woman as often, and as hungrily, as he kissed her.

‘I do love you,’ he said. ‘A lot. Like, a fucking lot.’ He laughed with it but only because it seemed stupid, silly, to feel the way he did about her, and so strongly, and so freely already. But it wasn’t that new, not really. It wasn’t a feeling that either of them hadn’t felt before. It was as overdue as what they’d just done. Just as sweet, even with the delay.

She put a palm to his face and he wondered for a moment if she cared that it was damp, that he was sweating like he’d run a marathon.

‘I love you too,’ she said lightly.

And he said, ‘say it again,’ because no one had ever told him that and meant it. But she looked like she meant it, he knew that she meant it. ‘Say it again,’ he insisted.

‘I love you.’

‘Again.’

‘I love you.’

He kissed her, lips to her jaw, her cheek, her temple. ‘Again,’ he said once more, addicted to the sound of it already. He wanted it over and over, until he was drunk on the feeling. Until it was the only noise in his head.

Later, outside the gallery, Arthur waited until the cab had taken her round the corner, and out of his sight entirely. She was safe, and she would stay safe at the hotel. He could do his job in absolute certainty that nothing would happen to her. Not that it would, anyway. She was too smart for that, too tuned in to her surroundings. Always seeing the smoke before he’d even smelt it. That was enough of a comfort to be able to portion her off, just for a bit, tuck her away in his head so he could think clearly. So he could focus. So he could be Arthur-fucking-Shelby, the one man military, the self-contained arms of the Blinders.

He hailed another cab for himself and gave the driver the address, or the almost address, to Solomans’ bakery. He wouldn’t drive right up to the door, sitting like ducks in a tin can, he’d be dropped on the street once over from it. Find Billy and walk in like he owned place.

He could do with some snow, he thought. Just to smooth the cogs, polish the senses. If Billy had any on him —and if he had any mind, he would— he’d take some of that. One boost of the powder couldn’t hurt. They put it in the horses to get them out of the gate and, well, this was one hell of a bloody gate. If Tommy was right, he had nothing to worry about, if he was wrong, he would need all the cocaine he could get his hands on. Tommy had intuition where he had blind rage but, for once, he wasn’t ready for a fight. He wanted it to be easy. Wanted to be back in the hotel like he was a man on holiday, like he’d stepped out for a paper and now he was back again. Ready to make peace with the soft between her thighs.

Billy was where he was supposed to be, ginger and lumbering, towering above Arthur’s head. He looked nervous; whether it was for the meeting, or for himself, he didn’t know. Didn’t bother to find out. If he was worried about working with Arthur, he should’ve never come in the first place.

‘You got snow, lad?’ Arthur asked, before saying hello or anything else.

‘Snow, Mr. Shelby?’

‘Cocaine.’ He fidgeted with his coat, straightened his tie, waited for his partner to find some fucking common sense. ‘Do I look like a copper, Billy?’

He shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

They didn’t have time for pratting about, he needed the fix, the spark, the ignition. ‘Then stop playing fuckin’ dumb,’ he said, ‘and give me the bloody stuff.’

The bottle was pulled out of a pocket and put into Arthur’s waiting hand without further hesitation. Right, then, they were off. The evening was well on its way. Turning on heel, the pair walked the remaining distance, only stopping when faced with the large double doors to the most elaborate booze-front in London.

They were greeted by a lad taller, but younger, than Billy, who led them through the barrels without saying a word. Arthur tipped a pile of snow onto the edge of his fist as they went and then brought it up, sniffed it in, shot it right into his fucking brain. Felt the zing, the relief. The flash of white behind his eyeballs. He had missed it, he had. He wished he didn’t, but he did and, God, it ran round his skull like a hare on the dog track. He was the winner, now, he’d take the prize. The curly-haired jewish boy looked at him, watched him wipe the excess from under his nose, but said nothing. Good, good, not for him to judge. He knew that well enough. Anyone who worked for the type of people he worked for, just like the Shelbys, knew not to say a damn thing about anything. You had to be trained well to survive in the underworld.

‘Gentleman! Welcome, welcome!’

There he was, the man he’d come to meet, the eccentric that had asked for him specifically. Alfie boomed into the room, arms wide, like he was a friend and they were much awaited. ‘Mr. Solomon,’ Arthur acknowledged, dipping his chin as the group came to a stop.

‘You must be Arthur.’

‘That is right.’ Alfie took his hands into the both of his; they were cold by comparison. Arthur was running hot already, full with the fire, burnt from the snow. ‘Pleasure to meet you, sir,’ he said, though the baker was still trilling his name over and over. Like Arthur was the fucking royal guest, and maybe he was. Maybe his presence in the club scene hadn’t gone unnoticed. His name preceded him at last, his work put notches in their fucking bedposts.

Alfie pulled forward, tucking their joint hands into his chest. Preening like an eager mother-in-law. ‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ he said, in that unusual voice of his.

It was a warm welcome, in truth, a polite one, and to his luck, to his bloody luck, Arthur was very good at being polite. Fucking wonderful, in fact. He’d already asked Billy what to say in the hallway before. The word bounced around in his head, rattling in excitement. It was ready to come free, to impress, he just had to say it.

‘Shalom,’ he told him, leaning forward too, rounding the syllables, plopping it from his mouth into the small gap between them. ‘Let me just say…’

Alfie looked to his partner, wide-eyed, in surprise, he thought, but the good surprise. Probably impressed, really. Probably didn’t think a Shelby would have the fucking good manners to say it.

He shook their hands and said again, ‘Shalom.’

It was a strange gathering. Just a handful of them, sitting round a table that was really just four smaller ones, pushed together in a line, under low-hanging lights. He hadn’t seen a crumb of food, but they had rum by the barrel and that was enough. That filled his stomach plenty.

He hadn’t been listening much, not really, just repeating the odd word and agreeing like a good little boy. Like a nice humble gangster. He laughed to himself between sips. If she saw him now, what would she say? What would she think? Bet you never expected this love, grace like a fucking politician. A diplomat. He sat, pleased with himself, and watched it all happen, followed Solomon’s strange, choreographed show behind the cocaine-curtains in his head.

He didn’t come through the noise until they walked a bloody goat into the room.

It was white like snow, like clouds in the blue, like the sheets of their hotel bed, with her hand all knotted up in them. He blinked once to put his thoughts straight. Looked at Alfie like he had been paying attention, very close attention to the droning. Pretended his head wasn’t thumping, fizzing, wasted. ‘You’ve named it?’ he asked, catching only the last half of the sentence.

‘We fucking did, yeah.’

He looked to Billy. Billyboy, Billy with his hair like fire. Billy who was still fucking bricking it. ‘They named the fucking goat,’ he lowed. Pay attention, son, act like you care. This was important to them, to Solomons, this was the chain between the anchor and the hull.

Alfie continued, ‘The evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh—‘

‘The fucking enemy,’ Arthur added.

‘That’s right,’ he agreed.

They were singing, going hand in hand, running in sync like clockwork. This is how you do business, Billyboy, this is why Tommy sent him. Arthur, with all his roughness, still had the fucking mouth, the right good brain on him to partake, to converse intellectually, like. To sit amongst kings as an equal. He had Alfie with him now, on his shoulder. Parroted words off each other like chums, like longtime friends. Relations, you see, Billy, they’re a craft. An art. He had sculpted this exactly as he should have. Sit there and watch.

‘You know what we called it?’ Alfie asked, eyebrows lifting.

Arthur leant back, puffed his chest, sang like the crow at dawn. ‘Yeah, what did ya call him?’

‘Tommy Shelby.’

It happened at once. So quick, Arthur was acting on instinct and nothing else. He burst forward and the bullet came across the table, shot out from Alfie’s hip, right into Billy’s chin, the soft underneath, the money shot, the dead fucking ringer, and rope went around Arthur’s neck; held him back, pulled him tight. Choking, choked. The spit balled on his lip. He tried to swear, but it cut through as a gasp, a wheeze. He stuttered like a pig in the slaughterhouse, thrashing before they hung him up to bleed. The bastard had been lying, tricking, planning it from the start. It wasn’t business, it was a trap. A fucking trap. He’d walked right into it, sole after bloody sole, led by his hand into the belly of the beast. He went to curse him again but the words broke apart, shredded into a roar.

If he had to go, it wouldn’t be in the basement of a bakery. Not at the hands of men without respect.

He was reaching for Alfie, clawing at him, knees pushing the table and rattling the silverware. They had to use two men to get him back, to drag him to the nearest support pole. They wrangled him, rope cutting, twisting and burning at the base of his throat, until he was rod-straight against it. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe. His fingertips were trapped between the threads and his neck, helpless, unable to pull a gap big enough to let air through. He’d felt it before, he didn’t want it again.

Fuck you. Fuck you, Solomons, fuck you, Tommy. Fuck the rope. Fuck the goat spilling blood over the floor. Fuck the lot of it, and then some. He would kick his way through the dirt before they put him down like this.

‘Yeah?’ Alfie taunted, only approaching now Arthur was contained, strung up like meat. He dipped his head. ‘What was that?’

‘Fuck you,’ he snarled back.

Alfie’s knee went into his gut, hard into the tissue, the pool of rum; Arthur would’ve collapsed if he could’ve. The pain was bad enough. He groaned, whined, dripped spit and blood down his chin. His hands went forward, grasping at Alfie’s coat for some relief, some purchase.

‘That’s right, let’s take a load off,’ he said, lifting Arthur by his ears. Up as if he was nothing.

And then the air came back, pouring down his throat like liquor, blood going up and into his head in the same rush of feeling. He could think again, he could, his brain was pounding, pulsing against the skull. It was there. Kicking still. Angry noise replaced with a word, with one image, one light beneath the dark. Her. Her, he would live for her. His feet would touch the fucking ground again and take him back.

‘So,’ Alfie drawled by his ear, talking though he wasn’t listening, didn’t care, ‘the evil, Egyptian scum, was finally cleansed.’ He brought a rag to Arthur’s forehead, stained red, and dabbed it onto the skin between his brows. ‘With the blood of the Passover goat, mate.’

It was put to his mouth, wiped through his lips. He tasted the sourness, the copper, but he still didn’t care. He was thinking of her, clutching to the idea of it. The golden sun on her arms, the lift of her cheeks, the pull of her smile, the sound, the words she said, the soft, oh, the soft. Keep that, Arthur, hold that. One breath forced after the other. They couldn’t hurt you if you weren’t there, not in your head. He put himself into her hold and stayed close to her heart. Heard the drum of it between the chaos.

Alfie was kissing each of his cheeks like it was a greeting, and not a seal of death. Not an X on the line.

‘That’s from Sabini,’ he said and, after that, there was nothing.

Read part eleven >>

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#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby x you #ROIGGHTTTTTTT very different chapter for us lion tamers ! but i hope you enjoy #and dont mind kind of rereading some of the same scenes #also sorry for the language but arthur is a brash baby #ALSO i couldnt find a gif to put in form actual s2 so please pretend? anyway #love u enjoy #tell me ur thoughts as always #this was very fun to write #minus the misery #oh also there was a few people i couldnt tag so plspls let me know if youve changed your url or something!! xx

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luvstrology · 5 years ago

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leo sun

-people with a leo sun tend to be perceived by others to have a natural authority and are commonly respected/looked up to by others or are seen as influential or entertaining

-people with this placement can be very social, friendly and generous

-however, people with a leo sun may have the power to dominate/control others too so may need to be careful and think before they act with/react to others

-leos tend to come across to others as very confident; even if they do not have much self-confidence, for some reason they usually have an air of confidence and high self esteem about them which in some cases may just be a very good mask they wear for others to hide their insecurities or self doubts

-leos do tend to appreciate attention, recognition and love from others which may cause them to seem attention seeking or overly dramatic, but in lots of cases they are not as self absorbed as they are commonly portrayed

-often, people with this placement will just really value feeling important to others but may not go out of their way to seek this

-sometimes, rather than being the type to steal the limelight and become the centre of attention, leos will rather use their desire for recognition/praise/attention as a way to motivate themselves to achieve this

-leos tend to love the good things in life but can also be hardworking when they decide on what exactly they want; they are often big dreamers too, but at times may get carried away with dreaming about their achievements/the end result rather than consistently putting in the work

-as leos commonly love pleasure, luxury etc; they may find themselves being very lenient when it comes to their own wants/needs, which at times may manifest as them not pushing themselves as hard as they perhaps should (lazing around, putting things off, sleeping in etc)

-furthermore, while it may be easy for leo suns to make excuses for themselves (commonly out of ‘self care’) once they manage to find the drive and determination to work towards something, they can be very motivated and hardworking; they generally just need a significant incentive to put in the work

-while leos may seem dramatic, attention seeking, over the top etc to others (although this is a common misconception of the sign) what they hate most is being accused of having bad intentions; generally, people with sun in leo are very generous, kind, optimistic, open people and being accused of being the opposite will likely leave them feeling very hurt and misunderstood

-as leo is a fixed sign, people with the sun in this sign may tend to struggle to let go of certain situations and instead may hold on to things for long periods of time; this means that they can either be very loyal or very stubborn depending on the situation

-leos may not always be the most realistic of people; they tend to live life with a very idealistic perspective and they always hope for the best and like to stay as optimistic and positive as possible; therefore, they may not appreciate people raining on their parade by countering their perspectives

-while they often come across as very confident and can always seem like the life of the party to others, leos can actually be some of the most insecure or humble signs but instead use confidence and the leo stereotype to mask their inner self; they may feel like they are their own worst enemy at times and can be pretty hard on themselves too

-similarly, they may be seen as the type of people to feel very self-important when actually they are not always as selfish/self-absorbed; they actually tend to be quite self aware and self conscious at times

-it may be the case that for people with the sun in leo, most of the time they may feel or seem very sure of themselves but when they do struggle with insecurities, self doubts or worries these things may seem like very big issues to them which may seem to override their natural sense of authority and confidence

-leos can be very prideful and commonly hate to be misjudged or undermined by others; they generally appreciate attention from others when it is positive but they will also hate negative attention as they like to be admired for who they are and what they do

-because leo suns so commonly have a natural sense of confidence and come across to others as very self assured, they may seem confident to others at all times; even if they feel super self conscious at the time as they can be very talented when it comes to showing people what they want them to see and hiding parts of themselves that they do not want people to notice

-if leos do strive for attention and acknowledgement from others and don’t get it, this can cause them to feel extremely unappreciated, hurt and even bitter

-it is usually important for people with the sun in leo to constantly remember their kind, generous, optimistic, charismatic side rather than constantly craving and chasing attention from others as this is not always good for them and may cause them to lose sight of who they really are due to frequently chasing validation from others in the form of attention

-sometimes, leos may benefit from sitting back and realising that it is not worth going to extreme efforts just to prove themselves and their worth to others just to gain acknowledgement, attention and appreciation from people

-while often leos may struggle when they are not receiving attention from others, they may also struggle with dealing with attention directed towards others instead of themselves; they can quickly become very boastful, self-centred and self absorbed out of pure determination to gain acknowledgement from others (sometimes, this is more of a subconscious reaction that people with this placement may not notice they exhibit)

-on the bright side, leos are some of the most passionate, creative, bright, expressive, positive people who love to spread joy and positivity which can make them fun to be around and good friends to have

-commonly, they are not always as self-absorbed as they are portrayed to be; in some cases they may just become easily distracted from others, swept up in their own concerns etc but generally this does not come from malicious or negative intentions as leos do not commonly go out of their way to hurt others (although can definitely get riled up and protect themselves in certain situations if they need to)

-leos are often very fun and the type to love life; they can be very enjoyable to be around and when around others like to try to be as positive and uplifting as possible; they like to show themselves as confident, joyful and happy people and if they are feeling down/self conscious etc, they will usually hide this and try to deal with it on their own in order to save face

-the reason why leos are so commonly seen as attention seeking or overly dramatic is their need to express themselves; leos are usually very expressive and creative individuals who like to showcase themselves and share their identity with others whenever they can, however they want to - but sometimes this may be taken the wrong way by others who misjudge their intentions/behaviours

-leos can often be very natural and successful leaders as they tend to be very open and honest, confident, driven and loyal

-people with this placement may be the type to love making friends and may seek to make new friendships/connections wherever they go; this is usually because of the expressive nature of the leo sign which drives people with this placement to share parts of their personality with people

-their self confidence, bright personality, expressive nature and good sense of humour will usually help them bring groups of people together, form new friendships/connections, draw people to them, get along with people easily etc

-people with the sun in leo may find that they get along with fellow fire signs easily, usually because both aries and sagittarius suns are commonly warm, fun, humorous, lively and bold just like they often are

-leos may find that at times, they can be quite forgetful because it is easy for their mind to wander and become distracted by other things; people with this placement may, at times, struggle to give others the attention that they want to because they may simply forget about others but this is rarely because of any ill intentions, sometimes they just get too carried away which impacts their ability to prioritise certain people/things

-in some cases, leos may come across as overly controlling to others; but this is usually just when they are feeling lost, vulnerable or not quite themselves... when this is the case, leos can feel very concerned about this so will try to control as many things as they can around them in order to gain a sense of security when they are struggling with other things

-as well as sometimes being quite stubborn due to the nature of the fixed sign, leos may also experience short-tempers and be quick to anger/react. this can become even worse if people with this placement allow themselves to become arrogant or overly entitled, they can also suffer from jealousy at times

-while leos may strive to receive attention and appreciation from others, this does help them become extremely self aware as they are not always as confident as they seem; this self awareness usually allows them to notice when they are exhibiting negative traits/behaviours so they are usually able to make the necessary changes to improve themselves and become more likeable people

-leos are usually the type of people to love love; they really enjoy being appreciated by others and what better way to receive this sort of attention than from a romantic partner? while attention is important to them, leos are not usually particularly superficial and therefore tend to enter relationships for the right reasons, although they will usually seek a partner who will give them the right amount of attention and appreciation they desire

-leos also generally hate to be rejected, disappointed or hurt so while they may be more than happy to meet new people and build new connections with people, they may be quite particular when it comes to choosing a romantic partner as they will often look for someone who will appreciate them and fit their standards/requirements

#leo sun #leo placements #sun placements #sun signs #sun in leo #leo #leo notes #leo astrology #sun sign astrology #leo observations #astrology guide #astrology #astro notes #astrology notes #astrology observations #astro observations #astrology 101 #astro 101 #astro guide

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emmaofnormandy · 4 years ago

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❁ « 𝔐𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔦𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔡 ℭ𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔡 » ❁

Godstow Nunnery, Oxford. Winter, 1176.

There has been talk, as there has always been. There has always been malicious glance of all parts as if those who casted their judgemental looks were saints themselves. As if taking their veils proved them holy.

It mattered little now than before, as if gossip and hypocrisy once troubled the peace of her spirits. She had more concerns to be preoccupied to, one of which was her own health. On that particular morning, she was unwell. Not /that/ particular morning, but every day ever since the headaches began to flow to her body somehow.

They blame my poor health for my sins.

She remembered the mater superior scowling at her. She should have been more humble, take the cross Christ put on her shoulders not because she loved dearly with all her heart, but because she was a harlot in everyone else’s eyes. In truth, was she?

Love is a sin, you ought to repent for it.

Rosamund could hear Henry’s laughters. Hal, as she used to call him, would have tell her to pay no mind to those old cows. The idea, even now, brought a small smile on her lips. But the shadow of a smile, the shadow of what once was Rosamund, was there no more. She had to repent silently and would embrace death alone. She remembered the days where the local bishops came to scowl at her for her “nature”. Some of his enemies, within the church, would come at present to insult her. She had no friends, if one at all she could name such. Even then, Rosamund had no reason to regret.

I would have done all the same if I were given the same opportunity.

Bitterly, she swallowed the tears that wanted to drop her eyes. Rosamund sighed. When looking at the walls where she was staying, still in bed, the walls made of stone were naked before her eyes, barely baring a poor cross. There was only one simple table and one simple chair, a view to the outdoors on the left through a dusty window. There were no courtins, there was nothing. But even there, Rosamund saw through the window, contemplating the clouds that were trumbling against one another in a sign of upcoming storm. Green hills with nothing but pasture and cows. Small houses and far beyond her reach she knew there were small folk doing their tasks for the priory where she was in.

If Henry saw this now, he would have surely scowled at this condition. But I don’t think he understood how little mattered the lands, the greatness, the richness in comparison to the love that flew easily between us.

Death was close, she knew. Whatever the cause of the pestilence that hurt her lungs, she knew it would soon come to an end.

How can love be a sin if all our Lord preached was love?

But it mattered not. She would cherish the memories to her heart. Rosamund coughed harder. It was cold, even though the door was closed and she had a simple blanket. She wanted it all to be as simple as it should befit her position. Most nuns would disdain her for it, but Rosamund never truly gave to other people’s opinions. She prayed now, though, for the comfort of her soul. She would not like to announce she was dying, it was vain and she had no interests whatsoever in troubling the mater superior.

In the midst of unbearable cold and painful pestilence, Rosamund closed her eyes, now lost in the past. It was more colourful and lively than the present, and although it should be said that it was never wise to dwell in the past, to seek the comfort for her soul, it’s what the former Rose of the World just did.

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Rosamund was the youngest daughter of Walter de Clifford, a minor lord of the Welsh marches, and his wife Margaery, sometimes spelled Margaret. She had a couple of older siblings, but only Walter, Amicia and Lucia survived into adulthood. Rosamund remembered being closer the most Lucia, both in temper and age.

She recollected they often liked to dress equally as children in order to confuse their mother. It was a happy childhood as one could have back then. The world of violence, pestilence and all other mundane things had not yet reached Castle Clifford, where she spent most of her days in between prayers and sewings. Sometimes, her father would receive a wanderer bard and welcome him into his hall.

The bard would sing stories of kings and queens, courts of love, chivalrous knights who were brave enough to stand for honour and bring justice in a lawless realm. His voice was so charming that Rosamund remembered Amicia sighing over him constantly. Her mother, a woman conscious of whom she descended (from a lineage of anglo-norman nobility), could be stern at times and would not hesitate in reprehending Amicia for her childish behaviour. But their father, Walter, would laugh and say:

“Let them be children, woman.”

“They are not peasants”, it was Margaery’s response. “They are damzels, ought to behave perfectly.”

But when they were not giggling, they were behaving perfectly. Of the sisters, however, Amicia would be the most temperamental. She, like the rest of the ladies, was born with flaming hair and light brown eyes. Rosamund remembered her laughters the most, but also the one who was prompted to mischiefs. The next one, Lucia, another redheaded lady, was not so outgoing. She certainly seemed to have had an inclination to the Church, but their father refused to send any to the church. He hoped to increase the family’s health through the marriages he was beginning to seek for his girls.

And then, there was Rosamund. Her oval face showed high, pink cheeks, rounded eyes coloured brown; her nose was long and her lips, full. Her hair was also painted with red. She was the quietest of the ladies and, to her father’s despair, another one with inclinations to a religious life.

“Nay, I say!” She remembered one night her father was yelling with their mother. “I shall not send any of my children to the church! I can afford their dowry, what makes you think otherwise to suggest such a thing?”

Nonetheless, Rosamund continued going to the chapel more than thrice a day. She felt peace within it, perhaps more so than in between walls made of stone with long corridors and displayers of wealth. She knew nothing about her own ancestrality, except there may had been one great-grandfather coming from Normandy to William, the duke who suddenly became King of England not so long ago.

But she found comfort in the long gardens, well looked after by Mistress Joan, taking a seat beneath the trees and read--surprisingly an hability she and her sisters had, taught by one tutor of the church their mother hired the services--a book of poems. Rosamund shared the spirit of romance with her older sister, and it was not rare, as they grew up, they spent time proclaim poems of the sort.

In one of these early days, when a lady of their mother accompanied the girls for a stroll, Amicia would promptly say:

“Rosa, Rosa, are you not aware of how your beauty makes a man drop on his knee pretty soon?”

Lucia giggled softly, but Rosamund could not comprehend entirely. They were now into womanhood, Rosamund being no more than 17 years of age. They had not so much contact with the men, even though in their region there were growing feast to which her family was, much to Sir Walter’s pride, invited. Rumour had it that the king himself would come soon, whomever this man may be.

“What, in God’s name, are you saying, sister?”

Amicia and Lucia exchanged amused glances. Rosamund felt irritated because young ladies who did not possess completely control over their own perceptions around them would surely be irritated by such provocation.

“Father has decided the three of us will marry soon enough, and together, so one feast can be held on behalf of us!” Amicia was explaining. “He must really love us for trying to get rid of us so soon! Mayhaps not soon enough, as I reach the nine-tenth year of my life, if mother’s count is correct, and I’m old to arrange a fanficul espouse. Well, as I was saying, in between the arrangements, he made a proposition to a baron who was feudal lord to the Prince of Gwynedd for making me his wife. Yet, the man claimed he would have preferred to despouse you instead of me!”

Rosamund immediatedly interrupted the movement of her feet. Pink coloured her cheeks and her eyes went wide.

“I... I never put my eyes on the man, sister!”

Amicia laughed at Rosamund’s simplicity.

“I know you have not, but he seems to have done so. Whomever be your consort, my sister, you will make the man very happy indeed!”

Much to Rosamund’s consternation, the conversation turned to teasings that she particularly detested. She was timid when, in the rare events she went outdoors the castle whether to accompany her mother’s lady to the market or even more so to fanciful royal events her family began to attend, eyes were drawned to her figure. She hated it. It was probably due to her red locks, brighter than her sisters’s. But her mother would remember that this was a good thing, for she would not take long before arranging a suitable suitor.

Rosamund did not know back then, but lady Margaery’s amusement remark would prove to be correct. It was not any suitable, proper suitor she would capture the heart, but the one of the king of England himself.

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The fatidic day likely occurred in a summer day, Rosamund could not be sure. The reason of why there would be a great feast for the Welsh lords was to receive the king in order to appeal his “conquest thirst” that he inherited of his great-grandfather, another conqueror.

“You should go very well dressed”, said lady Margaery to her daughters as she and her own ladies brushed their hairs and picked the best silk gowns they afforded having. Rosamund would dress a blue one with white pearls around the long sleeves, her flaming hair locked in a long braid. Her sisters would dress green and yellow silk gowns, each one lurking for the opportunity of finding a proper husband that evening. “For all the important men will be there and it’s important, God knows how, you succeeded in capturing their hearts..”

“And gold”, remarked Lucia, making all of them laugh except their mother.

“Now, Lucia, don’t be silly, child. You are no more in this age to make jests. You are a lady now.”

But the giggles carried on effortlessly. Later, at another castle built of stones, Rosamund was just another lady in between the present nobility. The hall was well provided, she could see how great--certainly bigger than the castle she grew up--were the saloon, the decorations and well dressed were the knights in their armous, but forbidden to walk inside carrying their weapons.

There were musicians too, of course, a sweet melody mastered by the fingers of such men. Rosamund remembered the tune, how it brought a comfort feeling to her heart, and how it made her smile It was her first experience in such an event and she was, naturally, as excited as any other lady in her position would be.

In more cheerful spirits was Amicia, whose hair, divided in two combed braids, fell over her green gown. She looked everywhere and would spare no smile to any lord who threw curious glances at her.

“She will sure arrange a husband this day”, Rosamund whispered to Lucia, making her sister chuckle. “Father and mother will be back home in content spirits!”

In the meantime she settled with her sisters and her father and mother went on to greet other noblemen and their wives there present, one could hear the sudden excitement that arouse from the small amount of self-entitled-important men. The king, Rosamund was told, had arrived.

At first, she was curious to see who was this man. Lucia, the brightest of the sisters, explained:

“Henry the King is the second of his name to rule all over England. He is a powerful man, vain some would say and most temperamental. Those who witnessed it, claimed that it was an awful vision to behold.”

Rosamund was not impressed, though.

“Most kings must behave in such a manner, otherwise how else will they earn respect?”

Lucia shrugged her shoulders.

“But Arthur was not temperamental..”

Rosamund smirked.

“He is not here yet, Lucia, so we must await for his rise.”

Her sister ignored the comment and carried on. As she did, their eyes followed the multitude surrounding the king. Henry the king was tall, Rosamund noticed. His hair was red, although of a different shade than hers; his face was oval and it captured strong features. His eyes, however, mirrored the smile displayed on his lips, enhancing his charisma.

“And he has quite some reputation with ladies, too. Have you not heard how he seduced the queen of France and took her as his wife?”

Rosamund’s eyes were following the king’s moves when, in this exact instance her sister was proving to be one with very attentive ears, Henry II’s gaze locked with hers. It was for a brief instance as she, paled at how intense and abrupt this encounter with each other’s eyes were, quickly looked away.

Unaware of what just happened, Lucia told Rosamund:

“Aliénor, the queen, was born in the duchy of Aquitaine. She was reported to be so beautiful and elegant, but most of all, rich because Aquitaine occupies large portions of lands in the continent.”

Rosamund rose her eyebrows:

“How on earth would you know all that?”

“Father has been receiving important people at the castle, in case you have not noticed and I’m always eager to know the stories of the court they brought.”

“And what is like this Aliénor? How did she become Henry’s queen?”

As Lucia was telling her the story, Rosamund was completely unapprehensive of Henry’s curiosity. She would not know how her red hair and soft features were a contrast amidst the other ladies with more olive skin and darker eyes than her own. She was unaware how Henry was completely intrigued by this mysterious lady whose eyes so innocent and filled with curiosity found his own. Another redhair, mayhaps, but it was not like anyone.

One of Henry’s companions followed the king’s gaze and said:

“That is mistress Clifford, m’lord. A daughter of one of the minor lords of the Welsh marches. Her name is Rosamund, she’s the youngest of Sir Walter Clifford’s brood. She’s to be betrothed soon with her sisters...” He continued to proceed, almost nonchalantly about Rosamund and her family, but Henry was only partially listening.

“Would you bring the said lady to me?” Henry interrupted him.

It was lust at first, as often was. The man hesitated for seconds, but he eventually agreed to. Who could deny the overlord of Scotland, lord of Wales and king of all England anything at all?

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Rosamund was delighted to meet other ladies of her age. She had spent very little time outdoors and her only companions and friends she relied on were her sisters. That evening, her father and mother granted permission for them to enjoy freely as long they were under supervision of lady Margaery’s lady-in-waiting, a Welsh maid of the name Guinevere. So far, however, the only amongst the three sisters to have enjoyed more than the rules of good sense cared to permit in courtship was Amicia.

Rosamund and her new friend, a lady named Heloise, were discussing poetry when mistress Guinevere were scowling at Amicia for her unproper behaviour. It was also when the king’s valet came in between them.

He cleared his throat, and by how arrogance was stamped all over his face--which was not one very nice looking, in Rosamund’s opinion, marked by scars or old pestilences as a sign he struggled to survive infancy or mayhaps the favour of God in sparing him of such unfortunate death; his eyes were narrowed with impatience, and yet she could swear they were painted with the deepest shade of blue; the man’s nose was long, but it was crooked, a sign he was involved in unnecessary fighting or wars he was forced to fight, Rosamund could not be sure. His sandy hair was short and oily, and his cheeks were rosy. He wore dark robes that could easily mistake him to a priest. And yet, when coming to her and this new friend Heloise, the man looked as if he was mostly obliged for doing so, an interpretation that, as she would find out, was not entirely incorrect.

“Mademoiselles”, he began with a heavy French accent. Luckily for him, Rosamund could speak the language, but pretended she would not understand him. Maybe he understood it, for he, against his own will, was forced by circumnstances to speak the local tongue. “Mistress Clifford. His Grace, the king of England, wishes to see you.”

Lady Heloise covered her mouth with her tongues, but Rosamund, as flattered as she might have felt with the attention of such a king, was not entirely sure if she should meet a man let alone a king.

“For what purposes, my lord, would the king be interested in seeing me, a mere damsel?”

She could tell her lady friend was very much puzzled by her words, which, Rosamund thought, could be seen as a demonstrative arrogance, when in reality she was motivated by her pious education she received. Surely her mother would be very displeased if she heard of such a thing? Her flower should be preserved for her marriage.

As naive as she may have been, Rosamund did not lack brain.

“Alas!” The king’s valet exclaimed, for this was the first time he found in such situation. Rarely would a lady, whomever she may be, question such a thing. “For what purposes? The king has taken a like of you, my lady. Should there ever be another reason for it?”

He laughed.

“’Tis the king of England we are talking about. Should we leave him wait for more than we already have?”

Rosamund flushed. She understood her position as an unmarried dame in those days, and because of it, remembering Henry II, as king as he may be, was still a man and a married one. She would not go against the laws of the Church.

“I may sound a fool to you, mister, but out of respect for the queen he is lawful married before God and for me, a damsel who has not yet become a respectful espouse to some lord, I cannot give in to such follyness.”

And without waiting for response, she stepped away, moving straight to the direction of mistress Guinevere with a very shocked lady Heloise by her side, stunned as she was what was seen for she said no word. Rosamund’s face was all red and one could easily tell how angered she was.

“There you are, Rosa!”, said Guinevere, greeting the other’s friend. “I see you have acquainted yourself with other admirable ladies, but your face shows me displeasure. What, in God’s name, has been the cause of such distress?”

Lady Heloise, who payed no mind to discreetion, spoke for Rosamund:

“The king wanted to see her and she declined him!”

Guinevere and Rosamund’s sisters looked puzzled at her, whose pale pinks were painted with another shade of deeper red if possible. She could not meet their inquiring gazes, so her eyes were down to her feet.

“How did this happen?!” Amicia, naturally, was the first to say, quickly taking her sister’s hand into her own. “You should not decline, my dear Rosamund. Oh, how fair are you! God has a purpose for you, my sister, as I have always known! ‘Tis with what other reason for being born ever so graceful and fair as yourself?”

“My dear sister, do not say flatteries to me”, pledged Rosamund. “I am not a harlot, and cannot give into such reputation. He is a married man.”

“He is the king of England”, said Amicia, eagerly. “We could have benefited from it.”

Impatient, Rosamund, who realized she would not receive support from either mistress Guinevere, who looked astonished by the reports Lady Heloisa unashamed gave her, nor her sisters, who suddenly forgot all morals about involving oneself with a married man.

Silently, she slipped off their companionship and in even quieter frustration she moved to an empty are of the castle, wherever this may be. Perhaps the gardens? But she would not dare to go to such a darker spot. No, the hall would be nice. There were guards, one or two small groups engaged in conversations, so she sat at a far from the crowd bench where she sat.

But there would be no time to contemplate alone with her own thoughts for Henry, king of England, was not one very accostumed to receive declines to the invites he extended to those he appreciated. He was rather intrigued by what cause had motivated her to deny him the pleasure of her company and his eyes never left her face or moves in this time. Even the group that surrounded him was aware his mind was out of reach.

Henry observed as Rosamund stomed over, face flushed probably the result of being offended. He began to wonder if that was because of him. By how her sisters behaved, or so he assumed being the ladies under the supervision of an older mistress, he presumed so. Discreetly, the king excused himself off the duties and began to search for her. Did not take long before he did.

“I pray I have not troubled the peace of your mind”, spoke he with a heavy French accent.

Rosamund pale, startled when hearing his voice. Her eyes went wide and she quickly dipsied to a curtsy when raising from her seat. But, seeing the fear in her eyes, Henry could tell where this refuse came from. He quickly said:

“Please, my lady, be fearful not of me. I came here to apologize.”

Rosamund’s features soften, although there remained in her eyes a mixture of amusement and suspicious.

“Apologize, my lord? For what cause would have the king to apologize?” “My lady, you mistake me to an arrogant and distant creature...”

“And are you not, sire? A king unreachable to many of us, your subjects?”

He sighed. But Henry was decided not to give in as much as Rosamund.

“I’m still the son of the Lord as much as you, madame Clifford. A crown placed over my head because of His command, solely so. I did not mean to offend you.”

Rosamund’s eyes remain locked with his, but her body languaged indicated she still distrusted him.

“I... How can I think otherwise? I am a damsel, Your Grace, not a harlot you can share a bed anytime. I am unmarried, and what will people think if they see us engaging in conversation out of their sight like this?”

Henry took a seat on the bench she was formerly sat. She watched frustration, and maybe anger, rise in his features, but countered somehow by resignation in his eyes. Those eyes were painted in deep blue, and Rosamund thought it must like seeing the sea, for there was something in them that could drown her. A shiver came in and she quickly lowered her eyes to her feet. She could not... She could not...

“To the hell the men and their malicious minds. I came not to pervert your innocence, my lady. I see I did make the mistake in thinking you were like the others when you are not.”

“The path is free for you to go then, sire, for I will not give you what you came to seek”, she heard herself speaking.

When did I ever become this bold? And before a king?!

But Henry laughed. And his laughter sounded like a thunder, giving much cause for the raise of Rosamund’s gaze, for she was intrigued at how... human he sounded. He, so divine being, could truly be a man?

“You captivated me, my lady. May I not enjoy your company throughout this evening?”

“I fear to say there would have more interesting damsels to accompany your lordship, but if it pleases you, sire, I shall stay” she said, humbly.

Henry gave space for her to seat, patting it so she could seat. Rosamund, not any less uncomfortable than she was before, obeyed.

“It pleases me. But does it please you?” He inquired, his eyes looking for hers.

Rosamund flushed.

“I... I... Why would you ask this, sire? You are the king”, said she, softly.

“For this same reason you exposed, my lady Clifford. Because I am the king, people assume what do I want and desire, and for long years this was enough for me. But to live amidst the flattery and falsehood is becoming tiresome. It is as if I live in illusions, illusions that could never grasp the reality I aimed to live.” He explained.

Rosamund found herself surprised by his words. Somehow, she sensed the truth beneath them.

“How did you become king, sire? Looks like a heavy task to burden your lordship to.”

Henry shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were no longer holding hers, staring, instead, into the void of what Rosamund presumed to have been the past, of years she never witnessed or heard of.

“I have inherited my mother’s claim. You are not familiar with the whole thing, are you?” A smile crossed his lips when seeing Rosamund shaking her head in negative. Somehow it made his chest swollen with pride. “It all began from the day my uncle, my mother’s brother, was drowned. His ship hit a rock or something of the sort, and he tried to save the people that were in the same ship as his. By doing so, he died.”

“My condolences for his loss”, Rosamund whispered.

Henry smiled. It was a more sincere one, Rosamund observed.

“I appreciate it, but I fear to tell you that us, royals, display of little time to grief. My mother was his heir, her father, the first king named Henry of this realm, made his nobles to vow loyalty to her, but he should have known that men are like beasts. They switch their loyalties easily as gold”. He now spoke with a sudden bitter that intrigued Rosamund even more.

He carries his scars, his pain, his hurt and buries them beneath out of the general sight. Oh, how heavy must be to carry the crown over his head!

“He died and my mother should have been crowned, but she was pregnant at the time of his death, so that gave space for Stephen to usurp her rightful place as lady of the English. It was a civil conflict that, in the end, brought me here.”

Rosamund listened, and Henry was surprised for her genuine listening. Not even his wife would do such a thing, he noticed.

“You sound unhappy for the events that led you here, sire, if I may speak freely.”

“You may speak freely as you wish, as I have said, it tires me to hear flattery most of the times.” He said. “I shall not be untrue to you, my lady, but I do enjoy being king. What abhorres me the most is their motivations, how easily convertible are their loyalties. In one day they welcome in feasts like these, in the other they are plotting against me.”

Rosamund listened again, unsure of what judgement should she give him, although she presumed he was being sincere. She never met too many men who would speak with their hearts, or any man who did so at all, but his eyes... when looking into her own... There was something unexplainable to her. Yet, she had to be realistic, as much as, surprisingly to her, it would be disappointing to taste the flavour of it when she said:

“But your wife, my lord... Surely she would support you as a queen should.”

Henry made a sound that Rosamund was not entirely sure what it is, by how his features changed all of a sudden, it looked like the queen did not make this king happy either.

“She does not. All she cares about is her court of love she tries to reproduce in Westminster.” Henry scowled. “Her vain courtiers doing all she pleases, her children...”

“Who are yours too”, she kindly reminded him.

“Well, she acts otherwise!” Henry said with gritted teeth.

Rosamund said nothing more, but instead allowed him to speak out the anger within. As far as she understood, one of the major issues with the queen was having his illegitimate children raised with their legitimate ones and favouring one son over another in all matters. There were the legacies involved too, a series of issues that, from her perspective, were faulted on both parts. Although she could not understand why a mother would favour one son over the other, which made her furrow her eyebrows.

This captured Henry’s eyes, for of all he told her, it was only in the matter of children that he received some reaction of her.

“What is it that is troubling you, my fair lady?”

Rosamund blushed at the compliment, but ignored it when responding him:

“Forgive me, sire, for I am not a mundane lady. I know little of this world, and understand even lesser the complications of motherhood. Whilst I comprehend what lies before me when marrying a lord, I cannot discern how a mother’s love surpasses all other children to concentrate in one alone.”

Henry smiled at her.

“Your remarks are far more intelligent than any other lady I have ever heard.”

“That is untrue, sir”, protested Rosamund, although a small smile curled upon her rosy lips. “For your lady wife is famed for doing good use of the brain she has.”

“Whilst this is accurate, I cannot say she has been using it on good matters.”

Rosamund smiled.

“What other matter could occupy a lady’s mind out of a lady’s own world? Hence why I cannot see the choice of one son over another.”

“Preferences”, it was all he said, vaguely so.

Seeing this was a subject he was not particularly into, Rosamund decided to quiet her thoughts. But Henry said:

“On what account have you stopped the conversation, my lady?”

“Sire, there is little reason to go into a topic that leaves you uncomfortable. I think we should divague on other matters.”

“Such as...?”

But their conversation came abruptly to an end. For the father of Rosamund, Sir Walter, apparently “finally” discovered the whereabouts of his youngest daughter. The scene, to his eyes, could hold no indecency of unproper behaviour, but, nonetheless, the reputation must be conserved. Yet, to the end of that day, Sir Walter could have not been any more proud than any other man would be in his shoes if his daughter had captured the powerful king’s heart.

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Henry the king was decided to spend more than one day or two in the states that were close to the Clifford’s family. His presence was an opportunity for the local nobility to receive him in rich and luxurious feasts, but also to the ambition Sir Walter who wished to expand and enrich his own family.

Rosamund, however, cared little about her family’s desire of enlarging the gold and properties. She was much surprised to see a different side of the king than she was told of. He was respectful, kind, even sentimental. But, at this, her mother warned her:

“Men in general have many masks, my dear child. The powerful they are, the more artful they can be to conquer a woman’s heart. You should know well what you are doing...”, and in a less severe manner, added she, “if you are not willing to this courtship, we can find a more urgent matter for you.”

But Rosamund was not entirely sure of what would be of her. So she said nothing of the matter. Her mind was confusing, whilst her heart was clear. It was not merely an attraction of minds, but of souls. The answer was there: she hoped to see him again even if this was wrong in so many ways.

***

Rosamund was discreet and there was no reason to behave otherwise, although if this was Amicia, perhaps everything else would have gone differently. But there she was, with a friend or two (lady Heloisa was amongst them, even if she wanted the gossip that Rosamund refused to give her) and her sister Lucia. The feast was charmed with the melodies that brought many men and women together in a dance.

Rosamund herself, on that day with the red locks loose and dressing a blue gown with esmeralds, danced with two of the King’s courtiers. She knew he was watching, his eyes glued on her moves as if he could see beyond her curves. For when their eyes met, it was a signal of recognition, of something more, one mirroring another’s soul, a feeling that could only be found in letters of the books, in the mouths of the bards, in the minds of the thinkers.

She danced gleefully, the rhythm of her heart racing louder each time their eyes meet. She lowered her gaze, she timidly followed the tune with her partners, she laughed with her lady friends, but all the time she could not help... those eyes of her sought for his, and his were waiting for hers.

Discreetly, the king inquired after her. Discreetly, they met and strolled at the gardens.

“You dance gracefully, I should say”, said he, sounding soft as words rolled out of his tongue. “I could not look away and must admit I was envious of your partners.”

Rosamund smiled and Henry decided he liked the way it naturally came everytime at his wording.

“I thought you disliked flatteries, sire.”

“I do, but must I protest that I speak the truth to you, dear lady! O, fair Rosamund, can you not see how the world’s eyes fall on thee?”

She giggled, her fingers slipping on the arm the king had offered her to take, gripping it gently. The scent of roses that day already mesmerized him, completely taken by her presence.

“You are a poet too, sire?”

“I have one brother who is. I, myself, am mostly a warrior. One of the reckless kind”, he winked at her. “But he inspired me. William was a good man.” He sighed.

“Oh. Did he..?” She could not pronounce the words, unsure of how he would react.

“Aye.” Henry lamented, his eyes missing the joy of minutes before, as if stolen by the sadness of eternal grief. “This world was not for him, though. He must be in peace. He was very good, pure. Unlike Geoffrey.”

On that late afternoon, Rosamund was content in hearing about his brothers, his stories, and even of the illegitimate siblings Henry had. She was told of his children, of his life.

“But I’m talking too much!” objected he, when they finally took a seat in the centre of the garden. Rosamund noticed they were now out of the people’s sight, especially the guards. “Will I not hear a word of my fair Rosamund?”

She giggled.

“Must I, sire? What could possibly interest the king of England? I am a damsel, daughter of a local nobleman.”

“Do not think of me as a king, my lady, I beg you”, said he, enamorated. “All I ask you is to speak freely to me. I would sincerely like to listen to what you have to say, your habits, what you like to do or not.”

Rosamund conceeded a smile.

“If you insist...”

“I do!”

She locked her hand into another, resting them on the top of her lap after adjusting the skirts of her gown. Rosamund would look down a few times, sensing the heat in her cheeks at how, not once, did the eyes of Henry divert from her presence. When she raised her gaze, he was still glancing at her. Not only glancing, but listening.

He was actually listening.

“I appreciate the simplicity”, she told him at last after telling the story of her family, her habits, even that of her neighbours, the few she ever had been acknowledged to. “The nature and their freedom, the stories the bards so often tell and sing about. Love inspire me. It’s all I ever come to know, although more through words than anything.”

Twilight began to set it’s mixture of lights when their conversation seems to come to an end. The king rose and so did Rosamund when they began to stroll back inwards.

“I miss the simplicity, the basics. Whilst I for one admit to enjoy all the luxury that life in my position can provide, I also crave for a life with no concerns. Could this be possible?”

“I like to think, my lord, that no life is possible without faith beforehand. Otherwise, where else would be placed the purpose of our existance in first place? It is only then that comes the nature of simplicity we aim to achieve. And the love we long to feel.”

To talk about deep perceptions of the world, however limited one could be in comparison to other due to the experiences one had and the other lacked, was something that brought such delight to Rosamund. It was a feeling that Henry himself reciprocated, something he desperatedly looked for in every lady he fell for. But in reality, he knew it now, all the love he thought he felt for others was the reflection of lust. For little by little he could see that she gave him what he needed the most: love.

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Rosamund believed they would only meet in only luxurious occasions, but this was not meant to be. Sir Walter would proudly say, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months and he began to enlarge his properties, that never before he was so lucky to have had daughters. In the month after Rosamund and Henry began to court, Amicia and Lucia were promptly married. Amicia, to a baron named Osmund FitzHugh of Richards Castle, and Lucia to another baron named Hugh de Say of Clun Castle. Now there was only his son to marry and he hoped the king could find him a wealthy heiress for the union to be perfect.

As before, Rosamund did not feed ambitions in herself. By then she had accepted her fate, and cared very little about the whispers around the village. But her brother had to walk her down the market each time, so she would be the victim of loud accusations for being the king’s whore. It once hurt before, but she would not hear none of it.

Henry visited her every month, discreetly as the lovers usually were. But he insisted her for having her own household and would not take ‘no’ as answer. He granted her a household thus in a castle made of stones located in Oxfordshire, near Woodstock. There, they would meet... and there, she knew, they would consummate their flames for the first time.

Henry had been wholly respectful of her and, much to her surprise, he would wait for her. So it was towards the summer that, even to her mother’s delight, she moved to her own household, having her servants and ladies to attend her. During his absence, lady Margaery would make company to her daughter, helping her to adjust to this new life, teaching her how to manage it properly as a lady befit to her station should. A chapel would soon be built and lady Margaery thought wise to find one priest who would not refuse the task of preaching a holy life without risking to ruin her daughter’s reputation.

Mid August, Henry told Rosamund he was going to visit her. She decided to receive him properly. Bards were already displayed singing to the guests she placed in it. Only her sisters and their families were attending it, of course. That day, she decided to have her hair loose and dress Henry’s favourite gown, the blue one with while pearls.

In her ears, she wore saphire earrings and necklace to embelish her porcelain skin. Now more accostumed to his valet, going as far as befriending him (and he would espouse a friend of hers, that lady Heloise, laterwards), she received him well.

“Your master is coming, my lady”, he warned her happily. “He is looking forward to see you again.”

Rosamund was in the highest expectations. She was not expecting his full fidelity, aware of the nature of the men, but to possess his heart wholeheartedly as he did hers. Furthermore, there was the love that, two years ago from now, never ceased to diminish.

Henry finally then appeared, dressed in his rich clothes. Rosamund forgot the etiquette and ran to his arms, embraced those strong arms as he greeted her gleefully. She felt his love deeply when his lips touched against her cheek and then moved to her lips. Oh, how much he was longed for!

“A feast to receive me, my lady?” said Henry, smiling widely.

“It should be especial to receive you properly, my lord”, responded she in turn, with her rosy cheeks. “I pray ‘tis of your taste, though. Nothing gladdens me more than pleasing your lordship.”

The sincerity in her words warmed his heart with full affection. He pressed his forehead against hers before pecking her cheek:

“Aye, how else could I not be? My eternal gratitude shall never be forgotten!”

That night, he conceeded a dance with her, earning a round of applauses of the guests. He then watched her dance with her ladies, and greeted and talked with his lover’s relatives. Finally, then, when it was late night and he was half drunk already, a lady of hers told him he was being summoned by her mistress.

Curious as ever, Henry obeyed the instructions and went after the bedchamber where he usually spent the night. Once inside, he was surprised to see her... disproved of her gown.

“Rosa...!” he gasped, quickly closing the door behind him.

Rosamund was found lying on the bed naked, her eyes searching for his as her exposed skin much gave signs for longing for him. He approached, undressing himself on the way to attend the invitation, but hesitated.

“I thought...”

She inclined against him, feeling not embarrassment for her nudity as she feared, but suddenly confidence for her curls. Perhaps this was the wine, but she would not like to let go of it. She felt the eyes of his possessing her, but Rosamund want his touch.

She grabbed his hands and placed them over her full breasts, not before she rose his chin and inclined her lips against his.

“Well?”

“I’m yours to command”, he whispered, his voice rusky filled with desire.

He laid her on bed and embraced her warmly, giving her the love she needed--and he needed too. Whilst ‘twas true that he bedded other dames in the years of their unconsummed relationship, hers was his devoted heart and his most hungered desire. ‘Twas so that they slept barely as their bodies loved throughtout the dawn.

“And the bards will sing about a king who loved a damsel of flamed locks, she who gave her heart in a box for him to remember in every equinox.” He proclaimed against her ears.

“They will remember that there shall be no other lady in this world who worships her lover more than I do, for if there was something I could dispose to be with him that would be the heart for you to carry within.” She smiled, drowning in those deep blue eyes as she feared one day she might.

In moments like these, eternity was a vow both swore to keep. But future had it’s own shadows none could predict. Yet, whilst it lasted, they met and even when it did not any more, their love remained attached.

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Winter, 1176.

Henry was at Dover. He needed pure air to breathe, he needed to be parted from the world he knew. For he received the news he feared to hear, he feared to have ever been told.

“Sire, we received news from the priority of Oxfordshire. It tells us that lady Rosamund Clifford is no longer amongst us. She... She is dead.”

Away of the public sight, he grieved. Away from the high walls of castles built upon stones, away from the ghosts he lost, he longed for the one he had loved the most.

Alone, he fell on his knees, devastated. He never wanted her to leave, never to be apart, but damn the circumnstances. He remembered her touch, her caring, the sound of her laughters. He never wanted her to leave...And neither wanted she.

So wept and grieved the king of England for the loss of his most beloved treasured his heart ever possessed and craved for: the love of the rose of the world, the love of Rosamund.

But maybe, in another life, in another time, God would have wanted them to meet again.

➳ lyrics: Adele, “Someone Like You”.

➳ fancast: Daisy Ridley as Rosamund Clifford and Tom Hiddleston/MichaelFassbender as Henry II, King of England.

#Henry II #Henry x Rosamund #Henry II x Rosamund Clifford #Henry II of England #King Henry II of England #Henry FitzEmpress #Rosamund Clifford #tom hiddlesto #daisy ridley #Michael Fassbender #my edits #Plantagenet edit #house of anjou #Plantagenet dynasty #The Plantagenets #Plantagenet #angevins #Angevin Empire #Angevin Emperor

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