#my uncle who is my favorite relative used to make little machines that did nothing

[skelingtonsderek]

New laptop is supposed to arrive today and I am vibrating

[minervacasterly]

First Protestant King of England, Henry VIII or Edward VI? (And why Edward VI's reign was no less important than his father's)

It is important to dispell myths about the most popular English dynasty, so I decided to briefly take on this topic. A common misconception until recent decades is that Henry VIII was the first Protestant King. In reality, it was his son who was the first true Protestant King of England. I’ve written about this before on my blog, building upon the research by great scholars like Chris Skidmore, Loach, and the short introduction to his reign by Kyra Cornelius Kramer. Besides taking after his father in intellect, Edward VI was fairly concerned with the state of the church of England but unlike his old man, he thought that the time had come to make it into the first true Protestant church of England, agreeing to the issuing of the book of common prayer and a revision of it two years later. Edward VI also frowned upon improper clothing. He loved to dance and watch sports, but didn’t think t0 was a good idea to indulge in these frivolities since the Evangelicals believed that this was a gateway to moral decay. (Don’t you just love those who interpret the will of god so good, that they conveniently forget about the passages where their savior rails against the rich and so on?) Edward’s actions had consequences and these, like the contributions of his reign, are often brushed aside in favor of his more famous father and sisters. One of them, was a rebellion in the North and his half-sister’s resistance to his new laws that forbade people to hear the Mass and forced the new English service on everyone. Long story short … lots of people hung, punished and lots of enemies that his councilors (who as always since people couldn’t point fingers at the king unless they had a sick death wish of some sort) were blamed and were punished for during his half-sister’s reign. Some of you might be pointing out that since Henry VIII was excommunicated and labeled a heretic by most of Christendom, that technically he was a Protestant king but no, seriously, he wasn’t. Henry was, despite these labels, still a practicing Catholic. He agreed to Gardiner’s articles of faith that criticized the church and validated his claim as supreme head of the Anglican Church, and God’s representative on Earth, and surrounded himself by obvious Reformists, but other than that, he forcefully kept everyone in line. Catholics who practiced the Mass or adhered to his new rules while still being loyal to their beliefs were tolerated, but if they pulled a ‘Thomas More’ where they denied the king’s supremacy or insulted one of his beloved wives (before he got tired of them, that is) then yes, off to the block with them!

As for Protestants … Ever heard of Anne Askew? She defended Henry’s actions, she thought he was some kind of Moses as his last wife -Kathryn Parr whom she was closely associated with- would paint him as in her two books (primarily in ‘Lamentations of a Sinner’) and then she defied her husband and Henry’s establishment, pushing for a more Evangelist agenda, and what happened? Oh nothing big … she just got tortured and then burned. As long as you played Henry’s sycophant you were fine. There is also a spiritual aspect that ties into his megalomania. As Henry became more obsessed with securing his dynasty, his focus on spiritual matters also grew. By the end of his reign, nobody could predict what the king would say or how he would act so everyone walked a fine line when they discussed important subjects. Kathryn Parr is one of them who learned this lesson early on during their marriage. If it weren’t for gentleness, and the friendship she established among prominent ladies in her household, her accusers would’ve succeeded in convincing Henry VIII that she was a heretic. She would’ve had a sham trial like Anne Boleyn and then beheaded or worse, burned like Anne Aske. Luckily for Kathryn Parr, she was one step ahead of them. Humbling herself before her lord and husband, she told him that she never intended to change his religious views but just challenged him as people did at the beginning of his reign, so he could stir her towards the right path since she was a woman and these things were too complicated for her to fathom, let alone choose on her own. She lived and continued to be a major influence on future Protestant leaders, such as Jane Grey, Elizabeth I and of course, Edward VI.

Edward VI was greatly influenced by his beloved stepmother’s religiosity and mourned her deeply. He referred to her as his mother. Kathryn encouraged his passion for books and aided his Protestant tutors in stirring him towards their faith, ensuring that he’d become the king they’d all be waiting for, that would transform England into a fully Protestant nation.

It was Edward who began to force religious codes on his people in a way that hadn’t been done before. His father cracked on religious houses on the basis of cleansing them from corruption and because of their disloyalty, and open defiance against his supremacy; but Edward made things worse. The monasteries that were sold to his father’s noblemen left many people begging on the streets while forcing others to adapt to their new environment. When people could no longer handle it, they rose up in open rebellion and like in his father’s time, these were brutally squashed. But here is where it gets interesting … Whereas Henry VIII is blamed for all the evils of his reign, Edward VI is not and the reason for this? He was a kid, don’t be so mean. Leave the poor tot alone. Fact: Edward VI died at the age of fifteen and by renaissance standards, he was not a little boy anymore. Even if he hadn’t come of age, he was not an innocent boy anymore who was oblivious to the world around him. In fact. When Edward VI found out that his uncle had been executed, he was like ‘meh … okay’. And sure, Thomas Seymour was a brash individual who thought he could get away with everything but even after he tried to kidnap his nephew, to act in such a manner and for an uncle who was married to your favorite stepmother and someone you claimed to be your favorite relative, that’s pretty cold. But it gets better. After Edward VI finally got rid of his tedious uncle and his irritating set of rules, Edward wrote in his diary (showing no emotion at all) that the former lord Protector died and that was that. Getting rid of Edward Seymour probably made the little critter sigh in relief because out of all his uncles, the Lord Protector was the one who always reminded him of his duties and responsibilities, not to mention all those rules and not letting him be king! How unfair! And then there was also that issue about the rebellions. Edward VI saw these people as traitors and agreed with Northumberland that they should be dealt with immediately but his uncle didn’t think that was wise, which was why people called him the ‘good Duke’ because they saw him as a friend of the people. Now that he was out of the way, his kingdom would not have to suffer any more dissenting voices, nor any threats of isolation or future skirmishes with Scotland. Edward VI was fully committed to the Protestant cause but convinced by Northumberland, he realized that he would not go far if he did not have any allies. And the whole campaign in Scotland had gone awfully wrong and with Mary, Queen of Scots in France, the only way to neutralize that threat was making an alliance with that country, betrothing him to Henri II and Catherine de Medici’s daughter, Elizabeth Valois. Sadly, Edward VI did not live to marry her or do more for the Evangelicals. He died and before he did, he wrote a paper called “my device for the succession” which became the basis to disinherit his sisters in favor of their cousin, Jane Grey. That opened a can of worms that could have easily escalated into another civil war like the wars of the roses but thankfully for everyone involved it didn’t and his sister won her crown fair and square. But as with every Tudor, once her sister became Queen, she began to make good use of the propaganda machine to portray her sibling as a puppet of Northumberland and other evil lords who had corrupted him and turned him against her. Why was this done? Same reason why people who rebelled against their kings often pointed their fingers at their councilors -because doing so against an anointed king meant that they were upsetting the natural order. It was only in extreme cases, when someone had enough support and belonged to a different dynasty, that they would point it directly at them. Edward belonged to the same dynasty as Mary, and a dynasty divided was bad business for everyone, especially for the first Queen Regnant of England who had inherited a divided country.

Mary I also did something else and that was appropriating some of Edward VI’s religious achievements in an effort to make Catholicism appealing to those who were still unsure whether or not they wanted to return to the church or side with the various groups within the Protestant movement. Sections from the book of the common prayer were added to a new set of prayers in Latin and English, and adapted in a way that didn’t contradict church doctrine. During his reign, Edward encouraged many poets and artists to express themselves. These would reenact passages from the bible, or create allegorical paintings that depicted Edward as England’s messiah, and all those who followed him as true Christians as opposed to the decadent Catholics who were portrayed as heathens.

Edward’s religious reformation became the basis for Elizabeth I’s reign who continued with many of these reforms. Although she did not go as far as Edward or his chosen heiress, Jane Grey, would have liked. Elizabeth I was far more pragmatic, recognizing that if she wanted to rule over a divided country she had to maintain some of the older traditions or else, she’d risk losing everything she had. Unlike her siblings, Elizabeth I wasn’t thought of as legitimate by many of her Christian peers. Ideological purity was a luxury that she couldn’t afford and in any case, she did not want because many Evangelicals didn’t like the idea of the supremacy of kings (or queens). Nevertheless, Elizabeth I built her religious establishment upon her brother’s by issuing a new revision of the book of common prayer and encouraging artists and poets to create works that extolled the Anglican Church and the Tudor Dynasty.

[purplesurveys]

1074

survey by voicedance16

answer these questions using the first letter of your name!

Ok, to start off with, what's your name? Robyn. Hmm I don’t tend to see R much when it comes to being the first letter of different things, so it’ll be fun to see where this goes.

Now, name something for each question starting with that letter.

A girl's name:  Rhiannon. I first encountered this name reading Everyday by David Levithan and I’ll always remember how well-written the character was. The name sounded a little too foreign to me at first, but I ended up loving it.

A boy's name: Rocky, because I have an uncle with that nickname. His first name also starts with an R - Robert, if I remember correctly.

A fruit: Rambutan. Such a strange-looking fruit too.

A vegetable: Radish.

A country: Romania.

A city: Reykjavik in Iceland. Also a place I would love to visit.

An animal: Raccoon.

Something people do outside: Ride public transport. You’re inside modes of transport when doing so, but still.

An actor/actress: Rooney Mara. Sigh, reminds me of the film Carol and all the memories associated with it. Now that I think about it, I should give that a watch again for a more refreshed take on it.

Something you keep in the kitchen: The refrigerator, obviously.

Something you keep in the bathroom: Razor.

Something you'd bring on a trip: Also a razor. But erm, my mom likes bringing reusable bags on our longer trips so that we have somewhere to put our dirty clothes in for the next few days.

Something people do in the summer: Ride amusement/theme park attractions. Can’t relate though, as I hate theme park rides and I’m usually only the guardian of my friends’ stuff as they tick off all the rides hahaha.

A song title: Renegade, by Paramore.

A book title: Revolutionary Road, though I’m only aware of it because I’ve seen the movie based on that exact book. I saw a copy of it - with the film poster as the main cover - in a used book store around a year ago, but I was saving at the time so I couldn’t buy it. I wish I did, because that will probably be the only time I would have ever seen the book.

A movie title: Room, which was also based on the Emma Donoghue book. It’s one of my favorite films too, along with Requiem for a Dream and Revolutionary Road.

A Broadway musical title: Rent. I had to watch the movie adaptation for a film class. It absolutely sucked.

A clothing or shoe brand: Roberto Cavalli.

A reason for being late: Rode the wrong train/bus.

A band/music group/artist: Let’s go with Rhye. Reminds me of happier and simpler times.

A musical instrument: Recorder.

Something that's hot: Ramen broth that’s freshly made.

A type of bird: Robin! :)

A pizza topping: Ricotta? I’m just guessing though. I’ve never tried putting it on my pizza.

A fictional character: Rachel Green from Friends or Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead.

A breakfast food: I’m completely out on this one.

A school subject: Religion - I went to Catholic school so we definitely devoted 45 minutes of each day to learning more about Christianity.

A holiday: Rizal Day.

A relative: My uncle Rocky, who I mentioned at the beginning of this survey.

An article of clothing: Romper.

A school supply: Ruler. I never owned one of them for long, and whenever I did buy one if I needed it for class, I’d lose it within a day or two lol.

A color: Red.

A state: I’m guessing in the US? Rhode Island.

An ice cream flavor: Rocky Road.

Something found in the ocean: I dunno...rust from old shipwrecks? Haha I don’t really go snorkeling a lot.

A drink: Red wine.

A part of the body: Ribs.

A stone/gem:  Ruby.

Something found in a park: Rocks. Can’t say I know a lot about parks though, given we don’t have any public spaces in this country other than malls.

A college/university: Rutgers. I specifically remember that school because they made the news at one point for having a course on Beyoncé, lmao.

A type of fish: Rays.

A historical figure: Rosa Parks.

Something in the room you're in: We have a rug here in the living room.

Something you save up to buy: Rings, especially if it’s an engagement or wedding ring.

A kind of candy: Razzles. The Razzles scene from 13 Going on 30 always makes me feel giddy.

A reptile/amphibian: I got nothing. Reptile? HAHAHA

A spice/herb: Rosemary.

A type of car: Racecar, if it counts. I don’t exactly know car terminology.

A hobby/leisure activity: Rock climbing, which I reeeeeally would like to try out soon.

A restaurant: Ramen Nagi,  my second favorite ramen spot after Mendokoro Ramenba. There’s also Racks, though I’ve never tried eating there before.

A household chore: Is raking a chore in other countries? We don’t really do that here but maybe people do in other places?

A body of water: River.

A weapon: Rocket launcher.

An ethnic food: Rellenong bangus, which is stuffed milkfish.

A mode of transportation: A rickshaw, though in the Philippines we call them tricycles.

A type of flower: Rose.

Something found on/in a desk: Reminders? Hahaha if it counts. I put reminders written on sticky notes on my desk.

A word associated with money: Revenue.

An item you'd buy from a vending machine: A pack of Reese’s.

A game (any type): Ridge Racer, which was a PSP game I loved playing as a kid. There was also Rock Band, which was a game I had on the PSP as well.

Something at a circus: Ring toss games/stalls.

Something you throw away: Results of an exam or a particular application that I failed. Like you know how schools will sometimes send you a physical letter just to say you didn’t make the cut? I’d rather not own those for longer than 10 minutes, and to crumple them up and throw them out immediately instead.

A store name: Rustan’s. It’s a whole-ass department store chain, but whatever.

A type of tree: I’m not familiar with a lot of trees, so I’m unable to think of any.

Something that uses a remote: Racecar toys.

A website: Reddit.

Something in a grocery store: Red onions.

A tourist attraction: I can’t think of any particular tourist spots, but Rio de Janeiro is somewhere I’d love to be able to travel to.

A weekend activity: Resting, heh.

A Christmas/holiday song: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

A type of seafood: OMG my specialty. I can only think of roe and rellenong bangus for R, though.

An acronym: RT, which just means retweet on Twitter.

Something you'd see at the zoo: Rabbits, maybe? I’ve never been to a zoo.

A kind of soup: I’m not sure I know of any; I’m not a big soup person.

Something you'd find in NYC: Erm, restaurants? Hahahaha. And lots of them.

Something you'd get tickets for: I wouldn’t know; I’ve never been handed one before.

An animal noise: Ruff, for dogs.

A word associated with winter: I have no clue. We don’t even have winter here, so I wouldn’t know the things people prepare for it.

A historic event: The Rape of Nanjing.

Something you get in the mail: Nothing’s coming to mind.

Something you sit on: A rocking chair.

A reason to make a phone call: Resolving a fight? Idk.

A type of weather: Rainy.

Something that has buttons: Rompers, at least some kinds.

Something that makes you smile: Reminiscing.

[acarrow]

        “ what separates the wolf from the sheep is not a matter of good or evil.              we all have teeth   —   but only some of us are willing to use them. ”

( danielle rose russell, twenty, cis-female ) my goodness, is ALECTO CARROWback? it’s been a while since the PUREBLOOD has been around the castle, but i’d recognize HER anywhere. rumor has it the SEVENTH YEAR spent the year aligned with the DEATH EATERS. but I hear they’re still POISED & SHARP and OVER-CAUTIOUS & DESIROUS. and the RAVENCLAW still reminds me of jeweled daggers tucked into frothy skirts like a secret; gilt edged pages on old books; perfume pressed to pulse points like a shield; the cool, lonely whisper of dead leaves on marble steps. well, then, I guess some things never change.  ( zoe, 21, cst, she/her )

WARNINGS:  discussions of war, parental neglect, familial death; alcohol mention, weapon mention, manipulation  ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   alecto’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board    

i.

the carrow family had amycus, so it wasn’t a total let down when alecto ilse carrow was born and was born a girl. but if everyone was being honest, there wasn’t any real thrill there for her either. they loved her in a rote way and cared for her in a rote way and their distance and cool removal from her life spoke more than anything they ever did for her.

they would tell strangers, of course we love our daughter. but alecto herself couldn’t recall ever hearing them tell her they loved her, not to her face.

the carrows, historically, were not the most refined when it came to the most sacred. sure, they were one of the best families  ---  but their machinations never seemed to be the sort that won the hearts of a people; their plans, never the ones put to action. they had wealth and connections enough, bloodlines going as far back as any of the other twenty-eight’s; but they were not half so perfect.

alecto didn’t like people not expecting perfection from her. her parents saw so little when they looked at her, and it grated to see the same from the people they were surrounded by. so she made changing that expectation her mission at, in all honesty, too young an age. 

they thought carrows weren’t the ones to beat. fine. wasn’t she one to beat all on her own? wasn’t she enough to change the tides of her family’s reputation?

her parents, they were amused; let her try, for soon she’d realize that she was a girl, and would always, always fall short of expectations. she’d decided this at a precocious eight years old after a particularly disastrous dinner party; at the time, this mission of hers started with presenting a flawless front to anyone looking at her expecting another carrow wildcard. she’d always been precocious; she knew what game they were all playing and just how to play it.

( didn’t they all know how easy it was? to become like them? )

ii.

around the same time she reached this decision, for the path she’d tackle the rest of her life, her aunt dulcinea died and crushed alecto’s heart.

aunt dulcinea and uncle anatole were distant carrow relatives and in alecto’s weaker, punishable, childish moments   —   she’d wished they’d been her parents. she wished it stupidly, in place of wishing for her own parents to love her.

at the reading of her aunt’s will, alecto received dulcinea’s wand (  12 ¼", griffin feather and aspen, quite flexible and carved with a loving hand ). and though she wasn’t of an age yet to use magic, her uncle practiced dueling with her using sticks found in the gardens on the carrow estate. even before she could legally utter a single spell, alecto was a skilled duelist. she tucked this into her back pocket like a secret; would let out shining peals of false, childish laughter if ever anyone asked about those dueling lessons. her, dueling? no, no, no. she was itty, bitty, and ladylike, faint at the very idea of fighting. her uncle anatole had simply been indulging her silly games of make - believe.

iii.

she made friends greedily as a child; ostensibly so she could have the connections, the network, that was so vital to the lives of adults in pureblood society. but the small truth was that alecto just fed on human connection. she loathed how much liked people to like her and resented that she needed people at all. but it was true, and it could be useful.  

she tried, at times, unthinkingly, to imitate the distance her parents had with her. she loved talking and hated talking all at once, but she did pride herself on being able to fill hours of conversation with no substance at all. and it better cemented the idea that she didn’t actually desire the friends or acquaintances she had   ---   if every interaction was hollow, what could prove she thrived on them? how would anyone know much she relished the meandering words?

she could be very cruel to those around her   —   not necessarily on purpose, but also not not on purpose. there was a threshold, where acquaintances shifted into someone alecto would trust with her life. at that threshold she tended to turn mean, to turn people away, and it was a horrible habit and one she wouldn’t break.

but all the feigned distance in the world couldn’t keep her from finding actual friends, and she would kill for those she cared for. reckless all or nothing thinking like that was just the carrow way. true, 

fierce friendship was an earned thing, but a warm-looking smile from dear alecto cost her nothing at all.

iv.

she was sorted into ravenclaw; perhaps it would have disappointed her family, if they’d had expectations high enough to disappoint in the first place. when alecto was eleven, and wrote home with news of the sorting, she knew she’d lost any chance of being the favorite   ---   slim as the chance had ever been. oh, her parents had indulged her goal of making a name for herself. she was their daughter; clever enough, pretty enough, to indulge. but they’d never seen that indulgence yielding anything, and her sorting only confirmed it for them.

( she suspected they wrote to her brother more, while at school. no, of course she never asked him. she was a ravenclaw, smart enough to know that some doors need not be opened. )

imagine: a little carrow in ravenclaw tower, all alone amongst peers of all blood statuses and backgrounds. she thrived there, much though she hid that fact from her parents. they certainly never imagined her thriving. she had her aunt’s wand and her uncle’s scattered owls, friends she made cautiously and recklessly in equal measure, a feeling of total abandonment gifted to her by her parents’ abandonment. it was heady, and dangerous.

she kissed people her parents would have been scandalized to know she knew at all, linked arms with girls from families her father had long disparaged over breakfast. joined the quidditch team and shared sportsman-like handshakes with any opposing player she could hunt down after matches.

her grins were sharp and wicked and her laughter soft and surprised and she knew   ---   she knew!   ---   that the home she felt in the castle could never last once outside of it.

it was a home, and that word just didn’t mean anything for girls like her. 

alecto was just a girl, darling little thing. the carrow daughter with a whip-sharp mind   ---   that she made sure to only show in carefully curated fields, that was a problem all the same. she would bring no heirs, and the thought of the mind on her made it hard for the family to imagine setting up an enviable match for her. she would never find it easy, being a trophy hanging off someone’s arm. they may not have cared for her any more than they had to, but they knew her better than she ever thought they did. she did not bend or bow to anyone, and that would make her life harder than her parents thought it had to be.

the lives of pureblood daughters could be easier than breathing, in the new world they had hopes of cultivating. if only alecto would let things be easy.

v.

her parents might have thought she had an allergy to the simple route. and maybe she did; maybe they were right, and she was wired all wrong. her mind was a tricky place   ---   all those forbidden books in her common room, all six and a half years, they had an impact. perhaps on a stronger carrow they’d have been nothing when compared to the things her family had told her all her life. but she acted like they were no stronger carrows, and pretended like the act didn’t cost a thing.

when her parents and their cohort went and got her home blown up, alecto learned to pretend like lots of things cost her nothing at all. 

see, the pretending was easy: she just had to strap her knives and wand to her thigh with pretty little garters, the better to flash the steel beneath silk skirts and lace robes. the beauty of the muggle weapons caught her eye and held it   ---   she heard someone whisper it was a sign of her cruelty, that she could imagine wielding something so primitive. heard someone else whisper she was pretty as one of her daggers, and twice as sharp.

oh, how she hadn’t missed full immersion in pureblood society. at night, she dreamed of ravenclaw tower. 

in her years away from school, she learned to enjoy the refined burn of shots worth more galleons than some could ever see. she learned to love glittering adornments, and tossing her hair, and beguiling with a single flash of her pearly-white fangs. she was good. except when she was bad. and loathe though she was to admit it, she could still find enough ancient carrow in her to be very, very bad  ...  when she so chose.

badness could very easily be written off as youth, except by those who shared alecto’s youth with her. to them, well, it was her typical carrow tendencies coming out to play. it was her growing tired of the never ending act she’d started years and years ago. it was her doing very reckless things, perhaps unknowingly   ---   or perhaps awaiting the mess she’d leave in her wake. she’d have to fix the mess, of course, and in that fixing would lie the cool reminder that while she looked like any of the rest of them, she would always be a carrow. and carrows are too sharp, too much, and so alecto is, too.

( the secret was she was too much alecto to be anything, really )

vi.

she didn’t even like pureblood society that much; up close, it didn’t glitter like she’d imagined as a child, on the outside looking in.

she resented the idea that she’d have to marry some man eventually, who she likely wouldn’t care about and who likely wouldn’t appreciate her for all that she was. but if she wanted to be more than a wife or mother she knew she’d have to show her hand   ---   reveal that she had a mind for strategy, that she knew a thousand wicked things. sign herself away to the war for a side she doesn’t believe in. it would surprise no one to learn that both action and inaction held steep consequences.

but alecto didn’t want to fight; and in the meantime, no one was asking her to, not really. without her n.e.w.t.s, she was in a limbo. her parents and their ilk suspected how useful she could be, but had no final grades to prove it. it wasn’t worth the embarrassment, bringing a girl to the dark lord with no way of showing she had use. so she took up an easy job at some publishing house in diagon alley, something that required little wandwork. nothing flashy enough to catch the attention of someone who’d ask why she wasn’t putting that wand of hers to use. but something that let her escape her family estate and the stifling meetings conducted there. 

( she attended one here and there, when roped into it; the carrow girl on the sidelines, showing how much loyalty her father inspired in those around him. a less skilled actor than alecto might’ve gagged on the falsehoods and prejudice clouding the air. )

her family continued ignoring her, most of the time; neglecting to see any real usefulness. and there was safety in that   ---   she might yet make it to a disappointing marriage without any blood on her hands.

in a perfect world she could lay down in neutral ground and not move a muscle for either side. not have to enter some loveless future, either. but what would that make of her family loyalty? the last thing she wants is more disappointment from her parents. more proof that she’s never been what they wanted. for all that she despises them, she can’t help but want her parents to love her; and deserting their side of the war will not inspire love. 

this was, of course, no perfect world. alecto was not the sort of girl who lived in happy endings. so while she didn’t want to join the war, had no desire to loan her mind to the death eaters   ---   she knew she would. she would have to. she was a carrow, and so of course she’d join the fight. the plain and simple fact of the matter was that there was no possible path for her that didn’t beat her heart into bloody submission. so that life, that planned future, was better than nothing at all. right? 

vii.

alecto couldn’t be paid to give two shits about blood status. she knew her family fought tooth and nail along with all their peers for the glory and triumph of blood purity   ---   and regrettable as it was to dwell on, it was background noise she would ignore because she could afford to ignore it. just because she could care for, or befriend, a muggleborn with no internal struggle didn’t mean she'd ever actively do anything to help them; not with things as they were now. things had been different in school, and this damned war had ripped that from her too soon. 

she didn’t have much exposure to people of other blood statuses as a child and that’s when she set her heart on winning at life in pureblood circles. sometimes goals like that were hard to let go of. so while her stomach curls at the lack of intelligence she sees as inherit in blood purist ideologies she doesn’t actually  ...  fight the fact that pureblood circles are run on purist ideologies. for as much as she hates being tied to her parents, she’s loyal to the carrow name. if they’re not jumping ship, then she can’t either. she won’t be the only carrow stupid enough to leave.

she’d rather break her heart and throw herself into a cause liable to kill her than become her own person separate from the life she’s wasted years building.

viii.

no one needed to know she hated this; softness was worse than wildness, in alecto’s eyes. her wildness couldn’t be helped, but she’d die before anyone saw her weak. let them see a ruthless game-player with a heart carved from crystalline ice. let them see a wicked woman with a cold interest in the ways people could hurt. let them see a girl, damnably neutral while she still could be, cards always held close to the chest.

hogwarts opened back up and alecto was desperate for the chance to return  ---  and desperately happy that she’d retained her neutrality while outside its walls. damnable it might’ve been, but alecto hardly cared. her family and their pureblood peers could all assume she was on their side; assume that though ( tiny slip of a girl that she was ) she’d never taken up arms, she agreed with them. who the fuck cared? 

she was going back to her one true home, if only for one more year.

she could put off proving those assumptions true for a little while longer. 

she can pretend she won’t prove them true; it’s a kind thing to pretend. but a kind mask is still a mask. and alecto knew masks, could pluck one from her shelves and put it on in her sleep. it was easier, after all, to not think; some part of alecto has always known this, long learned how to turn off her racing thoughts, her conscience, her heart, in order to do what needed to be done. she hated it. but she did it. at least for one more year, she’d be turning off her racing thoughts, and her conscience, and her heart, for kind and selfish reasons. she so seldom did things selfishly, and there were worst last hurrahs. 

sooner or later alecto would give in  ---  in a way that could never be undone. or, perhaps, she’d come to hate feeling her family’s belated pride resting on her head like poisoned laurels. prove even herself wrong and desert them and their pitied crowns.

( she prays for the former and hopes for the latter, with her wicked, traitorous heart. )

[loquaciousquark]

15th August. Saw one whole cloud this morning--watched as it crept right next to the sun, spied me looking up in hope, and dissipated immediately

For as many lackeys as Meredith keeps at her beck and call, I am surely the most ill-suited to the position. Mostly because she despises the sight of me--which most, I feel, would consider a sign of a poor working relationship--and yet here I am, searching out apostates & running messages back and forth like a pet urchin, because my freedom depends entirely upon her sufferance and I am nothing if not craven when it comes to my freedom.

Poor Fenris. Well, he knew my baggage when he signed on. Maker, between the two of us we’re practically a full suite.

I do appreciate his willingness to stand at my shoulder and glower, though. I told him this afternoon that regardless of his history with Anders, should I ever be taken up by the templars, I expected him to put all differences aside to break me out of the Gallows immediately. He laughed, but his eyes were hard when he said he would. Good.

19th August. So steamy after yesterday’s storm Isabela could hardly get all the innuendo out at once

Do you know, journal, when I was a child I used to go out into the field and pretend to be Queen Rowan at the Battle of River Dane, and Carver would be Maric and Bethany would either be Loghain or Queen Rowan’s previously unknown twin sister, Queen Alabaster, who was the same as Queen Rowan only more beautiful, more beloved, and who more often than not kicked both Maric and Rowan to the streets after the battle and ruled Ferelden alone.

I bring this up because this afternoon (which was remarkable in several distinct ways) I managed to not only insult but also physically injure the sovereign king of Ferelden, His Majesty Alistair Theirin, in the presence of his uncle the Bann of Rainesfere Teagan Guerrin.

To be honest, I thought the letter was a joke. Maker knows I get enough of them now--it’s rarer than diamonds to receive a genuine request for aid lately between all the blind offers for my hand and the blinder requests for the sum total of my fortune to be delivered to the docks at midnight in an oiled basket draped with bunting. I thought Bodahn had let it slip through accidentally--and then I walked through the Keep’s doors and saw Meredith arguing with a man in full plate right there in the entry hall, and so preoccupied was I with rolling my eyes straight out of my head that I didn’t realize I recognized his face from all the printed coins Lirene still takes for trade.

Funny. I always thought it would feel different, standing before someone who rules your country--the place you loved, I mean, the place that was home.

He was taller than me, but not by much, with lines around his eyes, and a wider face than the coins suggest. He laughed more often than I should have thought. He knew my name, too, and all evening I have been imagining him and his queen sitting in a blue salon, opening letters with news of my various exploits, marveling at this wonderful refugee who survived the Blight against all odds and yet managed to still steadfastly ruin Ferelden’s reputation all the way across an entire sea.

Anyway. Aveline was infinitely proper-er than I was, of course, which oddly enough I think embarrassed him more than my inability to muster even the minimally appropriate deference due my sovereign lord. Then--just to make sure the Maker was mocking me directly--on the way out I was so busy looking behind me to see if Meredith was watching that I missed Alistair pausing on one of the Keep steps ahead of me, plowed directly into his posterior, knocked both of us off our balance, and clapped our temples so hard together I saw stars.

I will say the last time I saw Aveline so disgusted with me I was drunkenly weeping into her shoulder about the mayfly lifespan of my dog (comparatively speaking). But again, Alistair hardly minded at all, and once we got out of the Keep we managed the four of us to have a wholly reasonable conversation about imported dairy products and the effects of the latest storms on Ferelden’s grain production, which I honestly cared a great deal more about than Meredith anyway. He says the edges of the Wilds are still enough a wasteland they’ve not counted on its stores at all. He didn’t remember any recent news of Lothering itself, but he said a few places have begun to recover and that Lothering might have been one of them, a bit of growing green against all odds. I’d like to see that Chantry rebuilt someday, with the sun turning colors through its glass windows every morning.

My favorite moment came a little later, though, as Teagan was talking about the trouble he’s been having with one of Redcliffe’s apple groves. I looked over his shoulder and saw Fenris on his way back from the Chantry--visiting Sebastian, I think, since it’s the third of the week--so I waved him over and introduced him. He can be so coolly civil when he wants to be, and despite the leer I have yet to successfully suppress as I introduced “my friend,” he gave that crisp Tevinter half-bow to Alistair and nodded to Teagan and slipped right into the conversation about the apples, easy as anything.

Fucking proud of him. Not even enough words for the joy--I’m bursting every time I think of it. Danarius can twist his bloody mincy little words all he likes. No Tevinter slave ever stood so straight and free before a king.

He belonged there. He belonged there, with us. King Alistair honored him and deferred to him more than once as we spoke, and Bann Teagan admired his sword, and Aveline told the story of our trip to Sundermount and the varterral we fought there, and how Fenris tore two of the legs from the thing before Varric & I finished it off. (She knew, I think, how I felt; I kept stumbling over my sentences, preoccupied as I was marveling at Fenris’s wonderful face so near King Alistair’s stubbly one, so to have her slip in as often as she did and cover for my idiocy was dreadfully kind.)

Alistair asked us, in the end, if we’d come back. Serve our country once more, serve the throne. Aveline...didn’t know. And I said

I said

Yes was in my mouth. I could already feel it, could already smell Lothering’s spring fields and the green ivy that grows on the boulders next to the southern lakes and the thick, crisp cut to the air right before it storms, and...

And then I glanced over his shoulder at the way the afternoon sunlight poured down the silks draped through the Chantry square, and I saw the peak of Fenris’s roof over the wall where I first told him I loved him, and I thought of Pelarie’s and Jule’s wedding next week, and the sticky buns Orana’s promised to make for Wicked Grace after and how Sebastian plans to come help her with the glazing, and I--

Well! I couldn’t.

I looked at Fenris, and his eyes softened, just a little, and I said I would be happy to come visit, and I offered my aid should it ever be needed, but that I thought...I thought perhaps my place was here, at least for now.

Alistair’s face changed enough I think he understood my meaning, and he nodded and said to send word should we ever have need of him. He said he knew our road was difficult, but he thought Kirkwall was in the best hands she might be able to get, even if she didn’t know it yet. Generous sentiment, I thought, considering how near I’d been to abandoning her only a scant moment prior, but I appreciated it all the same.

Then Isabela sauntered by on her way to the Blooming Rose and Alistair turned beet-red and all of us learned a great deal more about a brothel in Denerim than I think any of us expected when we woke this morning.

24th August. Rained all morning, heavier storms this afternoon. Da would have called this a gullywasher

I could die a happy doglord if I never had to run another errand for that woman. If I didn’t know how terrified I was of her assistant (and the implications of that assistant), and I didn’t know she knew, and I didn’t know I didn’t know she knew, well--I’d never help her again at all, so there.

That said, my hands are still cold from the last time we went through. Even Aveline winced at Elsa’s “help,” and I can’t remember the last time she was flappable. Regardless, two blood mages are no more and one mage is safely returned to the Circle, and the blood of at least two more innocent lives has poured through my fingers. Poor Evelina. Poor blessed Nyssa. I led her to her death for nothing more than the misfortune of loving the wrong man and trusting the wrong woman to protect her.

Merrill said Nyssa always kept to herself in the alienage. She’s going to take the cloth and ivory from the market stand to Nyssa’s neighbor, an older woman to whom she used to carry stew on cool evenings. She’s to see to the lease and the apartment as well, though she doesn’t know if the landlord will speak to her. For once, it’s because Merrill’s a stranger and no relative, not because of the blood magic or the tendency to traipse in other people’s gardens without permission. I even saw an alienage elf give her a nod of recognition on our way out after Nyssa died, which is practically an embrace for her by now. She’s still pale and too concerned with that contraption of a mirror, but perhaps this is a step in the right direction.

Speaking of directions, there’s word on the winds that Castillon’s floating back into town to claim Isabela’s debt. She’s working on some foolish plan involving the Blooming Rose and a secret trail, and I adore every ridiculous part of it. That woman has more machinations than Varric’s clockwork crossbow.

Damn. I keep thinking about Nyssa’s face when I told her I’d help.

29th August. Stifling. Politically and weatherly, I should say, with the humidity like a wall pressing us down into the cobbles

Sold my soul to get Isabela her ship. Or--if not the whole--at least another little bit of it, as Fenris’s disapproving looks keep telling me every time she starts waxing on about her lovely new beauty. I could have bought her a ship. I could have even paid to have Castillo killed--Maker’s blood, I could have gone and done it myself the moment Isabela was away, but I didn’t, and now he’s free to continue slaving (for now, anyway), and she’s free to take herself off into the horizon the moment the winds call her and tear me apart all over again.

Do you know what the worst part is, journal?

I saw her eyes the moment she stepped on that ship for the first time, knowing her to be hers, every plank and nail and inch of rope, and I’d do it all again for her without a second’s thought.

2nd Kingsway. One orange leaf on the trees in the square before the Chantry today. Don’t make me empty promises, autumn

Jule’s and Pelarie’s wedding today! Jule wore a lovely brown and green dress embroidered in gold thread, and Pelarie wore the same green trimmed in white. I caught a glimpse of her face, right when they met each other at the back of the Chantry to walk towards Mother Natta together, and just for a moment all I could think of was the first time I ever met Pelarie, a tiny thing too young for her taffeta sitting in my parlor, her terrible mother eating Orana’s tea-cakes and smiling at me like she owned me already.

Her mother wasn’t smiling today, but she was there, and Jule’s mother beamed bright enough for both of them anyway. I’d wager she even outshone the little flame they lit in the shared cup afterwards, though now that I think of it, that might have been due to the diamond the size of my fist dangling from her necklace.

Fenris went with me. I’ll refrain from describing my catlike satisfaction at holding his hand (in public even, Bride preserve me), even if it was mostly just between us while we sat in the pews. I never really dreamed of marriage as a girl, preoccupied as I was with keeping the family safe and the mule happy and plowing, but I’d marry him if he wanted. Flames, I’d marry him just to spite Lord Stinton Fucking Forrester, who was also there (poor judgement, Lady Ashbridge!), and whose face pinched so badly when he saw us his mouth practically sucked out the back of his head. A less lofty reason, perhaps, but since Fenris refuses to permit me to shout my affection for him from the Hightown rooftops, I find I must be satisfied with taking his hand in public and watching people I dislike wither on the inside for it.

It helps significantly that he looks like some stern foreign lord in that Tevinter dress tunic and the black trousers that fit him all the way down. Most handsome man in the room, and he didn’t even know it.

Which isn’t to say he didn’t look infinitely better out of them later, though. Ha!

9th Kingsway. There was one whole single breeze today, I swear it

Toby has, I think, become overly familiar with the neighbor’s grey hunting bitch. I told him he was under no circumstances to make any rash decisions, and he licked my nose and ate a metal pie tin in answer, so I may or may not have broken through. We’ll see if any puppies emerge with iron stomachs and a penchant for stealing fowl, I suppose, though I can’t deny they’d be heart-stealingly adorable.

It’s been quiet all week. It makes me uneasy.

14th Kingsway

Marethari’s dead, and Merrill’s shattered the mirror. Fenris was cruel to her after. So was Anders. I lost my temper at both of them and upset Merrill even more in the doing.

Flames and pyre!

I wanted that thing gone, but not like this.

17th Kingsway. Cool

Went back to speak to the Dalish today. I went by myself, which probably wasn’t wise, but Merrill’s lost like a kit in the snow and I didn’t want anyone else’s judgement or catty remarks or -- or over-kindness to get in the way.

Master Ilen says Marethari told no one what she was going to do. Her--First isn’t the right word, I know, because it was different elvhen and Merrill said she hadn’t been replaced yet anyway--some student of hers that she was close to suspected she’d done something foolish. He said the girl followed us up the mountain and came down again when we went into the cave with the idol.

He supposes he’s the elder now, until the clan comes to a choice on who will lead them next. He said they won’t kill Merrill if they see her--bitter thanks to me--but she’s not welcome alone any longer.

I asked if I could take Merrill something from the clan to remember Marethari by. I told him she loved her still and grieves her death. He said they’d left Marethari’s body in the cave where she’d sold herself to save something not worth the selling, and that I was welcome to anything left that hadn’t been taken by birds or the earth. 

I was so angry! So angry, and I told him so, and I told him Merrill loved her clan more than her own life and everything she did was for their sake, and if they were still too stubborn to see it after all this time they might as well be heartless.

He looked at me, and he said that it would be better to die than to have his heart killed in the saving. 

I wanted to pretend I didn’t know what he meant. I wanted to keep my righteous anger for Merrill’s sake, and for all the lost sods in Kirkwall who’ve had their families turn away from them for--for Maker knows why, but...

All I could see was my mother’s face, and the peace in her eyes when she told me not to save her.

I went up the mountain to the cave and took up Marethari’s staff, and then I walked to Merrill’s home in the alienage and knocked at her door. She wouldn’t let me in, so I tucked the staff in against the doorjamb and went to visit Gamlen. Charade was there too, so we played cards and drank until the sun went down and Gamlen started snoring, and then Charade took me home with her on account of me not being fit to walk Lowtown alone in my state.

So says she. A bandit pissed himself at the sight of my face two weeks ago. I didn’t even have to say anything.

She’s laid me out a pallet on her floor and she’s very studiously ignoring my burning down of all her candles, but I think I’m finished with this. As much as I’ll ever be, anyway, until Merrill lets me back in through the cracks.

I remembered to send a note to Orana this time. At least I managed that.

25th Kingsway. Warm again, but in a desperate sort of way, as if the season knows it’s on its way out, finally, Maker

Fenris apologized to Merrill today. He didn’t know I heard him; we were getting ready to go after a band of blood mages that’s been taking young women from Lowtown, and he was down the stairs at the Hanged Man as I was coming out of Varric’s suite. He didn’t quite apologize for the sentiment, but he did for the tone, and the timing, and he said he knew he’d hurt her in the saying and regretted it.

Merrill thanked him, because she’s the most generous person I’ve ever met, and he hemmed and hned and extricated himself from the conversation as quickly (and gracelessly--I knew there had to be something he wasn’t superb at) as he could. By the time I came down the stairs he was standing across the bar at one of the sooty windows, but Merrill was still there, and she saw me, and she smiled as she lifted Marethari’s staff. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were shining.

28th Kingsway. Rained all day in Kirkwall, the puddled streets just about empty of life

The Followers of She have been ousted at last, and all the girls living that they still had captive have been returned to their homes. There was one girl, a little older than the rest (sixteen? seventeen?) who’s a mage & the oldest of five (all girls, Maker preserve that family). She seemed familiar, somehow, but I couldn’t place her. Her name was Gloria. It’s also worth noting that every single woman in her family has the most blazing golden hair, and even the rain couldn’t keep their spirits dampened as she bounded through the door to her home in Lowtown. I must have seen her around Gamlen’s place, I suppose. Maker, it’s such a precious thing when someone can be saved!

There was a demon at the end of it, a corrupted desire named Hanker, and she spoke to me before she died. She said she could see the heart of me and she could give me what I wanted, if I’d spare her, if I’d become a vessel for her power.

I told her I was too prone to breaking crockery as it was, thank you very much, and she’d have to look elsewhere to meet her quota. Then Fenris stabbed her right through the heart from behind, and she turned into embers and purple ash that reeked of rotten eggs.

Varric says he’s going to turn it into a new chapter of Hard in Hightown. I told him if I featured in it at all, I’d hire someone else to write my authoritative biography, and he only laughed and shook his head. I don’t trust him one inch.

2nd Harvestmere. Guess what lucky sod got to get a cape and scarf out of the coat closet this morning

There are things I’ve been discovering lately that I never knew I didn’t know. For instance, I’ve learned that having Fenris’s fingers resting on the side of my neck as we sleep is more important to me than breathing. I’ve learned there’s a very specific way to bother his ears that’ll have him bothering me in an equally excellent way in less than a handful of minutes. I’ve learned that the slightly puffy-eyed glare he gives with one eye when I wake him too early in the morning is more precious to me than a fistful of rubies, even the ones the size of quail eggs Lord Ashbridge wears every Firstday.

I have more scars than he does. The Arishok helped with that, certainly, and it does bother me a bit there’s a stripe along my ribs where I can’t feel his fingers, but the few he does have are marks of worse stories than mine, so I think we still come out more evens than odds.

And yet...

There’s something I’ve noticed, mostly when he’s tired but sometimes when he’s just had a difficult day, or a long one, and I don’t know quite how to say it. It’s almost as if he--craves touch. To be touched, I mean, or to just--just cuddle, if that weren’t wholly the wrong word for it. To--to--sit close and--

Andraste! If even I don’t know what I mean, how can I expect anybody else to understand?

After dinner, in two glasses of whiskey, loose, articulate, devilishly attractive to all who see upon me. Look upon me

What I meant to say earlier is that last night, when we came home from the Coast, after we’d both had (tragically separate, but we were ruined with ichor) baths, and I’d gone to the library, Fenris came in and sat down beside me closer than he ever does usually, and over the course of the next twenty minutes (or thereabouts), via the deep secret signs of sideways glances and a half-opened gesture or two, and my asking, his head ended up directly in my lap.

He trusts me. How terrifying!

His eyes were closed and his hair was damp from the bath, so it was more grey than white, and he was warm and heavy and the lyrium sang as I brushed down his neck. He was wearing no armor, only a soft green shirt and linen trousers for sleeping, and his eyes were closed, and one hand was on his chest and his fingers were curled into the fabric, just a little, and gently, and every now and then as he breathed he’d thumb absently across the seam of his collar.

My heart might have broken every rib in the beating, it hurt so badly.

I have to stop for tonight. I’ve been so caught in the memory it’s taken me half an hour to write even these few lines, and Fenris has turned away from the candles and gone to sleep. His back has pressed up against me, though, and I can feel him breathing, slow & deep as the way the tide pulls at the docks in the evening.

Maker. This whiskey’s stronger than I thought. Lest I berate myself later for maudlinism, I will remind myself that today I kicked Toby in the ribs by accident, nearly smashed one of Fenris’s fingers in a door, and discovered I no longer may eat fish after sundown (indigestion).

There. Humility!

[overly-b]

True Intentions Made Untrue (A Kingsman Fic) - Chapter 1

Hey all! I am so pumped for you guys to read this first chapter! I have been working so hard on perfecting this and I cannot believe that I am posting it now! I cannot say anything other than thamnk you for the love and enjoy! 

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x American Reader 

Summary: Being the daughter of top agents meant that she never had a shot. Until one day, when it seemed that out of the blue, the rules had suddenly changed. But why? How did the rules once so firmly pressed into stone suddenly change? Was it her, was it the agency? Sometimes the truest intentions can turn bitter. 

Just a lil disclaimer, this fic will be hard to follow if you have not seen the Kingsman movies (or at least the first one) spoiler alert if you have not! Also, I am American, so I tend to write things as well as my characters with that point of view so the reader is American.

Please feel free to message me or shoot me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list!

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, a little violence, spoilers if you have not seen the movie

ENJOY! 

“So!” I beam excitedly as soon as the door to the alleged tailor shop closes. “Do we have any ideas on who could be our next candidate?” I question Harry as we begin our walk down the stairs.

“We?” He asks. “Ours?” He continues with an amused tone and a slight smirk on his face. “If I remember correctly, I was told to provide a candidate.” His accent thickens as he explains what is already obvious to the both of us.

“Well yes but” I point my finger upwards to show that I have a valid point. “If I remember correctly” I mock his words. “We are partners, of sorts. I know that officially, I do not have a spot at the table, but I think I do deserve to be a part of this process.” I state my case. “So yes Harry” I shoot him a playful glare. “Do we have any ideas on who our next candidate could be?”

To this, the grown man chuckles.

“At the moment, no. But I feel as if my candidate fails, that I will be frowned upon seeing as my last  was deemed unworthy of being a Kingsman.” Harry frowns. I remember the man mentioned, the one that saved his life. As well as the one that he lost today.

“I’m sorry about Lancelot,” I tell him. I remember meeting him a few times, but seeing as I am not an agent, those meetings were brief. “I know that you two stayed really close.”

“Thank you, darling.” I can tell that he is pushing emotions back into the deepest part of him so I let the patter of our shoes on the pavement fill the space in which our words used to. “I hope you know that I want nothing more than to bring you in as my candidate. Unfortunately, we both know that it is a bit more complicated than that.”

“I know Harry.” I turn my head that was once facing him to the ground so that he could not see the small sense of disappointment on my face if it wasn’t already obvious in my voice. “It’s okay.” I being to shiver as the London air whips against my bare face. Harry notices this and in a fatherly way, wraps his arms around my shoulders. He then pulls me to his side.

“Come on now, let’s get you home before you catch something.”

We enter the house and are met with the warm feeling that only a home can bring. I shrug off my gray trench coat as Harry unbuttons his usual suit jacket.

Although it was by no means late, I felt tired as we reached the dwelling. I tell Harry this and take an early leave to my bedroom. Once I am there, a shower and warm clothing sooth my racing mind for awhile, but as I drift to sleep, my brain continues to spark with past images and current thoughts. All of the talks of new Kingsman candidates have brought up many.

I want nothing more than to be a true Kingsman, but like Harry said, it is much more complicated for me.

I learned about the organization when I was only fifteen years old.

A letter that my parents left in Harry’s possession revealed the truth about my parents and the truth about my destiny. My parents were agents who found each other when it was of utmost importance not to engage in relationships when you are in the secret service. More or less another agent.

But in love they became, and in love, they stayed.

Luckily, no one found out about the forbidden relationship until my mother found herself pregnant. She left the agency after that. As did my father soon after. But they would always be agents. After I was born, my parents confided in Harry, as he and my father had been best friends long before they were drafted. My mother took a liking to him as well. Our small family of three moved back to the states for a while, where we could be with our blood relatives. What a good way to be raised. For a while, it was as if the agency was never a part of my parent’s lives. And to me, how could I have ever known that it was in the first place?

After ten years, my parents decided that it was time to return to their work. We took back to England where I finally met Harry, the best friend from Europe that my parents always told me stories about. He became my family, an uncle of sorts.

Fortunately for my parents, the agency had them both back, but it was not until the next fives years that I would find how different my parents truly were.

My parents died on a mission when I was thirteen.

Due to the fact that Harry was practically family, he took me in, and when the time was right, he gave me my parent’s letter, followed by his own truth.

I did not believe him at first.

How could I?

There was no way that my parents could have been spies. There was no way that they could have kept it from me. There is no way that I did not know my parents as well as I thought I did.

But it was the truth, and there was no denying that. At fifteen, I was acutely aware of an underground ring of secret spies.

My parents dying wish was that I carried on their legacy in becoming a Kingsman. So when I was fifteen, a few days after I had come to terms with my new reality, Harry began to explain the life of a Kingsman, slowly giving me the only information that he could, which was not much. I wanted to be a Kingsman, for my parents, and for myself. But as he has said before, and he will say again – it is a bit more complicated than that.

And it always will be for me. For various reasons.

See, despite the fact that my parents were top agents, they also broke one of the first rules. Relationships are not to be had, especially with another Kingsman. So I am the living proof that my mom and my dad broke the first rule. That was a given. It was difficult to get Arthur to look past even that. Luckily, I turned on some major charm and he took a liking to me soon enough.

The second reason, however, is even more complicated.

To this day, there is only one way that you can take the role of an agent. When one agent passes, there is an opening. Each other member of Kingsman must provide a candidate to possibly fill said position. The candidates will endure trials and tests until all but one is eliminated and the remaining is appointed to his or her new place on the Kingsman table. You cannot simply be born into it. And even now that there is a position open, I already have the information. From Harry as well as the letter from my parents. The small amount of information that I possess is just enough information to be considered useful in the trials. It is because of this that I would have an advantage over the other candidates, deeming the trials unfair.

There is one way and one way only that you can become a Kingsman, and there is no possible way that I can achieve it. It also does not help that there hasn’t even been an opening since near the time that I was born. Harry has vouched for me in every way possible, but the only way that I can prove myself is through the trials.

So, Harry has given as much knowledge as he can about the ways of the Kingman. Which was not much at all. And still, considering that I can never have a chance to endure the proper Kingsman trials, alongside candidates, there is no way for me to earn a spot. Which is rather upsetting to me, considering that the information I hold that it considered so valuable, is barely anything.

These thoughts spin in my head as my conscious slowly becomes a subconscious, and I sleep, but not soundly. Thinking of who Harry’ s candidate will be, and how they most definitely cannot, and will never be me.

I go into the kitchen and find that there is some coffee leftover from the past day. I sigh, pouring the remaining liquid from the machines glass compartment into my favorite mug. I place it in the microwave to heat it and the machine atop the stove whirrs to life. 

Being that it was half past noon, I assumed Harry would be working. So I find Harry’s favorite bottle of scotch and take it from the cabinet. I proceed to stand on my tiptoes to retrieve a glass. The maple brown substance smells rancidly sweet as it travels from the bottle to the glass.

I put the bottle back into the cabinet and stare at the alcohol. Picking it up, the textured material of the glass feels cool on my already cold fingers. I take a sip of the amber liquor, as I have many times before. Still, I find that the alcohol burns my mouth and throat way too much for the taste to be remotely pleasurable. I never really have been a drinker. As I am eighteen and legal to drink, I would still need to wait three more years where I am from. I do not think that this is the reason for my distaste for alcohol. It’s an acquired taste as many says.

I personally just do not enjoy it.

The microwave beeps, signaling that my coffee has now reached the perfect temperature. One minute and thirty-seven seconds. The perfect time to make the drink hot enough to warm me up, but not quite the temperature to burn you. I place the mug next to Harry’s glass on the island and retrieve the cream and sugar, in which I use both in generous amounts. I stir both into the steaming black solution and watch as it turns lighter in color.

My mind wanders to last nights thoughts as I absentmindedly continue to bring the spoon around and around. I snap out of my whirlwind when I lean too far over the table, nearly knocking Harry’s glass over. I blink a few times, shaking the ideas from my head. I breathe out, buzzing my lips and rubbing my hands over my face and through my hair, gently running my nails along my scalp. I snatch the warm mug and textured glass from the table and pad my way to Harry’s office where he sits at his desk. I place the cup alongside his computer while he types.

“Thank you darling” He pauses his work to look up at me and to take his glass in one hand. To this, I give a small smile and an even smaller nod. I turn to exit the room and leave him to his work when he stops me. “Wait, before you go,” I swivel on my sock-clad heels to face him once again, raising my brows to show that I am listening. Do you remember the young boy that I once spoke about, by the name of Eggsy Unwin?”

I search my brain, reaching for the familiar name.

“Isn’t that your trainee’s son?” I remember vaguely Harry telling me this story, once again not being able to disclose too much information. I know that a man died. I know that he did it to save Harry’s life. I know that he had a wife and a young son. That was it.

“Yes, that’s the one.” He confirms. “Seeing that I owed him my life for that day, I gave his son a Kingsman medal. It had a number on it, I told him to dial it if ever he is in trouble. Seems this young man has perfect timing.” He chuckles lightly.

“What do you mean?”

“He found himself ‘up shit creek’ as he put it. He’s at the police station a few blocks down and is calling in his favor.” It is then that I understand that he is saying.

“So you’re thinking that this guy, who is currently sitting in jail could be a decent candidate for a Kingsman?” I furrow my brow in confusion. 

“Well in the time that it took for me to explain this to you, Merlin found this kids records.” I had never met Merlin, only heard the way that Harry spoke highly of him. “Fantastic in school, training to be a military man, and one day it simply stopped. Only recently has he began to have a criminal record.” I see the faith that Harry holds in his eyes.

“So, this is your guy then?”

“Nonsense love” He begins. “This is our guy”

So Harry bails him out, and not but a half an hour later he is standing on the steps of the police station waiting for the boy he calls ‘Eggsy’. 

Although it was most definitely a terrible idea, I watch Harry through his transmission glasses as multiple people walk past him. I was lucky enough to figure out Harry’s computer password awhile ago. 

I nearly stop paying attention when I hear his voice through the microphone.

“Eggsy” Harry’s voice rings. I look up to the computer to find a boy looking to be around my age wearing a puffy black jacket with gray sleeves. A dark blue hat lays atop his head, and I can vaguely see the outline of a Kingman medal hanging around his neck. “Would you like a lift home?”

“Who are you?” His accent differs from Harry’s. It is deeper, thicker, and it has a tone to it that for some reason plants a smile on my face. Even living in England, when you’re American, you can never get used to the accents.

“I’m the man who got you released.” Harry answers.

“That ain’t an answer” He shakes his head.

“A little gratitude would be nice.” Harry muses. “My name is Harry Hart. And I gave you that medal.” You could see Eggsy’s eyes focus in just at those words. “Your father saved my life.” Eggsy’s expression changes even more so. I blow a breath out of my nose. He has no idea what he is about to walk into.

Few words were conserved between the two men as they walked the short distance from the police station to the bar. How conveniently placed. It wasn’t until the two got seated in which they began their important conversation.

“So before you was a tailor was you in the army? Like an officer?”

“Not quite” Harry replies vaguely.

“So where was you posted Iraq or somefin’?” Eggsy throws Harry a sideways smile.

“Sorry, Eggsy, classified.” Harry shoots down the rather excited boy. Classified, something I had gotten used to. However vague Harry’s response, Eggsy’s face remains positive as ever.

“But my dad saved your life yeah?” His head bobs up and down in pride of the man that he barely knew.

“The day your father died, I missed something” Harry goes on explaining the heroic death of Eggsy’s father. Eggsy’s eyes just widen, his lips curled in a seemingly never-ending grin of honor for his fallen father. This somehow makes me happy for him. “But having read your files, I think he’d be bitterly disappointed in the choices you’ve made,” Harry explains. Eggsy’s face turns from a smile to a grimace all within a fraction of a second.

“You can’t talk to me li’ tha’!” Eggsy defends himself, crossing his arms over his chest, closing himself off from the deep conversation that he was involved in just a moment ago.

“Huge I.Q., great performance at primary school.” Harry begins blankly listing. “And it all went tits up. Drugs, petty crime. Never had a job.”

“Aw you think there's a lot of jobs going around here, d’ ya?” Eggsy snaps back, arms still crossed.

“Doesn't explain why you gave up your hobbies. First prize, regional under tens gymnastics, two years in a row. Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material.” I raise my eyebrows from behind the screen.

“Yeah, well, when you grow up with someone like my stepdad you pick up new hobbies pretty quick.” Eggsy nods his head to state his point. I cannot help but wonder what exactly he means by that. I find myself wanting to know more.

“Of course. Always someone else's fault.” Eggsy turns his head, being careful not to look Harry in the eyes.  “Who's to blame for you quitting the Marines?” Harry questions as if he were an interrogator. The light haired boy's neck turns quickly to face Harry. His eyes are wide, unknowing that Harry has all of this information, or how he got it. “You were halfway through training, doing brilliantly, but you gave up.”

“Because my mum went mental. Banging on about losing me as well as my dad.” Eggsy leans forward on the table once more. “Didn't want me being cannon fodder for snobs like you, judging people like me from your ivory towers. With no thought about why we do what we do.” My lips purse tightly together as I listen closely to what the boy has to say. It took me no time at all to figure out that he hasn’t had the easiest life, but his small speech is beginning to make me wonder what has been making it so hard all this time. I’ve gathered that his father died, I understand his mom is not in the best place, which leads me to the stepdad that came up once or twice. I find myself wanting to help him. “We ain't got much choice. You get me? And if we were born with the same silver spoon up our arses, we'd do just as well as you. If not, better.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” A voice belts from just outside my screen view. I watch as Eggsy’s brooding, confident and slightly cocky expression wipe straight off of his face. A slight panic washes over his features. “You taking the piss?”

As Harry turns to face the sudden irruption, I can see his face and it makes me grimace instantly. I recognize the boy in front instantly.

While many girls my age taking college courses like to hang out at coffee shops, mind you I do the same, I spend some of my time sitting at the bar on weeknights, and very occasionally on weekends as well. Not because I like to drink, nor do I scout out men for dating possibilities, but one of my best friends works some night shifts at the bar, and I love to stay and chat with her, seeing as when I am there, the bar is almost always close to empty. 

Though Eggsy seemed to know the people working at the bar pretty well when he walked in with Harry, it was obvious that he was a regular. I must not be around often enough to catch him there. But the slightly older boy that just burst through the doors, him I recognize.

A few months ago is when I saw him first when my friend had just started working at the bar. At first, I found his flirty glances flattering, but sooner they turned creepy. He has hit on me despite me telling him off multiple times, and I’ve never quite gotten him to leave me alone. Eggsy seems to have problems of his own with this boy.

“Some more examples of young men who simply need a silver suppository?” Harry quips.

“Nah, they're exceptions. Come on.” Eggsy rushes, suddenly eager to leave.

“Nonsense. We haven't finished our drinks.” Harry stops him. He obviously knows that Eggsy is trying to run away, but Harry stands his ground.

“After you nicked his car,” One of the men surrounding the youngest boy starts, “Dean says you're fair game. He don't give a shit what your mum says.” The old man grumbles, threatening Eggsy. I am quick to assume the Dean is Eggsy’s stepdad.

“Listen, boys,” Harry begins. The posse of men turns to glare at him with unforgiving eyes. Eyes that say he has crossed some sort of line. “I've had a rather emotional day” I chuckle at Harry’s words. “So whatever your beef with Eggsy is, and I'm sure it's well-founded, I'd appreciate it enormously if you could just leave us in peace until I finish, this lovely pint of Guinness.” Harry’s small monologue creates a wave of confusion as well as amusement within the group. I watch as Eggsy sinches his eyes shut, thinking that Harry is ridiculous and making the situation even worse. In Eggsy’s defense, Harry most definitely is. Although, Eggsy does not know this man at all. He has no idea what Harry is capable of. Eggsy opens his eyes, bringing them upwards to see what the group is thinking. 

“You should get out of the way, Granddad, or you'll get hurt and all.” I laugh at the creepy boy's statement. 

“He ain't joking. You should go.” Eggsy presses him. I laugh even harder at this. Harry looks to Eggsy, setting down his glass and standing up, leaving Eggsy to deal with the mob of testosterone by himself. 

“Excuse me.” He asks politely. The first man in line gestures rudely for Harry to scurry. 

“If you're looking for another rent boy, they're on the corner of Smith Street.” The man who speaks in a low grumble says. I smirk as Harry stops in his tracks. 

“Manners” Harry reaches up to the lock on the top left of the door. “Maketh” Harry follows by sliding the other side shut tightly. “Man.” He finishes, shoving the lock near the handle shut. It closes with a loud click.

“Alright then Harry, let’s go” I mutter the small words of encouragement under my breath. I can almost hear Eggsy sigh in the realization that Harry is not going anywhere. As Harry has not turned away from the door, I can hear the team of men’s feet shuffling as they most likely turn to face the suited elder. “Do you know what that means?” I see Harry glance into a metal sheet with words ‘Guinness’ engraved across the surface. He used this to see the men behind him before he makes his next move. “Then let me teach you a lesson.”

And before anyone says a word, a half-finished mug of beer is sent flying across the room, shattering across the creepers forehead.

“Ooo” I wince. Leaning back in Harry’s desk chair. I grin as Harry defeats each of the large men that come at him with ease. 

Though I know his skills, they never fail to surprise me. I could only hope to be that great one day. I become discouraged in my seat simply at the thought of it, knowing it’s unrealistic.

I observe as Eggsy’s eyes widen with every punch dodged and every blow Harry stops. Harry finishes off by shooting the man behind the bar with an amnesia dart and returns to the table, as casual as ever. Harry takes his beer, sipping the last bit from the bottle and placing it back onto its coster. Eggsy’s eyes search him, looking for any shred of an explanation.

“Sorry about that. I needed to let off some steam. I heard yesterday that a friend of mine died.” Harry looks downwards. “He knew your father too actually” Eggsy stares at the man like he is crazy. In his eyes, it probably looks that way.

Harry stands from his spot once more. “Now I do apologize Eggsy,” Harry explains while adjusting his watch. “I shouldn’t have done this in front of you” Harry makes a final click on his watch, switching it to amnesia.

“No, please! I won't say nuhfin’, I swear!” Eggsy throws his arms up in surrender, seemingly begging for his like. “If there's one thing I can do, it keepin’ my mouth shut.”

“You won’t tell a soul?” Harry asks though it sounds like more a demanding statement. His glasses shift slightly, showing that he was raising an eyebrow.

“Ask the feds, I’ve never grassed anyone up” I scoff lightly at this remark.

“Is that a promise?” Harry presses.

“On my life” Eggsy swiftly replies, putting his hands up even further to show that he means well. I can sense that Harry is glaring into Eggsy’s soul to tell if he is lying or telling the truth. Finally, he puts his watch down.

“Much appreciated Eggsy,” Harry says in the blank tone that he has seemed to hold throughout most of their conversation. Eggsy slowly lowers his arms, wondering if that was it. “You’re right about the snobs, but there too are exceptions.” Harry reaches to place an arm on Eggsy’s shoulder. A friendly gesture he supposes, but I know what it really meant. “Best of luck with everything.”

“Smooth Harry” I mutter as Harry walks out of the quaint bar. I close the computer. “Real smooth.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Harry is sitting in the place where previously resided, looking through more of Eggsy’s files. I find myself in the kitchen again, searching for something to eat when Harry’s speakers blast sound waves through the house. The first thing that I hear is a woman's voice. An extremely worried and panicked women's voice. I briskly walk to the office where I find Harry with a slightly concerned face amongst the noise. After the women’s voice, I hear what I assume to be a punch followed by a loud rumbling as if someone ran into something and knocked it over. The sound of a punch, and screaming in agony.

“Stop it, just stop it!” I hear the voice belonging to the woman again.

“Fuck off!” The feminine tone is overpowered by a man’s shout. “Back away, and shut the fuck up!”

A wave of realization hits my brain and I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand.

“Who was with you in that fucking pub?!” The man hollers.

The stepdad.

“I want to know the name of the geezer you was with!”  

“I wasn't with no one!” I hear Eggsy’s familiar voice cry out, sounding pained and possibly pinned down. Next is the sound of skin slapping skin. Hard.

“Who was it?” The stepdad pushes.

“I don't know what you're on about.” Eggsy stays true to his word, not telling a soul. Another slap.

“Who was it?”

“I don't know who you're fucking on about!” Another slap. 

“Fucking tell me his name!” The man screams.

“I don't know who you're fucking on about!” Eggsy claims, releasing a strangled cry. 

“You listen to me! I want to know who you was with in that pub. Do you understand? I want to know his fucking name!” Another blow followed by a wail. “Because I swear, I'll rip your head off. Tell me!” 

“I don't know what you're fucking on about!” Eggsy repeats. More punches are thrown. 

“Just tell him, Eggsy!” The woman who I assume to be his mother pleads. I then hear that faint sound of an object being picked up, and the light sound of the blade of a knife scraping against a surface. 

“Fuck off!” She shrieks. “Fuck off, Michelle! I could kill you right now…” I feel my breaths getting shaky and uneven.

“Harry!” I yelp. “Are you gonna do something?”

“Now now, be patient” Harry stays steady as a rock.  

“and no one in the whole world will notice!” Eggsy’s stepdad continues. This is when Harry interjects.

“But I would”

The ruckus comes to a halt.

“What?!” The man calls out.

“I have enough evidence on your activities to have you locked up for the rest of your life, Mr. Dean Anthony Baker.” Harry taunts the stepfather.

“What the fuck?”

“So I suggest you leave the boy alone or I shall be forced to deliver it to the proper authorities. Eggsy, meet me at the tailor shop that I told you about” Harry presses a button, turning off his microphone. I hear a faint yell in confusion from the stepfather who I've recently come to know as Dean. Next is the shuffling and the slam of the door before Harry turns off Eggsy’s mic as well. “Grab your things darling, you’re coming with. Arthur said he wished to speak to you.”

I nearly do a double take. Although I know Arthur, and I have met with him several times, he has never wished to speak to me himself.  

“Uh,” I stutter. “Okay” I bring my lips into my mouth, biting them between my teeth. I flee to my room to grab my phone off of the charger and to check my appearance quickly. I run downstairs to slip on my shoes and jacket just as Harry takes outside. I follow suit. We make our way to the tailor shop, still hugging our coats to our bodies.

The bell rings as we enter the shop. I stand for a minute while Harry looks at me, then gesturing to the back room where I know Arthur is waiting.

“He wants to speak to you darling, not me. You know where he is”

I cinch my lips to one side, knowing that he is right. I shift directions, so I am now facing the small stairway that leads to the Kingsman back room. I let out a breath through my mouth before forcing my feet to move from under me.

“Arthur,” I step into the enclosed room where the elderly man is seated at the head of the table reading a file. “Harry said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Ah, yes darling. Come on in” He waves me in, referring to the stationary position I am in near the entrance of the room. I take large strides, keeping my hands clasped together behind me. “Take a seat.”

I do as I am told, putting out a rather large chair from the table just aside where Arthur sits at the head. My hands clasp onto each other again, this time in front of me on the table.

“I’ve decided that I want you to be my candidate to fill Lancelot’s position.” He says. My eyes widen, and I try my hardest not to let my other facial features change too much. I think I may have failed, due to the fact that the elderly man begins to chuckle at my expression. I gather my thoughts for a moment before I begin to speak.

“Sorry sir, but I thought that was impossible for me” My hands open as I state my confusion. “Given my position. I also didn’t think that as head, you were supposed to provide a candidate.” I nearly stumble over my words, and then nearly celebrate for not doing so. 

“Well, at first, yes, this would be quite impossible but, as the times have changed, as have you, I want you as my candidate. You have what it takes to become an agent” The man states. A breath of exasperated air leaves my nose in disbelief of the situation. “The small amount of information that you hold would not put you to any advantage. I feel that what you know is about the same amount as any other candidate when they are told what they are in for.” Arthur discloses his monologue and I still staring at the man. I am left speechless. Word try to leave my lips but all that happens is my mouth opens and then closes, a smile etched into it. “Interested?”

“Yes!” I blurt. The first words to leave me in what seems like forever. I compose myself as he chuckles lightly again. “I mean, yes sir. I would love nothing more”

“Splendid. Although I do have to tell you,” Arthur begins. “This will be your only chance to become a Kingsman, just like any other candidate”

To this, a small ‘oh’ leaves my throat and I nod my head slowly.

“You will be just as other candidates are, no second chances after this” My tongue protrudes out of my lips as I lick them, still nodding, looking at the table rather than Arthur. I let out a small breath before whipping my head to face Arthur before I can talk myself out of what I am about to do.

“Understood sir,” I say with a false confidence that I hope covered up my lack or nerve.

“Perfect. I shall give you a moment to say your goodbyes to Harry, and then we shall be off” He stands slowly. I nod quickly before swiftly taking more long strides out of the room. The large closed mouth smiles not leaving my face, because though I am nervous, I now have a chance.

“Harry!” My enthusiasm bursts out of me as I jump in front of the man sitting and holding a new glass of alcohol. “Arthur wants me to be his candidate! I have a shot!” My voice reaches a high pitch as I grin ear to ear.

“Darling” Harry sits up, walking to me. “That’s fantastic!” He embraces me in a hug and we stand for a moment. We are soon interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

We release from each other’s arms to find Arthur waiting for me. Harry firmly grabs my shoulders, looking me in the eye.

“Alright, you listen to me. I know that you have what it takes, but so may every single person in that room�� He begins. “I know that you try hard in everything that you do but in this, you must try your hardest. Do it for your parents, but most importantly, do this for you”

I quickly blink away my tears as the father like figure gives his advice.

“Jesus Harry leave some for your candidate” A small rumble of sad-happy laughter shakes my shoulders. I almost say Eggsy, but I technically am not supposed to know who Harry has appointed. I realize now that I am going to meet him soon. I almost grin even wider at the thought.

“Well,” Harry starts. “It’s definitely going to be a competition in who I route for now” He humors. I scoff in another laugh. “I love you Y/N”

“I love you too Harry” The tears cloud my vision again but I refuse to let any fall.

“Go make me proud” He kisses the top of my head and sends me off to Arthur.

Oh my god. 

// next chapter>

Taglist: @simplechicwithacrazedheart @mylifeinablogggg @bohemianrhapsody86

[044-eu]

It was better when it was getting worse

My home boiler, the one that produces hot water and heating, has broken down. It takes several days to fix it or change it, it's an old model, outdoor and recessed. They say they don't do that anymore. That's not why I write, though. All this made me think back to my childhood, when these things weren't there. Yet it is not so much time ago, but looking back today, in the light of all the technologies we have, it seems average evo. I was born in a small country village, typical peasant village, near the city. But I remember when I was little there was no water supply, so we didn't have water in the house. There were wells where with buckets we would go several times a day to get the water we needed for everything from personal hygiene to cooking. To do the laundry, no washing machine, but the public sketches where all the women in the country went to wash their clothes. Now on second thought, it really feels like that was a hard life. And maybe on the one hand it was because we didn't even have the toilets, as we did today with the toilet, the bidet, the sink and the bathtub., but small stools with a hole and newspaper instead of toilet paper that still in the countryside not yet in the countryside does not she was known. When they finally brought the water supply into the country, my father was one of the first to take a bath as we understand it today. I still remember several families coming to see him. Yes, life was more difficult than it was today. Today we have so many appliances that do so many things that only 50 years ago a woman had to do without any help. And even then women worked, they weren't just housewives, maybe not all of them, but most did. If you didn't have a real job in the countryside you would work, in the garden, in the fields, or with small knits, crochet or embroidery. But it was the people who were different. Very different from what it is today. I can only talk about country life, I've never lived in the city and maybe in the city people weren't like in the countryside. In the countryside we all knew each other and there were a lot of things we shared. The houses were open to everyone, we children went from one house to another without the need for invitations, and so was the case for adults. I remember when in the small village where I was born came the first television set. The radio can be said that everyone had it, but television was really great news, even though we all knew what it was, updated by the citizens where it had come a little earlier. The home of the lucky owner of the first television set became everyone's home. The boys would meet there at 5:00 when the boys' tivu started. Adults the evening after dinner to see a movie or a show or even just the news. And this lasted until someone else could buy a TV set, but in this family's home, we were all welcome. The summer after dinner we would sit in the hall with lounge chairs and the adults would chat about the plus and minus and we guys played with the sheaves of wheat or hide-and-seek. And almost every night someone brought watermelon that we shared among us all. The winter always after dinner the whole family moved to another house in turn and we sat around the fire (everyone had a wood-burning stove or a fireplace then) to eat frugiate and adults to drink hot wine flavored with cloves and cinnamon. And even then you brought something, a piece of focaccia, a fruit, or cookies. I loved those evenings because my grandparents always told us pretty scary stories, but we were constantly asking to tell each other. There were also other occasions when the whole small community would come together. For example, on the 15th of August the stream that passed near our houses, was diverted to take many minnows that were then fried and eaten by everyone on tables put in the yard with benches. Another time the water was diverted from the gora that brought water to the mill and the men pulled out many beautiful eels, which were cooked and eaten all together. Being a peasant context, life was marked by the seasons. There was the period of sowing, harvesting, gardening, beating wheat, harvesting, etc. For small children like I was, all periods were really exciting. But the most exciting ever was the day of the wheat beating. There came this huge machine that divided the grains from the rest. The grains of wheat ended up in jute bales and then brought to the mill. The rest was straw and was stored in barns to serve as a meal for farm animals or work in winter. In the morning we would wake up from the rhythmic noise of this car, which was very loud and dressed at the least worst and without even having breakfast we ran in the wing to see the car, that monstrosity that a little scared us, a little fascinated. And the day went on like this with the nearby farmers coming to help, carrying old people and children. Around noon in the corner of the aisle was set on makeshift tables and they ate all together, the pasta with meat sauce and the meat on the grill with mountains of vegetables and roast potatoes. It was a really nice party that ended in the evening with a dinner always on the wing and a vigil until late. Even we children on that occasion were allowed to stay up late and we had fun hunting fireflies that once we got home we put under a glass and in the morning instead of the fireflies we found some money. Another beautiful day was the harvest. On this occasion too, the farmers who were close to them came to help, as we did in our turn. So we left the house with a nice wicker basket and a pair of scissors. We'd go into a row and fill the basket with bunches of grapes. Meanwhile, the cart came with the net carried by two oxen and every time we had the basket full we would go to the net and empty it inside. Always at noon we ate in the aia all together and once the harvest was over, we small children put us in the barefoot to pick up the grapes. It was so much fun. This was also a party that lasted all day and the next day you would go to some neighbor and start all over again. We got to the olive harvest, but this wasn't one of my favorite times. Usually you start to collect olives in November and at that time when it is not raining it is cold. I remember the hands going into it after a while. When we came home, we rushed to the stove to warm us up. But then began the beauty of this period. We would all go around a table where the olives were put a little at a time and you had to remove all the leaves and the olive pigeons. Back then, grandparents would tell us stories we listened to kidnapped even though we already knew them, but we'd never get tired of hearing them. Winter is a pretty sad season in the countryside. It gets dark early, it rains and forces us guys to stay in the house. The good thing is that in the countryside the houses were often very big and we kids and teens always had a room where we could bring our toys and play all together, after doing schoolwork and until dinner time. Rooms usually cold, there was no heating then. In the kitchen there was a wood-burning stove that served both for heating and cooking. In the good living room there was the fireplace, which was lit only a few times a year, usually for the Christmas holidays. In other parts of the house there was nothing. But we guys didn't care, we just needed to be able to play. All these memories belong to the late 50s early 60s. But already a few years later everything started to change. The arrival of the water network, the first appliances, the phone, which slowly spread to all the houses and we kids who once finished elementary school that were in the village, we started middle school in the city where everything was a little different , in some ways very different. Some things for some years have remained the same. The harvest, the beating of the wheat, the village festivals, and the people who helped each other, the vigils and friendships, then slowly everything began to change and people began to make more life each on their own. The old people who were the ones who carried on the old traditions, began to fail and the children did not renew those traditions. With the arrival of the cars we moved even further away from each other. And even though we still make some friends from when we were little, we are increasingly rarely caught up in the hectic life we are forced to live today. And it's strange to think that all the technology that helps us do so many things and therefore we should have more time to devote to ourselves and others, instead helps us to isolate ourselves more and more. Even close relatives, uncles, aunts and cousins that we once frequented very often, now we see each other only at some wedding or baptism or funeral. And every time we look at each other and say, "we have to meet together as we used to be," but who knows why we don't. Everyone goes back to his life, to his problems and as the old ones die, who are the ones who still act as glue in families, we begin to miss some marriage, some baptism and maybe we are only at some funeral. And we discover children of cousins that we did not know, families that formed without us knowing something and when we find ourselves like this always takes a little sadness and desire to rethink what life was like so many years ago and maybe tell it to young people, because to me it seems that and today's young people are missing something. Something that we had in abundance and that we now really miss, the desire to be together, to help us, to support us, to enjoy beautiful things together and to console each other for bad things. So you think that you're not doing anything to bring that way of life back, you find a thousand justifications, that people are selfish and can't think that to themselves. But deep down, we're used to looking only in our garden and getting rid of our neighbor's. Read the full article

[number-one-supernatural-trash]

A Chupacabra Christmas

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,135

Warnings: None that I could think of, but it hasn’t been beta’d.

Summary: The holiday are all fun and games until something sucks the life out of it.

Author’s Note: I’d love some feedback! I hope I did this challenge some justice. @sisterhoodofsam

The hunts are all the same, a monster we’ve heard of as a tale as a child but when one monster came up it was too close to home. But before this let’s start at the beginning.

“Good morning beautiful,” Sam rolls over and whispers into your ear while he wraps his arm around you.

“No,” you say as he tries wake you up.

“Come on we have to get to your family’s house for Christmas,” he persuades you.

“Fine,” you roll over to face him “Good Morning you annoyingly handsome boyfriend,” he chuckles lightly.

You sit there for a minute to see if he’ll not notice you going back to sleep slowly. Sam grabs your legs, pull you off the bed and slings you over his shoulders.

“I was getting there,” you tell him.

“Yeah, sure you were,” he rolls his eyes and brings you to the kitchen where breakfast has been made.

Dean looks up to see Sam carrying you in and shakes his head. It was everyday that you never wanted to get out of bed. The bed was your favorite place for two reasons. Sleep and … I think you can figure out the other one. He places you on the chair with your favorites in front of you. Hot cocoa goes just right with the cold weather. Along with the waffles and bacon to balance your taste buds. It was perfect and the right way to get you to wake up, if he would have fed you bacon you would gotten up earlier.

“Goodmorning sunshine,” Dean smiles to mock you.

“Yeah yeah good morning,” you say.

“When are you ever going to wake up willingly?” He asked.

“When we aren’t waking up at 8 am,” you complain. Sam walks back to you and he puts his arm around you. You guys talk about the upcoming event at your family’s house. For the week you guys are going to sleep over your grandmothers and ride with them to your cousin’s house for a Christmas party. It’s been a tradition for years, it’s Sam’s second time coming and Dean’s first time coming. You were very worried to let Dean come along because as an attractive person you are already, it runs in the genes. The bags are packed, everyone is ready and you’re on your way. As another tradition you guys stop at 7/11 to get a slurpee and a bag of chips. Every time you drove over to your grandparents your mom would make a stop to the 7/11 and you made sure to keep it even when you weren’t with her. There was no lie that you were excited, it was Christmas after all. The gifts you bought for everyone was meaningful and things they actually needed. It might just be a good Christmas after all.

“Okay so can I hit on at least one cousin?” Dean pleads.

“The only person you can hit on is my great grandmother and that’s the end of it.” You tell him. The whole car ride has been you and him going back and forth. You swear that you’re the older one.

“Am I going to have to put someone on time out?” Sam says in a dad tone. Everyone chuckles and Dean pulls into 7/11. “Wait y/n we can’t get anything more than a slurpee and chips?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, that’s how we used to do it. It doesn’t fill you up but it gives a little boost. And Sam I know you’re not a junk food person so you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You tell him

“There wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t. I think I’ll use this week as a cheat day.” He gives you a wink. Everyone splits up to get their item of choosing. You start at the slurpee machine.

“You’re such a little weirdo, can’t you just drink one flavor. Does it even taste good mixing all of them together?” Sam mockingly criticizes you while he waits for you to finish.

“That’s boring, it does taste really good mixed. You should try it.” You take his cup and push down an equal amount of each flavor.

“Trust me you’re going to love it.” You smile up to him.

“And you would feel bad for wasting this so you have no choice anyways.” You add and he laughs. You all meet at the register and Dean pays. At the car you guys jump in and continue to go on your way. After you finished your chips you fell asleep.

“I’m not going to lie, but this isn’t so bad. Don’t tell y/n that I said that.” Sam finishes his drink and points at Dean. You guys pull up to your grandparents drive way. At that exact moment you woke up. Your grandparents walk outside to help you with your bags. They cover you all in kisses and hugs. This was the easy part. Your grandparents already met and love Sam and Dean. Your mom comes out and hugs you.

“How was the ride?” She asks.

“Pretty good, I don’t think we hit traffic but you would have to ask the people who actually stayed up.” You tell her. She greets Sam and Dean and everyone sits around the tree. Sam snakes his arm around your waste and Dean pops open a beer with your grandfather. You clear the table and get it ready for dinner. Dean helps pull out the table and gather the place mats. In the room over your mom is showing Sam the small photo album from when you were little.

“Sam wasn’t she just the cutest when she was a baby?” Your mom smiles at the pictures.

“Absolutely adorable, is there a duplicate of this album? I would love to bring it back with us.” Sam grins.

“All right that is enough of that.” You pop in and drag everyone into the kitchen. You all gather around the table and say grace. Then you all dig in, eating until your heart is content. After that you all watch a little television until you’re ready to go to bed. Tomorrow you all have to get ready for the Christmas Eve party where most of your family will be getting used to Sam and introduced to Dean. It was going to be one hell of a night.

You wake up with an empty space next to you. You’re the last one to wake up, per usual. The smell of bacon swims through the air and you quickly get up. Everyone is sitting at the breakfast table. You take a seat next to Sam and he pulls in you close.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I think I found something.” he whispers in his ear.

“I wished it was something sexy but I’m guessing it’s a case.” you turn to him and say through your smile. You look at Dean and tilt your head towards the spare bedroom. “May we be excused?” you say to your family as you grab Sam’s hand and Dean follows behind. You lock the door behind you looking very irritated. They knew all you wanted was a good time with your family. Now someone is in trouble and you have to help them.

“Babe please don’t be upset but I was just watching the news with your family and they put everything together for us. It seems like a something big is happening.” Sam rambles.

“I’m not upset, I’m just disappointed. All I wanted was to enjoy Christmas with my whole family together.” You sit on the couch. Dean sits behinds you and puts a hand on your knee. Just like that your best friend makes you feel better.

“So what’s the case?” Dean asks.

“Well in Puerto Rico there is a weird thing happening to the goats and -.” Sam gets interrupted by your grandma.

“Chupacabra.” She says. Your grandmother continues to tell them about the history. The tales when she was told when she was younger were coming true. In Puerto Rico they used the story to scare children. But now there were reports of missing livestocks, especially lots of goats. You remember the tale by heart as it was installed into your head since you were a kid. Never did you think that one would be real. There was never an actual description of the beast so you believed it was just a story. Now this was going to be an interesting hunt.

“Wait grandma, you knew?” You asked her.

“Of course I knew, there is nothing you can hide from me dear. Your biological grandfather used dabble in hunting in the old days.” She says. You chuckle at the fact that it is true, she always knows everything. You ask her to cover for you guys and to call your relatives in Puerto Rico. They have no problem providing a place for you all to stay for a couple of days. You pack your things and sneak out of the house hoping to be back before Christmas. After lots of alcohol to get Dean to quiet on the plane and a few hours you arrive in Coamo, Puerto Rico, your home town. It was great to be back in a place where everyone knows and loves you. You walk into your great-aunt’s house. She greets you with a hug and takes all of your luggage. Sam bends over to hug your short aunt and you giggle at the sight. You guys walk into the room she set up for you guys.

“Okay so since I know this town like the back fo my hand I’m pretty sure this thing is hiding in the well at the farm house. So I say let’s kill this thing.” You jump at the opportunity.

“Only problem is that we couldn’t bring any of our weapons on the plane.” Dean points out.

“Actually I might know a guy.” Sam chips in. You look at him surprisingly. How would he know anyone in Puerto Rico to help? You take your uncle’s motorcycle and drive to the mysterious man. Once you get there you see a tan skinned old man with gray hair sitting in a rocking chair. He looks so familiar but you can’t put your finger on it. Then he spots you and smiles. He pulls you into a hug and says, “It’s about time.”

“Do I know you?” You ask confusingly.

“I thought you would be able to recognize me, but yeah maybe you got my personality genes instead.” He jokes.

“Grandpa? How do I- Sam when did you- I’m so confused.” You sit down.

“I was going to save this surprise for later but since we needed his help I figured we could do a little catching up now.” Sam says. You jump into his arms and kiss him softly. Then you mouth him a thank you as your real grandfather drags you guys inside. Dean catches him up on the case and helps you get the weapon you need, the shuriken. With one throw it cuts you into a million pieces, there was only one so it had to be used very carefully. As a another surprise they told you to stay behind on the hunt to get to know him better. Usually you wouldn’t allow this but after all of these years, you wanted to learn everything about him.

“You better come back to me in one piece.” You tell Sam and passionately kiss him. 
"Always, I’m not sure about this one though.“ He tilts his head towards Dean.

“Hey, don’t worry sweetheart you won’t be able to get rid of me that quickly.” He winks. You give him a hug and they go off on their way. Your grandfather fills you in on everything you have missed in his life since you were born. He tells you why your grandmother told you he was dead, of course it was a cliche of trying to protect us but now your life is never protected. You’ll always be in danger and now you want to have him in your life. You go on until he gets tired and it’s ready for bed. You say good bye for now and go back to your aunt’s house. Deciding to sit outside for a while you send out a prayer of hope. You know that Cas must be listening because you feel a flow of happiness run over you and you know everything is going to be alright.

“I think it’s a little too late for a beautiful lady like you to be outside.” Sam sneaks up behind you. You wrap your arms around him and he takes you upstairs where he sucked the life out of you.

[flirting-with-psychology]

Have you ever gotten a flu vaccination? Yes

Do you know anyone who drives a BMW? My uncle maybe?? Idk I don’t pay attention

Honestly, do you give a shit? Yes

When’s the last time you hugged your mother? Earlier today

What’s the last restaurant you ate at? IHOP?

Double dates: a do or don’t? I’d like to try it at some point

Do you know any guitarists? Yes

Quick, name 3 of your favorite radio stations: I don’t listen to the radio

How do you feel about full length beards? I don’t find them attractive

Have you ever been to a circus? Yes

Do you know anyone who’s gone to a Fat Camp? No

Are you straight-edge? Semi

Do you use Facebook IM everyday? Pretty often

How many surveys have you done already today? 1 or 2

What’s the WORST show on Adult Swim? I don’t watch it

Do you have any relatives that have shunned you, or vice versa? Not really

Has anyone ever posted a HORRIBLE picture of you for everyone to see? Probably

Which grade in school was the most fun for you? 2nd or 5th

Which would you rather have, a new puppy or kitten? Kitten

Does drama seem to follow you everywhere you go? No, I have to seek it out otherwise nothing ever happens

Do you ever just want to go away to a new place where no one knows you? Sometimes

You’re ordering a pizza, you can have any kind of toppings, what are they? Pineapple and extra cheeses

Do you hit ‘quiet’ or ‘ignore’ on your cell? Which one usually? Ignore

Do you ever regret giving your number to people? Occasionally

Have you ever been told that you’re afraid of your own shadow? No

Have you ever tried Gouda cheese? Not sure

Does/did your high school have pop machines? I think so

Do you use a public computer, or do you have your own? I have my own

Do you ever find it odd how you type LOL when you’re not really laughing? No. But I find it odd that my phone has been correcting Lol to lol at the beginning of a sentence and I don’t know how to fix it

Have you ever gambled? Yes

Do you know anyone who’s won the lottery? No

If you could work at any retail store, which one would it be? Michael’s

What’s the shortest you would ever cut your hair? A bob

Do you listen to any deathcore? No

Do you subscribe to any teen magazines? Which ones? Not anymore

Do you know someone who never smiles? Probably

Has anyone ever made you feel uncomfortable at work? Yes, but not sexually, more just that they were intimidating and I was afraid to mess up around them

Do you still watch South Park? I never did

Tell me one movie you’ve seen recently that sucked: There was one awhile back about some lady trying to crash her high school crush’s wedding

Have you ever carved something into a dinner booth somewhere? No

When’s the last time you were carded at a bar? Last month sometime

Do you smoke little cigars? Have you ever tried them? No

You’re babysitting, what do you expect per hour for pay? Minimum wage

What’s the last thing you returned at a store? Pillows

What’s the name of the last cat you pet? Topaz

Do you still look at clouds and make shapes of them? Only if one strikes me

If you had to dye your hair for one year, what color would you pick? Red

Who’s got your heart? Cadence

[toomanysurveys9]

do you ever do these surveys with your SO? no. he thinks i’m dumb for doing these.

have you ever totally lied or made up ridiculous answers for surveys? no. i have no reason to lie. i do these to be honest.

do animal furs upset you? they’re not my favorite thing...

who picks the music when you’re riding in the car?

i do sometimes. but usually it’s my mom or sisters, or jacob.

do you have a waste basket in your car?

nope.

what’s the Spanish name for your favourite food? i don’t know what my favorite food is...

do you know anyone who regularly uses a bike for transportation? nope.

do you consider audio books not really reading? i mean.. it’s more listening... but there’s nothing wrong with listening.

strangest thing you’ve ever put in the trunk of a car? i can’t think of anything strange.

do you carry matches or a lighter? i do not. no reason.

do you keep socks with a hole in them if they are your favorites? nope. they go in the trash. wearing socks with holes are so uncomfortable.

have you ever mended clothing? i have not.

last time you wore clothes that were too small on you? i don’t know. i generally don’t wear clothing that is too small.

have you ever frightened someone on purpose. not as a tease but to seriously scare them? no.

what’s the most shocking thing you’ve ever found out about someone that you know personally? my uncle wants to get a sex change. but he’s still going by “he” right now because very, very few people know about it.

have you ever had something taken away from you by airport security? nope.

what’s the last wild animal you have seen? we have wild cats all over.

something you were surprised to learn about your parent’s childhood? when i first heard about all the sexual abuse my mom went through.. and then finding out my dad was molested once by his uncle.. there’s actually quite a few family members who were abused..

do you store any non food items in the fridge? nope.

have you ever told a friend you thought their parent was hot? nope. that’d be weird.

what was the last thing you bought from a gumball machine? i don’t remember. probably some little hard candies. i don’t know.

how long ago was that? i don’t remember. have you ever destroyed another person’s belongings out of anger? i have not.

plain band aids or fun ones? plain. fun  ones don’t stay on very well.

which pain killer do you use? tylenol. it’s the only one i can right now.

have you ever used someone else’s Rx med? no i have not.

have you ever borrowed underwear from a friend? no. that’d be too weird.

would you like to be part of a wedding party? it’d be way too... much.. in most instances.

last pair of shoes you threw out and why? i don’t remember.

have you ever thrown anything up to hang on the power/phone lines? nope.

have your parents asked you to explain a term and you lied because it was inappropriate? not that i can recall.

have you ever really stayed up all night to do homework? yeah. i did that a lot because i am a horrible person who procrastinates.

last thing you couldn’t find because you put it someplace safe and forgot where you put it? i don’t remember.

have you ever had anything stolen from you? yup. cds, books, all sorts of things.

have you had your house broken into? no.

if you could make up one rule for all your friends, what would it be? even if i don’t talk to you, feel free to text me.

do you pay attention to people’s posture? not really.

do you have a creepy uncle, or have a friend who has one? not uncle, but other family members.

alarm clock, or do you use your phone? phone.

have you ever backed into a cactus? ouch! nope.

do any of your relatives not have home internet? probably. i don’t know. i don’t talk to many of my relatives.

when you get the munchies, do you want sweet or salty? depends on the day. lately sweet, but i think i know why.

something you taught yourself how to do? i don’t know...