#and a proper burial with all family members present

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Instead of coming back as a crime lord, Jason pretends to be a vengeful revenant, haunting Gotham criminals and the batfamily.

This has… consequences.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

Death and Funerals

"Although many Catholics were willing to leave the church for the sake of fraternal bonds, their efforts to combine the two pointed to the importance of their faith and a very real fear of dying without priestly absolution. In the mines and other workplaces, sudden death was an ever-present danger. Even nominally Protestant men who absented themselves from church except for an occasional fraternal parade sought its rituals when they died. Most wanted a minister to officiate at their funerals. Bishop Hills of Victoria grumbled in his diary about the frequency with which he was asked to officiate at the burials of people of “doubtful morals” who had never attended church. In February 1890, he recorded that

today was the funeral at the Cathedral of a Mr. Roller, a German keeper of a Theatre of not good reputation. It is difficult to refuse these applications for Burial Rites over those who not only have never belonged to us but are of a disreputable character. There was a large attendance of a class of persons who are never seen in a place of worship.

Reverend Grice-Hutchinson was also asked to bury men who had never attended his services. The Slavic Catholic layman who asked Bishop Dontenwill to send a Slavic priest to Fernie remarked that less than a third of his compatriots normally attended church but that at funerals you may “see church crowded with Slavonians up to door.” In 1895, the Anglican bishop of New Westminster was asked to bury a miner near New Denver and recorded that his workmates

seemed grateful out of all proportion to the service I had done, but I understood it. However reckless their lives, they hate the idea of being buried ‘like a dog.’

A small minority, generally the most committed atheists, left directions that no “sky pilots,” a slang term for ministers, were to officiate at their funerals. Other non-Christians were equally clear, such as the ex-mayor of Victoria, a spiritualist, who instructed that “no other Service should be said over his body but the form used by the Odd Fellows.” Most people who barred ministers from their funerals had no desire to be buried “like a dog.” Some were interred with due ceremony by the local fraternal order to which they belonged, and some received the “obsequies” delivered by a miners’ union, which was involved in many Kootenay funerals. However, even these funerals often had one or more local clergymen officiating. An examination of three Kootenay newspapers reveals that a minister presided at most funerals in these communities. In some cases, this may have reflected the wishes of the more pious spouses, mothers, or other relatives of the deceased, but given the large number of BC men whose families lived elsewhere, it seems likely that, except for committed atheists, they tacitly accepted the value and legitimacy of having a minister preside at their funeral. Particularly in the Kootenays, most of these men would not have been church members, and many probably never went to church. John Houston is a quintessential example: though he spent his career criticizing Christianity and meddling moralistic churchmen, he was buried by a Presbyterian minister. Clearly, churchgoing was not part of their sense of manhood. Churchgoers could be everything that manly men were not: feminine; craven hypocrites who supported oppressive employers; effete easterners who attacked working men’s right to their few enjoyments and who worried more about saving the souls of Asian immigrants than about preventing them from stealing the jobs of white workers. However, it seems that for most, some basic elements of Christianity itself were not antithetical to their sense of masculinity. Christian hymns could provide an emotional link to faraway families, and practical Christianity could serve as the moral basis for relationships in homosocial culture. And for the majority, receiving a proper Christian burial was integral to a sense of decent manhood, or indeed of their very humanity. The fact that the funeral could end with a “drunken orgy,” as more than one appalled minister testified, made perfect sense among working-class men in British Columbia."

- Lynne Marks, Infidels and the Damn Churches: Irreligion and Religion in Settler British Columbia. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2017. p. 96-98.

Image is taken from the book, captioned: Funeral at Atlin, 1899, probably held near a mining or logging camp. Note the absence of women | BC Archives, D-01507

[nirvanaklcare]

Importance of Proper Care and Arrangements in Chinese Funeral

To Start With 

Giving a final farewell to a loved one is considered very important to people of every country and every community of the world. Of course, China is no exception to this. The country is as large in size and is home to many different religious communities. But cremation is very significant for people of every religion. It goes without saying that every group of people has different types of rituals and they follow these rules very carefully. 

People of China have been doing this kind of activity since ancient times and it is not different even today. So today we will discuss why it is a belief among the people of the country that it is very important to arrange a Chinese Funeral Malaysia properly and carefully.

Significance of Proper Arrangements in Chinese Funeral

There are many beliefs, ancient ideas and rituals associated with cremation and funeral. Saying goodbye to their lost loved ones is sure to be very important to the many Chinese communities in the country of Malaysia. This matter is so emotional to them that they are very careful to make adequate arrangements for it and are not willing to make any small mistake. 

Why are they so worried about it? Why are they so concerned about this? You will get the answers to these questions right away if you read the following points carefully. You may surely check these prongs long with searching for the Nirvana Burial Plot Price.

To express that you are missing your dear one

It is true that we are all deeply saddened when a loved one passes away. At this time we keep thinking again and again that some of our actions have given that person happiness and for some actions he has suffered in his lifetime. To ensure some kind of peace of mind we try to re-do the things that used to make that person happy. We do all these things because we miss that person so much. Naturally, this is the time when we organize his last rites.

To make the soul happy 

Due to busy schedule in present day life we cannot give much time to all our family members especially elderly members. But when they pass away we continue to suffer like this if we could have given him a little more time and done more for him. Even if you have done your duty well, it is very normal to develop this kind of mentality because you have just lost a loved one. 

So in this sad atmosphere a thought starts working in your mind. You always want to make the dead person's soul happy. That is why you perform every Chinese Funeral Malaysia ritual and work that is suggested by the religious worshipers very well.

It is important for the family

At the beginning of the discussion we said that cremation is a very important matter for people of every religion and every community. There are numerous rituals and rules associated with this matter. Generally people are very religious and they do not show any reluctance in any religious activities. When a person dies, his family is bereaved and he has to follow certain rules even in this environment. 

As such rules have been observed for centuries, they have become customs and become closely associated with human emotions and religious beliefs. So everyone believes that doing such things is very significant especially for all the family members. This is one of the major reasons why you are so quick to arrange your loved one's funeral after his death.

For securing your peace of mind 

We feel very sad when we are away from our loved ones for a few days. And when a loved one leaves us forever, the pain that is created in our hearts remains almost forever. Maybe after a few days or a few years, this kind of grief will subside a little bit. But you will miss that person forever. 

Because of this, when a member of our family leaves us, our mind becomes very restless. Many times we listen to various motivational thoughts to protect this mind from restlessness. Again, if you can immerse yourself in the rituals, the restlessness will decrease a little. All in all you will find your piece of mind.

It will help to follow the religious customs  

We have already mentioned that over the centuries different religious sects have been following different funeral rituals. As a result they have become a religious custom. As a result of following such customs for many ages, people have developed a strong idea that if these customs are not followed properly then some crisis will surely fall on the family. In many cases it has been observed that such thoughts or fears make people think more about making proper arrangements for funeral rituals. That’s why you probably start your work by asking the Nirvana Burial Plot Price.

To offer your respect to the soul 

There is a common saying among us that we do not understand the importance of any human being in time. Maybe we love every member of the family very much but we don't give proper importance to each of them. Especially when we are busy with work, it becomes difficult for us to find time for the elderly at home. 

But when these old people leave us, we miss them very much and are very broken inside. It can be said that we become kind of repentant. At this time we want to see their departed souls happy as well as dutifully pay our last respects to them. This is perhaps the biggest reason why we become so diligent about making sure that all arrangements are done so well. 

Of course doing this greatly increases our own peace of mind. Also our eternal belief that if we perform all these rituals well then the dead person will go to heaven and have a great afterlife- this thought is also respected.

Wrapping Up  

Chinese people have been engaging in this kind of behavior since ancient times, and they continue to do so now. Funerals and cremation are connected to a variety of customs, beliefs, and antiquated notions. In Malaysia, saying goodbye to departed loved ones holds great significance for the numerous Chinese populations. They are willing to make any minor error because they are willing to be so meticulous and sensitive about this topic. We miss that individual so much that we take these actions. This is the moment, of course, when we plan his final ceremonies.

[farewellfuneralsau]

No Service Cremations Meadowbrook

For many Christians, funerals serve as a crucial rite to mourn with others and place individual lives within a bigger story of resurrection. But rising cremation rates are altering the way American people cope with death.

There are several options available when planning a cremation, including traditional viewing/visitation services and direct cremation which eliminates the funeral service prior to the cremation. To know more about No Service Cremations, visit the Farewell Funerals website or call 0404660974.

Direct cremation is on the rise in the United States and appeals to families that want a simple and affordable option. It’s faster and less expensive than a traditional funeral and does not include visitation or viewing, embalming, or a service at the graveside or memorial site.

There are many practical considerations to consider when choosing a cremation service. It’s important to seek professional guidance and have open conversations with loved ones to ensure that the chosen approach aligns with their end-of-life wishes and cultural or religious traditions.

A common misconception is that you cannot hold a service with your loved one’s ashes if you choose direct cremation. However, you can hold a service months later or have a private ceremony at the time of death, with or without the ashes present. Meadowbrook Memory Gardens has a beautiful mausoleum section for above ground entombment and offers single casket crypts or cremation niches which can hold one to six cremations.

Many families have indicated in their end-of-life plans that they do not want a funeral or memorial service. While this may relieve the stress on family members to not have to plan a ceremony, it can leave friends wondering what they can do to pay their respects.

While there are plenty of ways to honor the deceased without a formal service, one option is to host a gathering of their closest friends for a week or two after the cremation and scatter their ashes in a location that is meaningful to them. This allows friends to come together and celebrate the life of your loved one while also providing an opportunity to share their favorite memories.

Meadowbrook Memory Gardens offers a double-depth lawn crypt section, as well as community mausoleums that can hold caskets and cremation niches for single or multiple urns. Our mausoleums feature a glass front, which you can decorate with a special photo or memento for your loved one.

No Service Cremations Meadowbrook offers a direct, inexpensive option for families who wish to avoid paying a funeral home fee or a cemetery price for services. This also allows families to have a memorial service at any time they choose after the immediate burial.

Embalming is not required by New York State law for cremation. However, many funeral homes require embalming for visitations and open casket viewings.

In addition, some funeral homes charge a refrigeration fee when embalming is not selected. This fee must be clearly stated on both the General Price List and the Itemized Statement of Services and Merchandise Provided.

A burial vault or grave liner is not required by New York State law, but many cemeteries require them to prevent the collapse or sinking of a grave. If the remains are to be scattered, a proper permit must be obtained from the local authorities before scattering can take place. If the remains contain a pacemaker or other medical implant, it must be removed prior to cremation.

Meadowbrook Memory Gardens is a family-owned cemetery that offers families of all faiths a beautiful resting place. It is located on Hickory Level Road, just north of Owosso. The cemetery first opened in 1977.

The memorial park offers many above ground options, including crypts, niches and special designed family mausoleums. Meadowbrook Memory Gardens also features a large community mausoleum that includes single casket crypt space and cremation niches that can hold up to six cremated remains. Families can choose to encase their loved ones’ ashes in a crypt or place them in one of the mausoleum’s glass front niches, where they can include a photo and personal memento. To know more about No Service Cremations, visit the Farewell Funerals website or call 0404660974.

Protect your loved ones from the rising costs of cemetery plots and services by locking in your purchase today. You’ll save THOUSANDS and guard against YEARS of added fees.

[fangsandfeels]

Some Jerra headcanons:

Because I finally made some screencaps that don't suck, and I love her finalized look so much I want to redo her entire run.

Is a bit gloomy, yet polite and soft-spoken lady when she is out of combat, but turns into a what if the lyrics from The Reckoning by Iced Earth were a person when she is on the job. 

Doesn't belong to any formal Order. She was trained and mentored by a vigilante from the Hunters of Vengeance order, the members of which didn't have any official HQ and preferred to roam the lands and spread the word through their actions. She and her mentor used to travel together as he taught her his philosophy, which was rather mild for Hoar standards. Maybe he got soft as he approached the dusk of his career, maybe something in his life made him look at his work from a different angle, but he prioritized empathy as the key to understanding and building resolve from the grievances of the mistreated and downtrodden. After all, if you care not for the plight of those you intend to avenge, can you really make their offender regret their every bad choice? If you don't feel anger from their grief, how are you going to make your vengeance meaningful? What makes you any different from a common merc?

Was sent off by her mentor to travel alone after her training was technically complete and she had all the skills to make her own journey. Jerra hasn't met him ever since and has no means of knowing whether he is still alive.

Is used to being a listener and sometimes a grief counselor. I'm taking a lot out of Hoar's clergy routine here because the world of the game is kinda homebrew-ey, and most of the Oath of Vengeance dialogue options vibe with Hoar quite well (yes, even the cringe ones because despite having cool tenets, Hoar is a petty edgelord of a god). To execute proper vengeance, she had to talk to the victims (or their mourning relatives and loved ones), which meant finding the right words to reach out to them as well as accepting that they would lash out and wouldn’t tell the whole story out of shame, grief or pain, that it will take some work and patience from her side.

She had been doing the work of delivering vengeance on another people’s behalf before she started drawing powers from her Oath, the cause shaped by her mentor's beliefs and her own convictions. It took years and a near-death experience for her burning idea that if a just reckoning must always happen, odds be damned, to manifest.

Used to call herself an Oathsworn rather than a paladin until she heard people refer to her as one. She still considers herself an Oathsworn, but presenting herself as a paladin had its benefits: people would be more eager to provide her with information and even let her settle disputes, which is always useful.

Doesn't have a last name. She never got to learn it, and since her family was never given a proper burial and there aren't any records, she isn't going to know. So, when she is required to add a last name, she often improvises with great reluctance. She would write "Jerra Drifter" in one book of records and then "Jerra Farstrider" in another. Last time she plain wrote "Jerra Arrej" because she couldn't be bothered to come up with something else.

Isn't technically a Baldurian. She doesn't even know where she is originally from. Her family came to the city as refugees when she was little, got screwed over by the Lower City gang, and ended up in heavy debt as menial workers at Guild-covered areas and Guild accomplices at times. Having no rights and being looked down upon by the citizens, they had to comply until they no longer could. When the guildmaster made it clear they wouldn't even let Jerra out of their network (what’s the point of a kid with her sad-looking face and large scared eyes if she doesn’t use them to coax some coin out of sentimental folks? There is no future for her in the city other than with the Guild. And who said she doesn’t have a choice in the Guild? A cutpurse, a knife-hand, hells, maybe a gem at Sharess’ Caress if she grows to be pretty enough, but never learns to behave!) they tried to get away from the Guild for their daughter's sake, which ended badly. Of course, it all happened before Nine-Fingers Keen took over, but Jerra still has no love for the Guild. If it wasn't for the threat of the Absolute and for Mol, the girl she let down in more ways than one, she would have let the Guild thugs and Zhents fight to the death and then finish off the survivors.

[hoveringisles]

NYX

name: Arthenice De Lancre Nyx

nickname(s): the devil’s child, witch, devil’s spouse, sorceress, Nyx, la faucheuse, the harvester, l’ombrageuse, angel of death, raven locks  birth date: 1588 age:  444 (25 presenting)

gender, pronouns:  cis woman,  she/her. orientation: demisexual, panromantic, polyamorous  relationship(s): Enora ✝ (former magic master and lover) family: Pierre de Lancre (adoptive father, witch hunter), Queen Titania (biological fae mother), Finn (descendant and business partner)

children: an adoptive daughter named Juliana

hair: long black hair. eye colour: hazel, darkened when angry or using magic height:  5’ 6"

Nyx was born under a BLOOD MOON and a sky devoid of stars. Among the fae, that is a bad omen for it is said that those born under those peculiar circumstances are HARBINGER OF DEATH AND CARNAGE. From day one, it seems Nyx hadn’t been destined for grandeur. As the illegitimate child of QUEEN TITANIA, she was raised at the palace by the servants up until the tender age of 3. The Queen had kept her around as backup heir in case she couldn’t conceive another one with her husband KING OBERON. Though as soon as she was pregnant with the legitimate heir, she ordered for Nyx to be killed. Fortunately, a servant betrays the queen and snatches the little one just in time and threw her into a portal that led in the human world for her own protection. LITTLE DID THE SERVANT KNEW THAT THE CHILD SHE’D SAVED WOULD WIND UP IN THE HANDS OF A HUNTER…  

And so, Nyx had the misfortune of being found and raised by a hunter (PIERRE DE LANCRE) while also being the very kind he hunted. While the man who raised her held her on a pedestal, bragging about her being some kind of Saint who would point in the direction of the devil’s work (she was able to feel magic in others), she grew to hate any manifestation of magic in herself, which she suppressed and kept hidden until in a fit of rage she let it all out in public, exposing herself and earning the devil’s child title from her adoptive dad. She was saved by ENORA (her handmaiden and only friend) who turned out to be a caster as well but was just very good at concealing her magic from others. Both of them fled after unleashing a curse on the village (a plague). Enora taught her all she knew. She was her master, her confidant, her lover. Later, Enora was killed by a vampire hunter (she had been turned into a vampire) and she swore to avenge her death. To harness more power, she sacrificed her ability to bring life into this world. Power and rage was all she had left now. Even after avenging Enora’s death, she didn’t feel any better. It was an endless night, one the blood of her enemies couldn’t brighten. THAT’S WHEN NYX AND THE CIRCLE OF EMBERS (LE CERCLE DES CENDRES) WAS BORN. Finding a new purpose, creating a community but even then the thirst for power still remained as a way to fill a void.

She has a big heart that she hides under layers of dark clothes. She never really processed ENORA’s death. She never got the chance to give her love a proper burial and she feels she failed her in a way by not being able to protect her from those hunters. She should’ve been there but she wasn’t because they had had a fight and she had been out to get some air. Enora wanted a family, she wanted to adopt a child while Arthenice couldn’t picture herself being a mother with all the things she had done. She was so scared of ruining this potential new member of their family. After Enora death, She buries herself in a quest for power but still longs for SOMETHING MORE. Several times in her life, she fell in love, often with more than one person at a time, but denied herself this deeper connection in fear of betraying her first love’s memory.      

Later (in her mid twenties), after making a deal with a demon, sacrificing all she had for the one person (adoptive daughter JULIANA L’ESPERANCE) that made her feel that spark of life again, Nyx vanished from the face of the earth while the girl she’d called daughter remained unharmed, lived a fulfilling life and peacefully died of old age.

Upon her arrival in Hell, the Devil (Lucifer) takes a liking to her. He tells her she can escape an eternity of torment if she accepts to be one of his many wives. She spits in his face for only answer and he condemns her to endless torture.

Now, she’s back. She claims she’s been in HELL this whole time but most of her memories of that supposed one-way trip down there are gone. She wonders why she’s back on Earth after all this time and wonders if her sacrifice was worth it in the end since she had no idea if the demon held up their hand of the bargain. She’s adjusting to this strange modern world slowly but surely. She’ll learn all over again that power and magic isn’t everything there is to life after all.  

[auslistings]

How Can Funeral Homes Be Of Service

You’ve just experienced an unimaginable tragedy, and you need to prepare for a funeral. It’s a sad and stressful time, but having the right Funeral Homes Adelaide will help make the process easier. Here are some questions you can ask your loved one's funeral director to find out how they can help:

What services do funeral homes provide?

Funeral homes provide a wide range of services, including: - Arranging for burial or cremation. Funeral homes can help you with the paperwork and other tasks necessary to make arrangements for a loved one’s burial or cremation. -

Making arrangements for a graveside service. Funeral homes will often coordinate with local cemeteries to ensure that proper permits are obtained and everything runs smoothly on the day of the funeral. - Planning memorial services and wakes. If your loved one’s death was sudden or unexpected, you may want to gather family members and friends together at a memorial service in order to celebrate their life together. - A funeral director is trained in how best to plan such events so they can be both dignified yet heartfelt affairs that honor those who have passed away while also giving those left behind an opportunity to say goodbye before moving forward with their lives. From burial to cremation and more, they have everything you need. Funeral homes offer many services to the families of their deceased. Some of these include: - A viewing, where family and friends come to pay their respects (and sometimes even have a meal). - A Prepaid Funeral service, where mourners gather for a ceremony that honors the deceased in front of others. Sometimes this involves music or singing. - A memorial service, which is like a funeral except it doesn't involve a body (the person's remains are usually placed in an urn). This is often done when there was no body left after death or if they were cremated before the service took place. Many people choose this option because it allows them still be present at the event without having to face what happened directly as well as saving money on some costs associated with traditional funerals (such as embalming). - Memorials are becoming increasingly popular nowadays due in part because they allow family members who couldn't make it out for whatever reason--like being too far away geographically--to watch from home instead; another reason being that since many people now watch videos online anyway instead of reading articles there isn't much difference between watching something live versus recorded later on YouTube etcetera . There are several reasons people choose a funeral home service. There are several reasons people choose Funeral Homes Adelaide service. If you want to avoid the hassle of arranging a funeral yourself, or if your finances are limited and you need help with funeral costs, then hiring a funeral home is an excellent option. Also, if you're unsure about where to begin when planning your loved one's memorial service, they can provide information on local burial laws and etiquette. The legal aspects of funerals can be complicated; therefore it may be beneficial to hire an experienced professional who has experience in these matters. Most states require that all deaths must be reported within 24 hours by law enforcement agencies; however some states have more specific regulations regarding the disposal of bodies such as embalming requirements or required paperwork for disposing of cadavers at landfills (or other places). Conclusion Funeral homes are a valuable resource, providing information and support to people who are grieving. They have everything you need when it comes time to plan a funeral or memorial service; from burial to cremation and even more options, they offer services that ensure everything goes smoothly for everyone involved. Read the full article

[likeawildthing]

Not to be morbid on main, but everyone dies and people are rarely prepared for it. It’s so much easier when you know your loved one’s wishes. So even if you’re a teenager or twenty-three and healthy, I hope this helps you start thinking about end-of-life wishes, because it can happen to us all (both the dying and, rudely, being died upon).

Cremations are an affordable way to subvert the funeral industry, but going this route puts the burden of “the little things” on the family. I’ve learned a lot in the last 36 hours and wanted to pass those things that weren’t on any checklists, because the burden is on you to navigate the process.

Putting this under a cut because it’s so long (although not comprehensive). Obviously some of this is altered because COVID and some is meant to be applicable in some distant, theoretical future when we can go out to lunch again.

Before you die

Think about it, talk about it, write it down

Think about what kind of rememberance you want, if any. If it doesn’t matter, tell people that so they don’t fret about it and grieve in whatever way works best for them.

Communicate now to save your family and friends angst later.

Build an “in case of death” binder, zip drive, google doc with links, etc. Make sure your passwords are up to date so that’s not an administrative nightmare for your loved ones.

Advanced directives. Here’s a great article explaining the types of medical advanced directives and decisions to make before an accident or illness happens, including whether you want to donate your organs.

We lost grandma for about twenty minutes yesteday because we couldn’t find the paperwork and grandpa couldn’t remember where they signed up for services. Death. Binder. Have a death binder/folder/zip drive so no one loses grandma.

Insurance. 

You likely have insurance through work, so consider that. It will also expire if you leave your job.

You can usually get, with minimal fuss, a 10- or 20-year term policy with enough to cover your arrangements and debts for less than $20 a month. Death expenses are anywhere from $5-$20k, conservatively. 

Talk to your auto insurance agent and score a multi-line discount.

Body snatchers. 

If you want to be cremated, talk to a local crematory beforehand and give them your basic information. It can be paid out of your estate (i.e. by your family or a life insurance policy) when it happens. 

Most funeral homes (I believe) require pre-payment. It’s super morbid but there are TONS of heavily discounted grave sites for sale on Craigslist if that’s the route you want to go. 

Here’s a list of certified green burial sites in the US.

Donating your body to science 101.

Memorial service. 

The idea of a “proper” funeral is more or less out the window, especially in the time of COVID. Celebration of life? Religious ceremony (or not)? A picnic at your favorite park? Anything goes, so figure it out now. 

When my sister-in-law died, we had a celebration of life at a non-profit who donated the space and had a poker tournament with her ash tin (she lost). 

Whether you have strong or no preferences, write that down to guide decision-making. 

Memorials. 

Traditionally people would donate money in the event of a death to a charity, foundation, or family account, or flowers to a funeral home or church.

 Family accounts (like for children) are traditionally done in care of the deceased’s bank but online fundraisers are a thing. 

If you have a particular charity you love, add this to your list of wishes.

Food. 

Before COVID it was pretty typical for there to be some kind of meal after a funeral. Will this be a restaurant? 

This is ultimately up to the family but if you have strong preferences (i.e. no church or Italian food), tell people now.

Obituary. 

Writing down the basic facts of your life, hobbies, and accomplishments you want included in your obituary means your family doesn’t have to do a guessing game. 

Plants, animals, stuff, etc.

Do you want your clothes to go to a specific charity? 

Do you NOT want your stuff to go to a specific charity? (Goodwill is terrible!)

Who will get your car (person, donate, sell)? Want to have your record collection to go one sister? Obviously family will divvy up stuff how they like, but write down any special considerations.

Have a plan for your pets (insurance, vet info, guardianship).

Please organize and digitize your photos if they aren’t already.

If you lose someone close:

Identify the primary griever

Support that person/those people by providing feedback when solicited, running errands as needed, and running interference so they aren’t inundated with all the little things.

Notifying people

Use the phone tree method. Great Aunt M will be happy to help by calling your cousins. Your boss, coworkers and HR. Your mom’s best friend/your adoptive aunt, your mom’s bunco group. 

Ask that family not put anything on social media until the principal people are informed. I found out my grandpa died on facebook!

Esp these days, set boundaries for visits (who, where, and in what capacity).

Designate one person to be the primary contact for extended family to keep the burden off the primary griever(s). 

Give this persons’ information when the first phone calls are made. It also makes sense for this person to be the travel coordinator. 

This person should have a good handle on family dynamics (i.e. my aunt is flying in and would drive my grandma nuts so she’s staying with Mom). 

This should be their only task because it’s time consuming.

Food

When people die, people gather, even in the time of COVID. Be responsible but expect a ton of drop by food. Clean out the primary griever’s fridge in anticipaton.

Organization

Start a shared family Google doc or sheet. Consolidate to do lists, anecdotes, important contact information, questions and inquiries, etc. 

Pay to have the houses of anyone hosting (gatherings, people coming in from out of town, etc.) cleaned. Or, delegate. This can be an act of service for someone who wants to help and doesn’t mind doing the work. 

Find the death binder (hopefully), legal documentation, etc. Get a folder or binder for papers if one doesn’t exist. And start a shared google doc for loved ones to track everything.

Delegate

I know I have said this three times, but it’s important. If you’re a primary decision maker do not be the primary do-er. My mom is the primary decision maker so my sisters and I are doing literally everything else. 

Say YES when people ask if they can help you. Look at your running list of to-dos and say yes.

Pay to have the houses of people who are hosting cleaned. It will seriously be such a life saver, or this can be an act of service for someone who wants to help.

Social media

You will need to decide what to do with a person’s social media. Do you start a tribute page? Turn their facebook (if they’re old) into a tribute page for a time? Indefinitely? Things to think about. 

Thank yous

Keep a running list of people to thank after via hand-written thank you notes. The link includes guidelines on 

who should receive a thank you note (gave flowers, brought food, made donations, helped with arrangements or the service(s), did readings, or went well out of their way to warm your heart or show up)

when to send them (ideally 2-3 weeks after the funeral)

here’s how to write them (it doesn’t matter if you buy fancy, ones or dollar store ones, make sure they’re hand written).

Receipts. 

Don’t be the petty biatch your cousins hate, but do save significant receipts to be reimbursed by the estate. (I.e. catering hundreds of dollars of food, paying $250 for programs and thank-you cards like I just did, etc.)

Service.

You will have a million decisions to make including

what kind of service to hold, if any

where to hold it

costs

hymns, readings, and anecdotes to share

who will be pall bearers, readers, vocalists, and give eulogies

Crematories handle cremation only, not the service details. 

you will need photo boards (Hobby Lobby has nice black foamcore ones) or a powerpoint (and a way to display it depending on the venue)

a guest or memorial book

a card basket,

memorial cards, possibly programs, and thank you cards 

Officiants, musicians, religious institutions, etc. all need to be paid (and tipped) for their time.

If we ever wrangle this pandemic, donating funeral flowers to a nursing homes is a fantastic way to brighten residents’ days. 

Obituary.

Obituaries are expected, but traditionally costly ($200-$800). As part of the publishing fee, most newspapers keep the obituary on legacy.com indefinitely.

A funeral home will assist you with this, but the burden will be on you and your loved ones if using other methods. 

These take hours to write and many hands does not make light work. Keep it to 2-4 key people. Having the facts laid out will help, and so will looking at other obituaries. I read a great tip which was to write about your loved one in present tense first, then change the tense before submission. 

Newspapers will update your spelling and grammar but that’s about it. Cheaper alternatives: 

Death notice which gives age, date and location of death, and who is handling funeral arrangements. Our crematory put in the death notice for us because they had her body, but the requirements on this likely vary state-to-state. 

Here is a place to put a free online obituary.

Plants, animals, stuff, etc. 

Save the plants and pets. 

Household misc. are usually not dictated by the will, except in special circumstances or contested items. Closest members will go through possessions first. Voice early if you want something in particular, but understand that you may not get it. That’s ok. 

Going through someone’s life is an overwhelming process. You may be repulsed and sad and overwhelmed and amused, all at the same time.  

In deciding what to keep, as I’ve now cleared out three houses, I’ve found that quality over quantity is the way to go. The sweet spot? 1-2 sentimental + useful things. My great grandmother’s thimble and juicer? Use them all the time, and I remember her lemonade. 

It’s okay to throw away some keepsakes and let things get thrown out or donated, depending on the thing. 

Don’t give into guilt if you don’t want the china your Aunt Karen is pressuring you into taking when she doesn’t want it either.

Legal stuff. 

If someone dies, there will be all kinds of legal things you will need to do (bank accounts, utilities, debtors, education, etc.), investments or 401k, etc. 

This varies too much by state and circumstance to talk about in depth but there are guides to specifically help you.

If someone you love has lost someone they love

Do not give platitudes or ask if they’re ok

Don’t expect a response from someone grieving

Do send a card! It’s so thoughtful. I keep a stack of blank condolence cards and a set of forever stamps in my closet. It doesn’t have to be a $20 card to be special.

Don’t judge someone by how they grieve

Offer specific, actionable help if you’re close enough to give it

I am going to come over and clean at 10, leave the house unlocked

I’m at the store and am going to buy cheap vodka unless you tell me what kind of wine you want

oops I got you an uber eats gift card in your gmail sorry/not sorry

Buy thank you cards with stamps as a condolence gift, depending on the person and situation

Send a plant instead of a bouquet of flowers

Make a donation in the loved one’s name if you have the funds

If the grieving person is someone super close (best friend, sister, etc.) add the date in your recurring calender so you can check up on them this day next year with a card and/or phone call

[hale-13]

Slipping Through the Cracks

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 5 - Broken

Just when his life was finally leveling out Parker luck struck again. Peter has had four opportunities with parents and has lost all of them. The way he sees it, this is the least of what he deserves.

Post-Homecoming - Tony didn’t meet with Peter immediately to offer him a place on the Avengers.

Words: 3856, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen-Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Ned Leeds

TW: Depression, Dissociation, a single line of Suicidal Ideation, Referenced Child Abuse

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter was silent as he exited Midtown with Ned keeping a quiet pace with him. Seven months ago they would be just as excited as their classmates for the weekend, for the plans that they surely would have made to build Legos or marathon movies or even to just study together. Ned would have been ecstatic to set up in Peter’s bedroom as his ‘guy in the chair’ while Peter did a quick patrol or two. If they were at Peter’s instead of Ned’s, May would attempt some new dish that would, inevitably, be awful and they would order pizza from their favorite place for dinner.

Now Peter never saw any of his limited friend group outside of school. He didn’t build Legos or watch movies or eat take-out pizza and he certainly wasn’t Spider-Man anymore – he had given that up after the Homecoming disaster when he had destroyed Mr. Stark’s plane.

It had been just over six months since he had found May dead in their kitchen and Peter didn’t really do anything at all anymore.

The ER doctors told Peter that she had an undiagnosed aneurysm that had finally burst – there was no way for anyone to know. She went quickly. She felt no pain. There was nothing that Peter could have done even if he was there when it happened.

The reassurances meant nothing really – Peter was numb. May was his last living family member, he had no one else and nowhere to turn. He can vaguely remember telling the social worker that was with him when they told him the news about May that he was alone now. He can remember being taken forcibly from the hospital before he was ready to go, wanting to kick and scream and drag his heels but too shocked to do so. And then everything was a blur.

Somewhere in his mind he knew that he had been allowed to pack up everything important from their apartment to go into storage until he was eighteen besides the bag of essentials he had for himself. He knew that everything else was donated or sold to pay off their remaining debt and the medical bills he had incurred by calling for help when he found May on the kitchen floor. He knew that the social worker told him that, even after selling everything, they couldn’t afford a funeral. He has a business card in his wallet with the number of the crematorium that was holding May’s ashes until he was old enough to retrieve them and, hopefully, give her a proper burial in their family plot next to Ben.

He spent the two weeks after in a group home, mute and dissociating with seven other boys in similar situations. He didn’t go to school, but he remembers the constant stream of unanswered texts and calls from Ned and MJ before his phone plan was discontinued then his phone became a dead relic in his bag. There were a lot of discussions about school that Peter didn’t take part in but, thanks to his full scholarship, he was able to continue at Midtown at least until the end of the year.

And then he was placed with his foster parents.

The Fishers seemed to be pleasant people when Peter first met them; they didn’t force him to speak, they had extensive fostering experience with teenagers and were willing to pay for his subway pass so he could get to and from his school even though there was a decent public school in walking distance. It didn’t take long, however, for their true colors to show.

Now, though, Peter knew the rules. He was always home by his curfew of four on school days and he never went out on the weekends. His grades were perfect. He kept his undecorated room spotless. He cooked supper every evening and breakfast and dinner on the weekends. He kept the house presentable. He stayed out of the Fishers way. Mostly he drifted. His days slid together to the point he had difficultly remembering entire weeks passing him by but it was fine.

He was fine.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Ned muttered as he split off to get in his mom’s car, not acknowledging the pathetic little wave Peter offered in return. A coiling feeling settled in his gut and Perter felt guilt rise up to swirl in his throat. Ned was his best friend and he was treating him like shit. With Peter basically unresponsive, bullies had taken to picking on Ned instead… well except for Flash. Flash had been the only one to back off and stand up for both of them – it helped but didn’t fix everything.

“Better if he leaves you now,” a little voice in his head whispered. “It’s better to be alone.” And maybe at one point he would have fought against that mindset but now he couldn’t help but agree. Peter destroyed everything he touched and everyone around him was doomed for misery. Better for Ned to get out while he could.

Lethargically, Peter began across the empty football field toward the subway entrance – his trip home was always a little tight and he couldn’t afford to miss this train.

“Peter!” A harried voice shouted as his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly turned around to face a red-faced and irritated Happy Hogan. Peter’s mind blanked for a moment in total shock at seeing the man again after so long. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Sorry Mr. Hogan,” Peter mumbled, not making eye contact. He felt the phantom sting from the slap he had gotten for that when he first moved into foster care burning his bare cheek.

“The Boss has been calling you, he wants to chat. You screening our calls now?” Happy asked, accusatory as his eyes raked down Peter’s form. Peter felt a shiver crawl up his spine and kept his sight locked on Happy’s chin, trying to remain as relaxed as possible. It was important to not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

“No sir,” he answered, voice a little rough and quiet with disuse. “I don’t have a phone anymore.” Happy huffed and narrowed his eyes at Peter before steering him to the expensive Audi parked in front of the school.

“No matter, he wants to talk to you in person anyway. Hop in and I’ll take you to the Tower.” Peter gulped and fought the urge to dig his heels in – it wouldn’t be polite.

“I have a curfew of four,” he protested weakly as Happy pulled open the door for him and motioned for him to climb in. Peter hesitated but relented when Happy gave him a little shrug.

“I’m sure May will understand and Tony can always give her a call to clear anything up.” And with that Peter was gone. No one had said her name since she died and the thought… the very implication that he could still be living with his aunt, happy and carefree, was insane. His mind floated away and he felt like he was watching himself as a specter. He saw his body relax but his eyes were distant, cloudy. Happy, for the first time that Peter could remember, didn’t raise the partition between the front and rear seats and, instead, watched Peter in the rear view mirror.

The drive to the Tower took over thirty minutes with traffic and Peter would be panicking about how late he was going to be if he had any capacity to feel at all. Instead, he let his mind wander as the skyscrapers of Manhattan blurred into a grey mosaic outside the window, fat raindrops sporadically hitting the window as a drizzle started. “We’re here,” Happy told him as he parked the car in the underground garage that was reserved for Mr. Stark and other high level staff of the Tower. Peter popped his door open and followed the man to the private elevator that he assumed would take them to Mr. Stark’s office.

“Hello Happy. Hello Peter,” the disembodied voice of Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, said as the doors closed and the elevator began to move. “Boss is awaiting your arrival in his workshop.”

“Thanks FRIDAY,” Happy said, texting intently on his phone. Peter just remained silent as the elevator began to slow before stopping completely, the doors trundling open soundlessly. Happy nudged Peter out but remained inside the car as the doors closed, leaving Peter alone in the sleek room.

Tony was seated in front of a large hologram of his armor, code scrolling past on his monitor as he made adjustments. “Mr. Parker,” he said as Peter edged closer to him, not looking up from his work. “You’re a hard man to get in contact with.”

Though Tony sounded more forthright than angry, Peter still had to fight the cringe in his shoulders as he came to a stop about ten feet away from the work bench – out of reach and with enough time to prepare if the man were to make any sudden moves. “Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes low and doing his best to keep his shoulders from curling in – the last thing he needed to do was show any weakness.

“No need for apologies,” Tony said, light, as he fiddled with a holo mechanism in the right repulser. “Just a statement of fact. According to the news Spider-Man has also been just as difficult to find.”

Peter just hummed in response, choosing not to comment on his previous alter-ego. He didn’t much feel like a hero these days.

“A man of few words,” Tony commented, shutting down the programs in front of him and turning to face Peter fully. “Are you the same kid who was talking my ear off in Germany a year ago?”

“Yes sir,” Peter said, keeping his eyes focused on Tony’s chin. He could feel his mind slipping as his heart rate sped up and he struggled to keep present – it was getting harder and harder to stay in the moment the more he allowed himself to get lost in his head. He occasionally dreamed that one day it might be permanent; one of the few good dreams he had.

“Sir?” Tony parroted, his eyebrows raising and a flash of guilt washing over his features quickly before disappearing. “Look kid, I think I owe you an apology. Actually, I know I owe you an apology. I didn’t communicate with you about the whole alien weapons take-down thing. I underestimated you and treated you like a side-kick and ignored you and then I left you alone and without any protection and you saved my bacon anyway.”

“I deserved it,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “I was in over my head and I disobeyed. The punishment fit the crime.”

“No it didn’t,” Tony told him bluntly but firmly, looking surprised but resolute. “Maybe we both share some fault in the situation but I’m the adult and the one with experience and I didn’t do anything to teach you or help you and for that I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured him, allowing himself to tap his index finger against his thigh once to let out his stress. Mr. Fisher didn’t like his constant fidgeting and Peter knew that it was pretty annoying so he had done his best to learn how to stand as still as possible to not incur any extra punishments – the index finger tap he was able to normally get away with.

Mr. Stark’s eyes were narrowed as he surveyed Peter. “I wanted to offer you a real spot as my intern. You could spend a few days a week in the shop working on tech and I made you a new and improved suit for the other part of your ‘internship’. I promise that you’ll always have the support you need to be New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. You’re the future of the Avengers, kid, its pretty clear to me now. Your spot on the team is there whenever you want to take it.”

For the briefest of moments, Peter was overwhelmed with excitement and incredulity. Ever since Tony had announced he was Iron Man to the world, Peter had wanted nothing more than to be a superhero as well, to be an Avenger. If Tony had offered him a spot on the team after Germany, Peter would have taken it in an instant. Now…

“Thank you Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice still a little broken and hoarse from how little he spoke these days. “But I can’t.”

“Oh you don’t have to join now,” the man assured, misunderstanding. “You’ll need some training first but Rhodey and Vision are always down to join us at the compound for some group work. You have a lot of potential.”

“Thanks but that’s not what I meant,” Peter clarified. “I have to decline all of it but I appreciate the offer.”

“Oh,” Tony looked a little crestfallen, a dark expression of acceptance on his defined features. “I understand. Broken trust and all that. Sure.”

“It’s not that,” Peter reassured quickly. “I don’t hold anything against you – I was the one who messed up. It’s just I have a four o’clock curfew every day so I can’t do the internship.”

“That’s easily remedied!” Mr. Stark said, his eyes lifting with a smile and looking relieved. “I’ll just give Aunt Hottie a call and work things out and we’ll have you in the lab and out swinging through the streets in no time!”

Peter’s ears fuzzed out again, a sharp high-pitched note cutting off Tony’s excited words as a feeling of immense emotion flooded through Peter before he could tamp it down. His breathing felt a little ragged in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment to gather himself. “My aunt is dead,” Peter gritted out, interrupting Tony and rendering him speechless. “She died six months ago. My foster… the people fostering me are a little more strict.”

“Oh,” Tony said, face blank and an awkward silence filling the space. Peter gripped his worn down backpack straps and backed toward the elevator.

“Thanks for the offer,” Peter said earnestly. “It really is an honor I just…” he trailed off. “Thanks. For everything.”

And with that, he entered the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby, the doors shutting on Tony’s pitying expression before the man could say anything much to Peter’s relief. The metro card the Fishers had gotten him only had a set amount of money on it every month so Peter would be hoofing it back to their house from the Tower. His cracked watch face told him that it was already close to four-thirty and his stomach bubbled with anxiety. At this rate he wouldn’t be back in time to have dinner on the table at five-thirty.

Resigned to his punishments, Peter left the building through the shining lobby and pointed himself toward Queens, moving as fast as he could.

——————-

“You’re late,” Mr. Fishers’s tone was short and monotonous from where he was seated on the couch. The house was otherwise quiet which meant Mrs. Fisher was out that evening.

“I’m sorry sir,” Peter whispered looking at the floor and making no excuses. He had learned the hard way that trying to justify his poor behavior only made things worse for him in the long run.

“Go to your room,” Mr. Fisher told him making Peter cringe. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Later, when Peter was lying on the bed with silent tears still leaking from his eyes and his back and ribs stinging in pain, he thought about Mr. Stark’s offer with selfish desire. In another universe, in another life, he would have been elated but now he only felt desolation - life always did like to dangle things in front of him he couldn’t have.

Setting his alarm for five-thirty so he wouldn’t oversleep, Peter let his consciousness slip away into the ether, mind going blissfully empty and blank.

——————-

Monday came both faster and slower than Peter wanted. His body still ached from his well-deserved punishment and he was exhausted from the extra chores and minimal food he had been offered as a result of his actions. School passed in a lonely blur for him as he drifted from class to class, hiding away in the deserted music room during lunch to avoid Ned and MJ. They didn’t ask as many questions anymore but Peter didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he would have to lie to his friends again.

When the final bell of the day rang, Peter chose to not stop by his locker where he may be ambushed and, instead, left the school, headed directly for the subway. He had nearly made it when a body physically blocked him from the stairs.

“Howdy Pete,” Mr. Stark said, peering over his glasses to look at Peter and Peter did his best to school his expression into indifference. He couldn’t be late again. He couldn’t take another punishment, he was just so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe forever. “Where are you headed?”

“Back to my fosters,” Peter told him, trying to skirt around. “I have a four o’clock curfew.”

“I remember you saying something about that,” Mr. Stark agreed with a nod. “Tell you what – let me give you a ride home. You’ll get home well before your curfew and I can talk to your foster parents about the internship. Who can say no to Tony Stark right?”

“NO!” Peter said loudly before smacking a palm over his mouth. He could feel the blood draining from his face as his body tensed, preparing for the correction he knew was coming. Mr. Stark’s brow was furrowed now and his eyes behind his blue glasses had a twinkle of understanding in them.

“Peter,” he began, reaching a hand out with the intention of lying his hand on Peter’s shoulder but he never got that far. Seeing the hand coming towards him and already being on high alert after his exclamation, Peter violently flinched away, only barely able to catch himself from falling over due to his enhanced reflexes, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Oh Peter,” Tony said, a desolate understanding in his voice.

Peter cracked his eyes open to see Mr. Stark with both hands raised in the universal ‘backing off’ signal, a soft look on his face. “Sorry sir,” Peter croaked out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s fine.”

“Do you have something you need to tell me kiddo?” Tony’s voice was soft and gentle and Peter felt his eyes well up with tears he hastily blinked away as he shook his head quickly. “It’s okay buddy. You can tell me.”

“I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s fine.” Tony looked even more crestfallen at Peter’s answer and tapped the side of his glasses to activate FRIDAY.

“Can you I’ve me a scan FRI?” He asked and Peter flinched again knowing there was no way to hide the broken and healing bones and skin that he had been doing his best to conceal. Tony’s face was tight as he stared at Peter and Peter felt all of the blood left in his face drain away.

“I deserved it,” Peter told him desperately. “I disobeyed, it was my fault.” Mr. Stark just looked even more beaten at his words and Peter felt his breathing picking up.

“It’s not,” Tony said, voice still unbelievably soft but firm. “It’s not your fault and you didn’t deserve it. You’re a great kid Pete.” Peter shook his head no and couldn’t stop a couple tears from leaking out before furiously wiping them away. “I promise that it wasn’t your fault Underoos. Will you let me help you?”

“You can’t,” Peter said, feeling hollow. “Everyone… everyone close to me dies. I’m cursed and I can’t do that to you too Mr. Stark.”

“Can I hug you?” Tony asked suddenly, arms twitching with need. After a seconds hesitation, Peter nodded and was hastily folded into the man’s arms; one arm tight around his shoulders and the other snaking up into his hair to pull through the too long strands carefully. Peter felt more tears leak out and, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, throwing his own arms around Tony to return the hug and letting out a gut-wrenching sob into the man’s shoulder. Tony just shushed him and let him take as much comfort as he could. “You’re not cursed and none of this is your fault. I get the feeling no one has told you that yet and you need to hear it.”

Peter sobbed loudly again, curling in tighter. He had always thrived on positive affirmation and had grown up in a family where hugs and shoulder pats and forehead kisses were the norm. To go so long without… he had forgotten how nice it was to just be held and cared for. “Thank you,” Peter said, his voice clogged with emotion. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tony said firmly. “Anyone decent would do the same thing and it’s the least of what you deserve.”

Peter squeezed him one more time and took a deep breath before pulling away. “Thank you,” he reiterated, fighting to make eye contact so he could show just how sincere he was. “But I need to get back before four and I already missed my train. I can’t be late.” Tony, who still had one hand resting on Peter’s shoulder, gripped him tightly to prevent him from escaping up the stairs to the train.

“You aren’t going back,” he said firmly, ducking his head and forcing Peter to make eye contact. “You’re coming with me back to the Tower where I’m going to call CPS and my lawyers. You’re never going back there again.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Peter insisted. “It’s really not that bad if I’m home on time and do my chores and stay in my room. And its only two more years until I’m eighteen and then I can get a job and an apartment.”

“Pete,” Tony said, eyes shining as he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and started leading him away from the subway and toward the Audi that was parked in the pickup lane; Peter could see the outline of Happy’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. “You deserve better. You deserve somewhere safe and you deserve to have someone care about you. I know you don’t believe it now and that’s okay – I’m just going to keep telling you until you do.”

Peter sniffed back another onslaught of tears and allowed himself to be pulled away. “Thank you Mr. Stark,” he said, voice clogged with emotion.

“It’s Tony kiddo,” the man told him with another squeeze that warmed Peter to the core. “And you don’t need to thank me for this okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, fully aware and present and wanting to be for the first time in a long time. Things were never going to be the same, but maybe, just maybe, they would get better.

[arandompostarchive]

Inure - Prologue

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

W/T: cursing, blood, violence, slight panic attack

***

Your eyes slowly opened. At least you thought they opened. There was nothing but pitch black around you, a pillow-like fabric lying beneath you. You felt your way around the small space, trying to figure out where you were.

You couldn’t remember much. Just screaming and a flash. Some sort of loud, ear-splitting sound. Then you were here. Where ever ‘here’ was.

You tried to listen to what was around you. You tried and tried but heard nothing but a blood curdling silence. Absolute silence. Now that you were really thinking, you had never heard real silence in your life. Not like this. This was chilling.

As much as you liked laying around doing nothing, you were getting bored of it quickly. You felt like everything was closing in on you, though in the tight space you sat in, that was fully possible. You tried to stay as calm as you could, given the situation, and started kicking at the sides of whatever space you were in. It was tough to push against, but eventually the side broke and you could feel something spill into your space. It was most definitely dirt.

Buried alive. Not how you thought your weekend was going to go.

“I need a fucking drink after this.” You mumbled to yourself, noting how your words seemed to be swallowed up by the silence and dirt around you. You closed your eyes and pushed yourself through the dirt, ignoring the cold, wet feeling under your hands. You clawed through it, getting more than a few specks in your eyes and underneath your nails. With a few more pushes, you felt your hand break through the ground.

You struggled to find any sort of grip to pull yourself up. Your hands were weak by now and the ground was more mud than dirt. You felt cold rain on your hands and you pulled yourself up to the best of your ability.

The second your head was above the ground you spit out whatever dirt had landed in your mouth. You had lost your shoes on your way up, though that was hardly your first priority. You pulled your legs up though the dirt, rain beating down hard on your back. Your hair was plastered to your face and you were certain you looked less than presentable.

You looked around. As expected, you were in the middle of a graveyard. The moon was only a bright spot among the clouds, blurred by the heavy rain around you. At least your headstone was nice. It had engravings of flowers and vines around your name. The rain had washed away whatever dirt may have been there, leaving the engravings clear.

A dear friend who would do anything it took to help those she could.

You smiled a bit, wondering who thought of that. Which one of your friends planned your funeral…? What day was it? You shook the new thoughts out of your head, trying to gather as much information as possible. There were some plants growing along your headstone, you recognized it as ivy, though it was covering the dates below your name. You brushed it aside to read the year you supposedly died in. 1943. That sounded right. The memories were slowly coming back to you. Your family, friends, where you lived, where you worked.

You heard voices over the rain. You couldn’t be certain, but they sounded like men talking to each other, though you couldn’t tell how old they were.

“Sam if you don’t hurry up I swear to god!” You heard one of them shout.

“I’m trying! Maybe you should shut up and help, huh? Might back this go a little faster.” You walked toward the voices, stumbling a bit as rocks from the ground scratched against your feet.

“Hello?” You yelled as soon as you could see the figures. There were three men in total, though two of them were waist deep in a grave, shovels in hand. You didn’t really want to know what they were doing.

“Oh shit.” One of them said when they saw you coming. The one who was out of the grave stepped closer to you. He was tall and seemed intimidating, though at this point you couldn’t care less.

“What are you doin’ out this late?” The man asked kindly. Too kindly given the situation. He had a heavy New York accent, though you could still make out his words easily. He had a smirk on his face that might’ve scared you if you were 100% done with the universe’s bullshit right now.

“Listen, I don’t care what you’re doing. Tell me though, what day is it?”

The men looked at each other. “Sunday?” One of the men in the grave said, looking confused. He was wearing a hat which looked like it was doing more harm than good with how the rain was pulling it into his face.

You sighed. “If you wouldn’t mind being a little more specific.”

The other one in the grave answered for him “January 4th. Well, after midnight. So January 5th.” You didn’t remember it being January. You thought back to the last day you remembered.

You couldn’t remember the date, but you could remember a man. Stark. He got you ‘killed’, didn’t he? He fucked over your life for his own benefit. The second you got the chance, you were gonna kill him.

“Even more specific.” They looked at each other.

“Like, the time?” One of them finally asked.

You shook your head. “No, you idiot. What year is this.” They exchanged glances again.

“Uh, 1992?” The one in front of you said. 1992?

Fuck. How long had you been out? You were sure it was 1943. You were in the middle of the war, building weapons with Howard and brainstorming tactics with Peggy in your spare time. How on Earth was it 1992?

Howard could answer. Howard knew what happened to you, though he probably kept it to himself to preserve his ‘reputation’ or something like that. You’d find a way to kill him. Worse than kill him. You’d destroy his life just like he’d wrecked yours. You weren’t sure what was a weirder development in your life right now. Being buried alive and chatting with some grave robbers or somehow ending up 50 years in the future.

“Answer me one more question.”

This time you weren’t asking. The man in front of you backed away. You couldn’t see yourself. You were sure exactly what you were doing. But it felt different. It felt good.

“Your eyes.” One of them whispered, “What the hell happened to your eyes.”

You held up a hand to tell him to be quiet. Instead, the three men lifted off the ground. So the night keeps getting weirder.

They were silent, their hands clawing at their throats, though there was nothing there. That’s when you saw it. The body of three women in back of them. They were clearly fresh, more fresh than someone who had been buried. Multiple stab wounds decorated their backs. So they weren’t grave robbers. They were murderers.

“Where can I find Howard Stark?” You asked. They frantically looked at each other, hoping someone would have an answer for you.

“That millionaire guy?” You almost laughed. Millionaire. Of course. “I don’t know, lady! I’m sure he’s got a company or somethin’, ask them!” It was worth a shot asking. “Please, put us down.” You cocked your head, glancing down to the bodies behind the men.

“I’m sure they asked for a little mercy. Doesn’t seem like you all cared, though.” You frowned at them. You weren’t sure what you were doing. At this point, you were just rolling with the punches. But somehow, you remembered what to do. It was natural. Was this something you could always do? You couldn’t remember clearly.

You focused then clenched your fist. Watching blood drip from the men’s eyes. You dropped them. Scoffing at all six of the bodies on the ground. You didn’t bother cleaning up. It wasn’t like the police were going to put a woman who was dead for 50 years on their watch list.

You stepped over them. Sparing the women a glance. You straightened out their bodies, making sure they weren’t stuffed in a haphazard pile. Someone could give them a proper burial now.

You didn’t bother with the men. Blood had pooled around them. It looked more like brain matter, though it had been washed by the rain and you could hardly tell it from the mud now.

You didn’t smile.

[d-p-f-m]

Obey me: Asmodeus x fem!MC | Imagine

Genre: Fluff, (slight) Angst

Trigger warning: mentions of minor character death/suicide

Word count: 1820

Author's note:

I don't even write for Obey me or anything otome related at the moment, but I just had to get this idea out of my system so I can sleep peacefully and thought I'd share it here, because there's not nearly enough Asmo content out there and some of my fellow Asmodeus stans might appreciate it. This man deserves more love!

Anyway, hope you enjoy!💞

♠️♥️♣️♦️♠️♥️♣️♦️♠️♥️♣️♦️

▪Imagine a universe where it's canon that every brother owns a ring with their sin's symbol engraved in it, but Asmo's ring has been missing for a very long time without anyone knowing what happened with it because he never gives a straight answer when confronted about it

▪when MC first arrives in devildom for the exchange program, she wears the ring on a necklace around her neck, seeing as it was passed down from mother to daughter as her family's heirloom through generations

▪with six of the brothers owning a similar ring to hers, it doesn't take her very long to put two and two together. Although, once she finds out it's in fact Asmo's ring, she doesn't tell him right away, because he's not particulary responsive as she subtly questions him about the whereabouts of his ring and she's scared of the real reason why it could be in her possession

▪Maybe one of her ancestors stole it from him? Maybe it's a sign to signal that her bloodline is indepted to the avatar of lust due to some deal someone made with him eons ago? Honestly, it could have so many reasons and a lot of them make her worry that it would have negative consequences for her, if anyone found out

▪Asmo simply tells her, that he lost the ring to a woman who died before he could take it back from her and for some reason, his words make her think of the recurring nightmare that would often cause her to startle awake growing up. Anxiously, MC asks him if the woman drowned before she can think better of it

▪eyeing her warily, he confirms her suspicion, asking her how she could have randomly guessed it right. Although, unable to grasp the weird feeling that overcame her while talking about the long deceased woman, she just brushes it off as a strange coincidence

▪she starts to wear the ring less while she's around Asmo, to hide it from him until she knows she can fully trust the demon brothers

▪one time, as she stays over at his room for a sleep-over, he almost gets a glimpse at it when it slips out from the collar of her loose pajama shirt and she doesn't want to risk him seeing it again. Because for all she knows, he could get mad at her for having it. Even though she can't really understand why she has it herself

▪over time, MC and Asmo gradually grow closer

▪they don't have any kind of sexual relationship, because MC wants to genuinely love and be loved by someone before giving all of herself to them

▪while Asmo respects her decision, it obviously doesn't stop him from playfully flirting with her and due to both their affectionate natures, they develop a close friendship that involves constant casual touches and cuddling

▪every time Asmo does try to initiate anything sexual between them out of habit -since it's the only outcome people usually seek from interactions with the avatar of lust and he's not used to someone actually enjoying his company for just his company alone- MC stops him gently and tells him she'd much rather just cuddle or spend time with him in general

▪Asmo appreciates and looks forward to their shared quality time a lot and he slowly starts to accept the fact that, yes, MC's not out there to use him in any way but instead actually cares for him and his feelings

▪it shows in little, almost insignificant gestures. Like her going out of her way to do favors for him, or how she always asks if he's comfortable with the smallest of things, or even how she makes sure to get his opinion on matters where people would usually just assume they know what he thinks, according to his sin and self-imposed image

▪from time to time he even prioritizes MC's innocent, loving touches over the pleasure his usual hook-ups could bring, staying in and spending his nights cuddled up to her instead of going out to party more often than not as the months pass by

▪without neither of them really acknowledging it, they both develop deeper, romantic feelings for each other over the course of the exchange period

▪one day, as MC cleans her room, (that Mammon wrecked while searching for something to sell lol), she realizes the small casket with Asmo's ring is missing from where she had put it and she immediately rushes after the second-born, who had just left her bedroom before she came in, in case he took it. As it turns out, he did

▪when Mammon realizes how important the casket is to her, he remorsefully gives it back and she returns to her room to hide it again but just as she's about to put it away, Asmo comes strolling in

▪seeing the fancy box, he grabs it from her to take a look inside out of curiosity and when he recognizes his ring, he freezes

▪feeling guilty about keeping the ring a secret for so long, MC calmly asks Asmo to let her explain

▪she tells him that her mother gave it to her once she had turned sixteen, but she hadn't been able to teach MC anything about its origins besides that it had been passed down between family members for centuries

▪after listening to her, Asmodeus grows quiet for a while, before finally opening up a little about how he lost the ring

▪a few millennia prior to the present events with MC, while Diavolo's father was still actively ruling and it was allowed for higher-ranking demons to freely roam between the human realm and devildom, Asmo would often times visit the humans to play with people's hearts and desires

▪one day, as he was passing through a small village, he met a young woman who didn't succumb to his charms

▪she was nice and courteous towards him while they interacted, but his powers never had any actual effect and determined to defile her someday, he payed the village more visits any chance he got

▪seeing as it was one of the rare times during the day where he would get her alone, he would often join her as she spent her evenings sitting at her favorite place on the edge of a cliff, located just outside the village

▪while he tried to find a way to get the frustratingly untainted woman to give in to her deepest desires, they would talk about anything that came to their minds and over time, Asmodeus had to admit he quite enjoyed her presence

▪slowly but surely, he came to care for her once he realized that she genuinely cared for him and even though he never admitted it out loud, her friendship was something he secretly cherished

▪as they were sitting side by side one night, like many times before, the woman suddenly admitted to him that she always feared he would stop visiting her someday. That he would find someone who was willing to indulge in him in more ways than she could allow herself to and that he would eventually get tired of her company

▪while she didn't know about his true demonic nature, she had always been aware that he wasn't exactly human per se and it was only natural for her to believe that he was simply playing with her to fight the boredom that overcame him occasionally. Which, initially, had been true

▪that's when he decided to give her his ring.

▪uncharacteristically keen to reassure her he would keep visiting, unless she told him to stop, he slid the ring from his finger and onto hers instead, telling her to guard it until he'd demand it back one day

▪from this day on, she would often times invite him into her home to talk in the comfort of her bedroom instead of at the cliff and Asmodeus would rest his head in her lap while she went on about a new topic every time, gently caressing his hair or playing with the fabric of his clothes in the process

▪when she told him one night, that her father was in desperate need for money and therefore planned to marry her off to a wealthy merchant with a reputation to be cruel and violent towards women, Asmo felt a strange and long forgotten urge to protect her

▪the last person that had made him feel this way was Lilith and without really thinking it through, he offered to take her away with him

▪although, she declined his offer with a mournful smile, explaining how, even though she cared for Asmodeus deeply and wanted nothing more than to stay with him, she could never live with herself if she left her family behind for her own benefit and that she still had time to convince her father to drop his idea, before the merchant would come to take her with him

▪Asmo didn't want to upset her, by ignoring her wishes and taking her away by force, so he reluctantly accepted her decision, thinking he still had time to convince her to run away, but when he came by to check on her a few days later, she was nowhere to be found

▪it turned out she had committed suicide by jumping off the cliff and drowning herself, the morning after Asmodeus had last visited her

▪he always thought that his ring had been buried with her (let's just pretend she had a proper burial, even though at that time, suicide was probably considered a sin and not excepted by society. Maybe her family buried her in secret) and that's why he never found it, when in reality, her brother had taken it, to later give it to his own daughter in memory of his lost sister

▪after Asmo finishes with the story behind his ring's disappearance, MC quickly realizes that she has to be a descendant of the woman's bloodline (which is also Lilith's human bloodline, hence why both of them are immune to Asmo's powers)

▪she attempts to give the ring back to him, because, surely, that's what both the woman and Asmo would want. But he stops her and puts the necklace the ring is attached to around her neck, before explaining that he wants her to keep it, since his promise to someday return to claim it back still stands and he doesn't plan on leaving MC's side any time soon, anyway

▪if anything, MC finding her way to him after so many centuries just means their encounter was predetermined all along and he made the right choice by entrusting his ring to her ancestor all those years ago

▪(maybe he even thinks that him finding genuine love for the first time with MC was fate as well, but he'll have a lot of time to entertain this line thought in the future.)

🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂🦂

Additional note:

Damn, I want to see a full version of this, but with life butting in every 5 seconds, I don't really have the time or energy for it. So, if there's a talented writer out there who loves this idea as much as I do and wants to turn it into an endlessly ongoing, multi-chaptered slow burn, pls (PLS!!!) do and mention me in your post, so I can read it!! I could really need this story right now.

Alright, Imma go to sleep now. Bye guys🔥

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

JUSTO - ROZALÉN

This is a "remake" of a "spanishmaravillas" post I made a while ago, that for some reason is glitched. Anyways, I'll copy what it could be saved of the post, and then I'll complete it with everything else under the cut. Enjoy :)

So, for this week’s post, I’m gonna break the rules somewhat, as this song is not in the collaborative playlist @eskamtrash started like the other songs I’ve talked about, but there is a really strong reason for that, I’ll explain it better below, but note that this is not Rozalén’s most famous song by a long shot, and I’ll probably talk about those songs (like “Girasoles”, “La Puerta Violeta” or “Vivir”) in later posts. It’s just that I needed to introduce you guys to Rozalén, and it had to be done with this song. Again, the reasons are below.

Either way, this song in particular also helps me explaining one of the (sadly) biggest things to happen in Spain in the last century, whose aftermath is still present today (I could do a post about the influence of it in Spanish modern society if you want to): the Spanish Civil War.

If I make the post about it I’ll explain it in detail, but in a nutshell, in the early 20th century Spain was under the II Republic. A bunch of people didn’t like it, especially in the military, and in 1936 they did a coûp-de-état that started a Civil War. Basically it was Republicans, that were strongly associated with Communists (they received indirect aid from the USSR and Mexico) vs the Nationalists, led by Mola and Franco,  with a strong fascist ideology (they received direct support from Mussolini and Hitler). For the people of Spain it was just horrible, as now families were teared apart, neighbours attacked other neighbours, death and poverty were at its highest (at the beginning of the 20th century Spain was pretty much a 3rd world country) and it was just a horrible time. In the end, Franco won in 1939, and established a fascist dictatorship that lasted until his death in 1975.

Okay, now that you have a general idea of what it was, let’s take a look at the song and Rozalén:

So, Rozalén. I already made a whole post about her, so I'll try to be brief here. Basically, she's a singer-songwriter (imo she's the most talented songwriter right now in Spain) with songs that tend to have a lot of social commentary in them, she's very vocal about social issues and inclusivity (she brings a sign language interpreter to all her concerts and tv interviews for example), and she's also a proud Manchega and has a lot of traditional Manchego influences in her songs. As for me, she's one of my favorite Spanish singers, and I associate it with my family; my grandmother saw her in a concert Rozalén did in the Castilla-la Mancha House in Madrid (basically a place where Manchegos living in Madrid gather and celebrate their culture) for her first album, and she even has it signed. From there on, my mother and aunt started to love her, then my sister, my cousin, and myself. It's now like our family artist of some sort, we all love her a lot.

This song is based on the real story of Justo, brother of Rozalén's grandmother, who died in the Civil War. Apart from depicting the rawness and cruelty of war, and specially of the Spanish Civil War, the song also focuses on the fact that thousands of Spaniards still haven't been able to give proper burial to their family members, who lie in trenches all over the country (one of those deads in a trench is the famous poet Federico García Lorca, for example). Justo was one of them, but thankfully just before COVID she announced in a concert that they had found him, and that her grandmother could finally put some flowers in her brother's tomb. This song is my favourite of Rozalén, and it's one of the songs that make me cry the most. All Spaniards have stories about the Civil War and how it affected their families, in my case one great-grandfather was sentenced to death row for 10 years, another one died after drinking off a poisoned river, and part of my grandmother's family had to take refuge in Mexico, where they still live.

Here are the translated lyrics, below I'll try to explain everything, if there's anything unclear, please feel free to leave an ask and i'll gladly explain it :)

Calla, no remuevas la herida

Be quiet, don't steer the pain

Llora siempre en silencio

Always cry in silence

No levantes rencores

Do not raise resentments

Que este pueblo es tan pequeño...

Because this town is so small...

Eran otros tiempos

Those were different times

(x2)

Todos le llamaban Justo

Everyone called him Justo

Justo de nombre y de acción

Justo by name and action (1)

El mayor de cinco hermanos

The eldest of five siblings

Elegante, el más prudente

Elegant, the most prudent

De un pueblito de la Sierra del Segura

From a little town in the Segura Mountains (2)

Sastre y leñador de profesión

A tailor and a lumberjack by trade

Se hablaba con la Ascensión

He was seeing Ascensión

Morenita, la de Amalio.

Brunette, Amalio's daughter.

De los pocos que leía

He was one of the few who read

Estudiaba por las noches

He studied at night

En los tres meses de invierno

During the three Winter months

Él cantaba por las calles siempre alegre una canción.

He would always sing in the streets, always happy, a song.

Al final del '38

By the end of '38

Son llamados a la guerra

They are recruited

La generación más joven

The youngest generation

"La Quinta del Biberón"

"The Class of the Feeding Bottle" (3)

Se subieron al camión como si fuera una fiesta

They got on the truck like it was a party

Pero él fue el único que no volvió.

But he was the only one who didn't come back.

Y ahora yo logro oírte cantar

And now I can hear you sing

Se dibuja tu rostro en la armonía

Your face can be seen in the harmony

De este lugar

Of this place

Y ahora yo logro oírte cantar

And now I can hear you sing

Si no curas la herida duele, supura

If you don't heal the wound it hurts, it oozes

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

Tras trece días sin noticias,

After thirteen days without any news

La alegría de un segundo

The happiness of a second,

Llega una carta de vuelta.

A letter comes back

Otra de su compañero:

Another one from his partner:

"Fue una bala",

"It was a bullet",

Nos leía el diario

The journal read

"Me quedé con su cuchara,

"I kept his spoon,

La guerrera y el mechero".

his guerrera (?) and his lighter".

La madre Llanos baja gritando por la cuesta

His mother, Llanos (4), is going down the slope yelling

"¡Canallas! ¡Me lo habéis matao!"

"Scoundrels! You have taken him away from me / you have killed him!" (5)

Sin una flor

Without a flower

Sin un adiós

Without a goodbye

La única tumba la de su corazón

The only tomb was the one in his heart.

Pero ahora yo logro oírte cantar

But now I can hear you sing

Se dibuja tu rostro en la armonía

Your face can be seen in the harmony

De este lugar

Of this place

Y ahora yo logro oírte cantar

And now I can hear you sing

Si no curas la herida duele, supura

If you don't heal the wound it hurts, it oozes

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

No guarda paz

It does not keep peace.

[This final part is the song Justo used to sing, an havanera, very popular in Spain during that time]

"Quiéreme niña, quiéreme niña, quiéreme siempre.

"Love me girl, love me girl, love me always.

Quiéreme tanto, quiéreme tanto, como te quiero.

Love me as much, love me as much, as I love you.

A cambio de esto yo te daré

In return for this I'll give you

La caña dulce, la dulce caña, y el buen café...

The sweet cane, the sweet cane, and the good coffee...

La caña dulce, la dulce caña, y el buen café."

The sweet cane, the sweet cane, and the good coffee."

1. Justo, apart from being a name, is also the word in Spanish for "just", "fair", "right". 2. That town is Rozalén's and Justo's hometown, Letur, in the province of Albacete.

3. The "Quinta del Biberón" was a recruitment during 1938 and 1839 in Republican territories with soldiers from 14 to 18 years old.

4. Llanos is a very popular name in Albacete province, as the Virgen de los Llanos ("Our Lady of the Plains") is the patroness of Albacete, all the women I know with that name are from that province (you can't get much more Manchego that that name!)

5. This phrase is complicated to translate. The original sentence is "me lo habéis matao", it's impossible to translate it literally, without the "me" it means "you have killed him", but that possessive it is often used to imply more emotion and a more personal bond between speaker and the one someone speaks about, that's why I also translated it as "you have taken him away from me", because the idea is the same.

[whattodowithace]

It's Basically The Lion King [Final Chapter] (Seyoon)

Title: It's Basically The Lion King

Pairing: Seyoon x Reader

Genre: Angst; Fluff; Spice

Word count: 15,072 [All Chapters]

Writer: Kpopmadness & Whattodowithkpop

Warnings: Mentions of death

*****

The King's laugh roared throughout the city. Residents within the walls murmured amongst themselves, not sure how to take this sudden request.

"You're a criminal." He sneers. "You don't get to make such requests."

"It's all to find the truth." Seyoon speaks up, his voice quiet because the strain his lungs had from his injuries.

The King's head snaps towards his direction, taking steps closer to the knight. "You are a criminal too. Disobeying King's orders."

The crowd's whispers get louder, making the king's worries surface.

Before anyone else could speak, The King's voice raises.

"But, since I am a fair king, my guards will escort you to the body. Though that rope won't prove anything."

He steps to the princess, his mouth coming close to her ear. "You can't tie that rope to me."

The Princess smiles  as she raises her wrists. "The rope burns stay on the skin for days. Not only will my brother's skin have these marks..." She looks into her uncle's eyes, watching the realization hit as he flips his hands, seeing the fading indents of the rope's burns against his palms.

He growls as he grabs her wrist harshly, the pain from the burns of the rope intensifying. The King addresses the people, calling their attention to the princess.

"Clearly, the princess is too cunning to be escorted to Exile Island. Why, she turned one of the royal's very best soldier against us."

Seyoon stays quiet, knowing he'd only make it worse if he spoke up.

"The only step forward would be a public execution." The King declares.

The crowd's murmurs, the tone unsure and unconvinced by this declaration. The King could sense this and took action. He reaches over to the soldier just behind him unsheathing the sword. The blade moves quickly, traveling towards the princess's throat. The Princess watches the sharp object get closer to her. She closes her eyes, knowing she wouldn't be able to stop it in time. The sound of skin being pierced is echoed through the kingdom. The silence rang through the air, the lords and ladies held their breaths as they viewed the scene before them.

The Princess opens her eyes, her brain not processing any pain. When she looks to her uncle she sees the reason. Tears swell in her eyes as she looks into Seyoon's. His lips curl up into a ghost of smile, his own eyes filling with tears.

Seyoon had jumped in front of the blade, effectively shielding the princess from the sword and being pierced himself. It felt like slow motion as he fell to his knees, his breathing labored. The Princess screams, tears falling over her cheeks as she kneels beside him, grabbing his face so she could look at him clearly. The crowd begins to protest, making the king's anger boil hotter. He raises the blade again, directed right at the princess. He swings it down, waiting for it to make contact with her.

The crowd gasps again as the king halts his movement. Seyoon had driven his dagger into the king's chest, killing him instantly. The King's body falls to the ground just as Seyoon lays on his side fully.

"No, no Seyoon." The Princess pleads as she sobs, keeping his head in her lap as she tries to keep his eyes open.

"You have to finish this." Seyoon whispers as his hands reach her cheeks, trying his best to catch her tears.

"Not without you."

"I did my part." He looks to the late king, smiling up at her. "I got rid of your obstacle."

Goblin approaches Seyoon, resting his head on his arm as he whines. The Princess sobs harder as she watches his eyes flutter close. She repeats his name, trying to get him to wake up, but with no avail. Her head lifts, looking at the people crowded around them. Her heart feels pain but she stands, resting Seyoon's head gently against the ground.

She breathes in deeply, her voice shaky but loud as she speaks.

"There is evidence that my uncle was the one responsible for my brother's death." She begins, the crowd quiet as they listen. "I swear to you as a member of the royal family that I did no such harm to my brother. I know my uncle has been a terrible king to you and I will right the wrongs he's made. Please." She trails off as she kneels, bowing her head to the ground. "Accept me back as your queen."

The silence was deafening, making the princess worry. Her worries dissipate, however, when she hears the crowd begin to cheer. She lifts her head, seeing her people celebrate her arrival back. The Princess can't smile as she looks to Seyoon, her heart breaking as she watches his chest slow.

~

The day of the princess's inauguration had arrived. It had been weeks since she had returned to the kingdom. She had already organized her brother's funeral and gave him a proper burial. Her uncle was buried but not shown the same respect as her brother. She had met the people, got to know them in the market places and became close with them. The people loved her, more than when she was a child.

Goblin had made himself at home, sleeping in the Princess's quarters and walking with her through the city as she met new friends. Goblin became close with the children and entertained them often in the evenings. The kingdom questioned her on marriage, but she always told them her heart only belonged to one man and that's how it would stay.  She never commented further on the subject and the people continued to wonder where this man was.

Her nerves were shot as she waited at the bottom of the stairs that led out to the balcony. The whole kingdom was awaiting her, the cheers could be heard miles away. Her long dress dragged behind her, the jewels that accented the blue dress sparkled in the lights as she fidgeted.

Goblin sat next to her, told to stay until she came back into the castle. The court lady who had been with the princess since she was young signaled it was time to go. The Princess releases a breath as she begins her ascent. Each step was delicate as she walked on the ceramic steps, each step being heard throughout the palace. The soldiers walked next to her and guarded all pathways as she reached the top.

The Princess’s heart ached as she wished for only one person to be next to her, but she knew he couldn’t and that hurt her more.

"Are you ready?" The court lady asks.

The soon to be Queen nods as she places her hands on the doors. She pushes them wide, walking through them to see the whole kingdom cheering below her. She smiles and waves, the people waving back at her excitedly.

A loud voice comes from the speakers that surrounded the walls announcing her as their new queen. The cheering continued, making her smile as she saw how happy the people she grew up with were.

"Now to present the crown." The speakers announced, making the crowd quiet down as they watched with bated breath waiting for her to be crowned.

The doors behind her opened, revealing the crown being held. The Princess faces forward, waiting for the crown to be sat atop her head. Her thoughts raced as she thought about being installed, but she calmed her beating heart with thoughts of the things she would make better.

She felt the crown rest on her head, but the crowd stayed silent. The new queen turned around going to ask if something was wrong when she recognized the face closest to her, retracting his hands from the crown he had just placed on her head.

"You did well, Mouse." Seyoon smiles as his eyes meet her.

Her eyes fill with tears as she sees the man her heart longed for in front of her. She feels the tears fall and his hands reach her face, wiping away the stray tears as they fell. The Queen saw his state was still not the best as bandages peaked through his armor and the crutches he used to support himself.

She lets out a sob as she throws her arms around him, her face finding a home in his neck as she cries happy tears at seeing him.

"You're okay." She breathes, her hold on him gentle so as not to hurt him.

"And you're the queen." He notes, trying to keep this about her.

"Please don't leave me again." She pleads with him pulling her face away to meet his.

"I won't, I promise."

Seyoon smiles as he leans down placing a sweet kiss on her lips before pulling away.

"You have to greet the people as queen now."

Her hold doesn't loosen, making him chuckle.

"Come with me?"

She pulls away, grabbing his hand to pull him closer to the balcony, the people cheering once they see the pair. She smiles at him, her tear stained cheeks shining in the sunlight. Seyoon smiles back at her, his words soft to where only she could hear them.

"Let's rule as your brother did."

"Is that you asking for my hand in marriage?" She jokes, but her heart flutters.

Seyoon smiles back grabbing her face with his hands, whispering to her before kissing her again.

"Yes."

previous chapter

It's Basically The Lion King Masterlist

[thecreaturecodex]

Balbal

“Manananggal” © Brian Valeza, accessed at his ArtStation page here

[Monsters like the balbal are why I think folklore is such an invaluable resource for game design. A man-bat with a razor tongue that turns into a crocodile might be sent back for revisions by an editor for being not thematically consistent enough, but it is a real mythological entity. Case in point, most depictions on the Internet drop the flight and don’t mention the affinity for crocodiles, making it a much more typical ghoul. Thanks to @a-book-of-creatures​ for their writeup of the balbal providing the bulk of the inspiration for this entry.

Incidentally, I will be featuring other artists besides Brian Valeza in this project. But his gallery is an excellent resource for images of monsters with little Internet footprint, and it was a major incentive for me to tackle this project.]

Balbal CR 5 CE Magical Beast This creature looks something like a man-sized bat, with a ghoulishly humanoid face and clawed fingers on its wings. Its tongue lashes from its mouth, as long as a whip and razor sharp.

Balbals are corpse-eaters that glide between villages to prey on their dead. They use their long claws to pry holes in roofs and break windows while a body lies in state, then shred the corpse with their razor-sharp tongue. In order to avoid detection, they replace the body with a magically altered stock of wood. In areas haunted by undeath, the lack of a proper burial may cause the spirits of their victims to animate as incorporeal undead, but by that point, the balbal is long since gone.

A balbal spends much of its time in the form of a crocodile. They can influence the behavior of crocodiles, and especially aggressive crocodile populations may be a sign of a local balbal. This affinity does not extend to other reptiles; balbals fear and hate venomous snakes especially. In countries where balbals are present, some people decorate their houses with snake motifs in an attempt to frighten off the monsters, or even keep such dangerous animals as pets.

A balbal has a wingspan of about eight feet and weighs 100 pounds. Their lifespans range into the forties or fifties if they are well fed and safe from adventurers and vengeful family members.

Balbal     CR 5 XP 1,600 CE Medium magical beast Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +6, scent Defense AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+4 Dex, +4 natural) hp 45 (6d10+12) Fort +6, Ref +9, Will +4; +4 vs. illusions Defensive Abilities hard to fool Offense Speed 20 ft., climb 20 ft., fly 60 ft. (average) Melee tongue +9 (2d4+2 plus bleed), 2 claws +9 (1d4+2) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with tongue) Special Attacks bleed (1d4) Statistics Str 15, Dex 19, Con 12, Int 8, Wis 15, Cha 12 Base Atk +5; CMB +7; CMD 21 Feats Stealthy, Toughness, Weapon Finesse Skills Climb +10, Escape Artist +7, Fly +6, Perception +6, Stealth +10, Swim +5 Languages Common SQ change shape (crocodile, beast shape II), corpse decoy, crocodile empathy +11 Ecology Environment warm coastal and urban Organization solitary, pair or wallow (1-2 plus 1-6 crocodiles) Treasure none Special Abilities Corpse Decoy (Su) A balbal can sculpt a stock of wood into a shape akin to that of a humanoid corpse in a process that takes 1 minute. This false corpse can resemble a specific individual, and creatures interacting with the false corpse must succeed a DC 14 Will save to realize the deception. This is an illusion (glamer) effect. The save DC is Charisma based. Crocodile Empathy (Ex) A balbal may improve the attitude of crocodiles. This functions as the wild empathy class ability of a druid equal to the balbal’s HD, except that the balbal gains a +4 racial bonus on this roll and can only use it to influence crocodilians. At the GM’s discretion, this ability may work with similar creatures such as dinosaurs, but it does not function with reptiles such as snakes, lizards or turtles. Hard to Fool (Ex) A balbal gains a +4 racial bonus on all saving throws against illusion effects. Tongue (Ex) A balbal’s tongue is treated as a primary natural weapon that deals slashing and piercing damage and has 10 feet of reach.

[threeminutesoflife]

Manipulation Station

Pairings: Snowpiercer Dark!Curtis x Dark!Reader

Warnings: 18+, Snowpiercer movie (movie line*) spoilers, unprotected sex, poisoning.

Summary: Curtis accepts Wilford's offer to lead the train and selects the Reader, the resident executioner for the first class criminals, as he wife.

Written for @jtargaryen18​ Dark Curtis Holiday Challenge. The way she writes is an absolute favorite. Read and enjoy her pieces- she's a gifted lady!

Prompt: “I don’t owe you patience or trust.”

Word Count: 10.5k

“Do you think you’ll be safe when I’m gone, dear girl?”

“I can take care of myself, Wilford. I have most of my life.”

“Yes, but you’ll need to sleep sometime.”

Wilford rose from the chair and made his way to the rolling drink cart along the office wall, “You’re great at what you do. You’re an investment to order.” He smiled proudly at you before turning his back to mix a dirty martini. “But when I’m gone, there may be family members looking for revenge. That worries and saddens me deeply. To think I can no longer protect you. Especially after everything you’ve done and all those times you’ve kept order on our sacred engine.”

One.

Two.

Three olives plopped into the glass.

You bit the inside of your cheek at his words, remembering how many past punishments and executions you carried out in Wilford’s name. The many times you were requested to maintain control for him and administer repercussions on the first and second-class passengers.

You were good at it. Maybe too good. Without Wilford’s protection, you’d have to be on constant watch until someone relieved you from your executing position permanently.

“This may not even come to pass, but if it does- I need to know you’ll agree. I need you. He’ll need you. Between you and me, Gilliam reassures me you’re a shoo-in. And I don’t doubt you for a moment, dear,” Wilford raised his glass to toast you before sipping the drink. “Curtis’ll want you on the spot. You’re an extremely important tool. Trust me. You’re more his type than even he realizes.”

“I do trust you,” you replied automatically. “I always have. You’ve protected me and allowed me the pleasure of administering your final word to those ungrateful, sir.”

“Exactly, dear girl. You understand my picture,” Wilford patted your shoulder as he passed by to take a seat. “Our picture. I need you to keep being that important tool. Keep the train on the right track, so to speak.”

He winked at you before biting into an olive.

Lifting a silver dome cover off the platter, Wilford offered you a warm chocolate chip cookie.

“You, my girl,” he said while waggling his selected cookie in air, “know the right kind of structure. And that kind of structure is our right kind of order. Things must remain as they are, the order must remain as it is. But most importantly, you respect it. You’ll teach Curtis to do the same. I need you at his side. Connected in all ways.”

“But marriage? I don’t understand the purpose, Wilford. It seems unnecessary, we’re forever on this train-”

“He’ll have too much power if he makes to the front. I need you to harness your husband, show him how good things are up here. Let him see what he’s been missing, let him feel like you and him are a united front. You two will be the face of what structure must be, an example and reminder of what was and should be. To keep the structure, you must be structured.”

You coughed slightly around the cookie locked between your lips. Working with someone upon Wilford’s request was one thing, but annexing yourself to another person… What was the purpose of that? But there was a small voice growing louder in your head, reminding you that you needed to be on Curtis’ side if you wanted to survive longer than Wilford’s burial rites. Still, having to give up your freedom completely…

“Why marriage when I can simply work for him- like I do for you, sir?”

“Call me old fashion or an engineer of the future,” Wilford explained further, chucking regally at his choice of words. “Either way, I want you both devoted to each other and the train. Standards and images must be upheld, dear girl. You two will be married and form a united front- for generations to come. We need a little more Norman Rockwell than Kathe Kollwitz.”

Only receiving your silence to his humor, Wilford could tell you were not entirely on board with the marriage role. Why would useless established legalities of marriage be necessary in the confines of a wayward world? It wouldn’t.

Yes, he could easily weave the loom to have you aligned with Curtis as a business partner, but Wilford always liked a bit of extra flair. One extra churn from the pepper grinder for his food. You giving in and agreeing to an unnecessary marriage to Curtis, especially forgoing all reluctance to do so, would reassure Wilford of your loyalty to the train even when he’d no longer be in charge.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He was determined to present the marriage to you in a way you wouldn’t be able to refuse for long. And fear was always a great motivator.

Classics were classic for a reason.

Wilford needed you linked with Curtis. He needed you alive. You were the key; one easy twist in a locked situation that would open resolution. Wilford needed to reward Curtis’ efforts for his revolt and still ensure his ideal vision of the train remained steadfast. You would be the soothing balm to both their burns.

Making sure you were taken care of when Wilford retired was not an act of deep affection or fatherly love, but rather an earned promotion.

A reward for your years of service and delivery of results. Your safety and success would be ensured if you remained in a powerful position. With you safe, you would continue to reap and sow order throughout the train. Your results exponential.

Wilford knew everyone’s history aboard his train. It was his way to keep all things in place, all order- organized and properly named.

Before Wilford gave you passage on the train, you were a gifted student winning science awards and scholarships; catching Wilford’s attention with your potential by winning one of his sponsored grants. Years later when he reviewed your file, the idea of an executioner position bloomed in his brain. He knew you would do perfectly, a vixen face with a delight for mixing chemicals.

Wilford knew human nature had its moments of people falling back to their more animalistic tendencies. But he thought the front end-ers still deserved a more humane and posh way of dealing with crime. Executions did not have to be so graphically unappealing.

Imagine is everything, and who better to administer those punishments than a charming lady? Afterall, the first-class passengers did pay an absorbent amount of money for the privileged to ride his train. Fine taste should be given and enjoyed- even until the final stop.

“Dear girl, this inconvenient uprising may not even become too successful. More than likely, it will end shortly after it’s begun, or when the tallies add up to the necessary sum. However, if there’s a hail mary of achievement, I need to know you agree. When you do, I’ll tell him to allow you to keep your position as executioner. That your role is needed as a giver of dignified death. Besides, I know you, dear girl. I know how much you need that outlet. How that power sings to you and helps ease your cabin fever. That hobby allows you to slip away for a moment- I don’t want you to be denied that peace in the future. Besides, a gift like yours? A gift like you? It would hard for Curtis to deny you much.”

“Is that all though?” Frowning at your cookie and picking away at a chip, smearing and streaking the soft chocolate across the pristine plate. “To keep-”

“You’ve known about the train’s unique replacement parts and protein bars. The careful balance needed to keep the wheels running on this godforsaken frozen track. The balance needed to be kept order between the tail and front ends. You see how kronole is supplied to keep residents distracted. You’re the someone who knows what really goes on, and most importantly, you’ve always reacted positively to my orders and vision. Don’t let me lose you, I want to keep you safe. I need you to do this for me, my dear girl. Agree and marry Curtis. If he makes it- you are my backup plan, my little piece of salvation. Protect him, so I can in turn protect you when I’ve retired. Humor an old man with his old ways.”

“Why not Claude?”

“She’s not the right choice for this. He won’t choose her, especially since she’s the one who measures the parts. You’re my ace in the hole, dear girl. Gilliam and I both agree. Curtis is going to favor you out of the others.”

You took a moment to think of Wilford’s proposition. Keep the order, help steer the new conductor- do what you’re always enjoyed. After all, Wilford just wants you to remain safe. There was a part of you still unsure about the arranged marriage. The idea of it being legal or not, it was unnecessary but you knew Wilford liked to make a show of things. You were tempted to ask more questions, but then you looked Wilford in the eyes.

This was your protector.

His benevolence and care saved you. His vision kept you alive.

Wiping your hand across the linen napkin, you agreed, “I’ll do it. I owe you my life and safety. You’ve allowed me to test my poisons and feed my creativity, sir. The train will remain balanced. First-class shall remain proper, even in their deaths as you’ve always said.”

Wilford winked at you before biting into the soft treat, “Excellent. We shouldn’t be savages to our own, dear girl.”

~~~

When rumors of the impending revolt drew closer, Wilford reminded you of your role in the contingency plan.

When the revolt birthed as fact, Claude collected you with a bit of blood still on her face as she told you Wilford needed to discuss what was happening immediately.

There were no warm chocolate chip cookies offered this time as you asked what spurred the revolt on quicker than what was anticipated, “Why now?”

Claude scoffed behind you, “Idiot. As if animals need a reason.”

The two of you always were odd acquaintances; a mutual honor among thieves that was heavily seasoned with mutual dislike. Stiffening in your seat and gathering your tolerance in with a deep breath, you waited for Wilford’s answer.

“It escalated when Claude went to measure and retrieve a new part.”

“So, he claims ownership of the part?” You quickly inquired. You didn’t think to ask Wilford earlier if Curtis had family of his own before you agreed to all this.

Wilford’s smile stretched broadly at your phrasing, claiming ownership. Yes, he was very pleased you had the right mentality.

Claude’s eyes darted between you and Wilford, hating how he viewed you a blue ribbon breeding bitch for his soon-to-be prized stud.

Trying to regain ground and favor, Claude chimed in confidently, “They are nothing, they own nothing. Wilford is the sole owner.”

Intrigued to see where this potential debate may lead, Wilford picked up his spoon and returned to enjoying the decadent chocolate mousse he started before your arrival.

Dinner theatre, he mused to himself. How he missed attending those outings.

Not bothering to correct or address Claude to her face, you stared straight ahead in Wilford’s direction, “They are not nothing, Claude. They have a role and a purpose. Perhaps, they have even more importance than a glorified bed warmer? Or even a polite poisoner? Without them fucking like animals, as you said, we wouldn’t have replacement pieces. Without their role and purpose, the sacred engine would fail and we would perish.”

Her silence gave you a small satisfaction.

Turning in your seat, you looked at her now, “Tell me Claude. If the sacred engine ever stops due to lack of replacement parts and you’re frozen, when your vagina’s as cold as your heart, who’s bed could you possibly warm then?”

Claude shot out of her seat, fully intending to warm the surface of table by smashing the side of your face down onto it as she stalked over towards your direction.

“Sit down, Claude!” Wilford pulled the silver spoon of his mouth and pointed it at her.

“But she-“

Wilford steamrolled over Claude’s protest, “Better yet, make better use of yourself. Get me and my guest another serving of dessert. Wait in the kitchen until I phone for you.”

Silence hung in the air as you felt Claude’s stare burn into the back of your head.

Finishing off the last bit of dessert, Wilford gave her another pointed look as the spoon knocked against the glass bowl, “Kitchen, Claude.”

With every stomp echoing out the boxcar, you knew she was plotting your demise.

“I’m almost looking forward to retirement. Refereeing you two is a task in itself.”

“Sorry, Wilford.”

“Nevermind about that, just remember our deal.”

“Always, sir.”

“You never did ask what he looks like,” Wilford stated.

You quirked an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Curtis, Mrs. Everett.” Wilford supplied with a wink.

“Loyalty’s blind. It doesn’t matter, I’ll do what you asked.”

“Hmm, love is also blind, dear girl,” Wilford pulled a piece of paper out from his coat pocket and slid it across the table. “Had this sketched for you, but details aren’t the best with it being done over the broadcast screen. Meet your husband.”

Unfolding the paper, you held no expectations. Hope was a stranger in a make-believe land at this point. But your hands stilled at attempting to flatten the page’s creases as you looked down at a pair of fierce, cutting eyes.

So this was Curtis Everett. The artist drew him in several different poses. Some standing and talking, while in other sketches he was sitting and silently watching. Each piece displayed an attractive man with an air of determination and raw intensity. Albeit a bit broken.

Nodding a thank you to Wilford, you refolded the sketches and placed them in your lap.

~~~

As Curtis began his venture to the head of the train, you and six uniquely different women were gathered in a designated boxcar to wait and see if the Curtis Revolution proved to be successful.

“You’ll remain here until further notice,” Claude informed the women in her care. “Don’t think about leaving. If something happens to you, you’re on your own.” Claude held her gaze on you specifically with that last part. “Wilford had the seamstress supply fancier dresses, pick one from the racks to wear later if things progress. Here are your numbers, pin them on yourself when the time comes. We’ll need to differentiate you somehow.”

“Because names wouldn’t help with that?” you asked dryly.

“Be quiet,” Claude hissed back.

Number Six squeezed her paper namesake with excitement, “Oh, new clothes. Magnifique! Look at how luxurious those evening gowns are. Oh, so dreamy! It’ll be like we’re on the red carpet for an awards show.”

You looked at Six in disbelief, how were you supposed to survive being cramped in this small room with people like her?

Hurry up, Curtis. Win or lose- make it quick.

“Red carpet?” asked number Three, the only train baby of the group.

“Be quiet, I don’t have time for stupid questions and even dumber people,” said Claude.

“Always so pleasant to be around you, Claude.”

“Shut up,” she sneered back at you as the other ladies silently slipped away.

You weren’t sure if the other women ignored your exchange with Claude because everyone was familiar to the open hostility between you two, or if they simply weren’t interested in anything that didn’t concern them directly. With the upper class mentality, you assumed it was the latter.

Blowing a kiss at Claude, you picked up one of the books that were put out beside the drinks and cheese tray.

Everything you’ve known for the last seventeen years hung in the balance, and the six other ladies didn’t have a single fret line across their foreheads. Here you were, waiting to see what the train’s fate might be and the others couldn’t tear themselves away from the servings of special occasion Gouda. Perhaps you weren’t much better, you thought as you ran your hand along the book’s embossed hardcover.

Boiling at the air kiss you threw, Claude cut through the racks of delivered dresses. Kicking an extra box of high heels out of her way, she ripped the book out of your hand.

“My, my, Claude. I see you’ve been working out. Manhandling baby-sized parts really improved your strength,” you antagonized while sitting down and crossing your legs.

Openly laughing at Claude’s temper only set her anger off more as she spat out her next words, “You’re a fucking bitch. I can’t wait to see him fail. When he doesn’t make it, you’ll be left behind right where you are. A discarded napkin on top a dirty pile of dinner plates. Stuck to remain a polite poisoner until you’re ended.”

Mocking your earlier words to her, she smirked at you for what she deemed a clever line. With your nose in the air, you blatantly eyed her from head to toe without responding. You slowly uncrossed your legs and gracefully leaned forward, a look of predatory smugness to your features when you saw her tense up. Suddenly, you snatched the book back out of her hands. Keeping your eyes locked on her, you opened the book and cracked the book spine into submission. Slowly, steadily you raised the book from your lap until it fully covered your chin, then your nose, and then your eyes from her view.

Behind the book’s binding you called out, “Claude, why do you continue to test me when you’re fully aware of how potent my poisons can be- and how well I can mix them into your meals? Don’t make me poison you at your next tea party.”

Claude was about to deliver a counter-threat when the phone hidden behind the wall seal rang. You both knew Wilford was watching, he always was.

“Ah, that ringing bell would be for you, dear Claude. Try not to slip on your saliva when you run to answer your master’s call, little dog,” you teased behind a copy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

As Claude left, you listened to the other women gossip around the snack table. Wilford enjoyed keeping certain cards to his chest and your competition was a hand he didn’t want to show entirely. He said you’d be Curtis’ pick, so why give away unimportant details?

But you liked to be more practical. Knowing details, even little ones, helped you aim for the artery when plotting.

As they conferenced around the snack platter, you overheard why they agreed to participate in Wilford’s selection game and become a tail end-er’s wife. Some needed to repay their family’s debts or their own, others wanted to climb up in rank and gain as much power as possible. A shared answered was wanting a change of scenery on this limited-option train.

They were all lovely women in their own right. If Curtis ran the gauntlet successfully, he’d be rewarded with choosing one of you seven, shiny-eyed brides-to-be.

But as you looked over the options, you couldn’t help but think that your train deserved better. Especially since their only concern at the moment was to consume more Gouda.

The sounds of guards rushing down the aisle of the waiting car snapped you out of your dairy assessment. There was a part of you hoping Curtis would be successful. A small side tempted by the curiosity of what it meant to have a new conductor responsible for the sacred engine. But you were more worried on how a new conductor might not have the same vision as Wilford.

Wilford assured you Curtis would view the world as he did. Wilford believed Curtis to be his successor. So you reminded yourself: Trust in Wilford, so you can trust in Curtis.

But with your curiosity peeked, you left the room of selected women to check-in with the closest guard post. Frowning when you found the post empty, you were about to return to the waiting room when the monitor screen caught your eye. Figures on the grainy monitors showed guards wearing tactical attire as the train barreled to the bridge and into a new year. Masks covered their faces, minimizing human features so their anonymity would be more threatening.

The broadcast feed was not the best quality but you saw a tall man in the middle of the rebel pack on the other monitor. He matched Wilford’s sketch. The size of the group by him was much larger than you expected. Knowing the outcomes of the earlier revolts and rebellions, you thought this revolution would be another failure. Even with those determined, intense eyes of his. Internally scoffing at the idea you would become a widow before you were even married.

Honestly, despite Wilford’s backup plan for Curtis, you didn’t actually think it’d be possible for a tail end-er to make it this far. But there on the screen showed a massive number of rebels. How many more backend boarders were there?

Even with soil and blood-encrusted on him, the man was an attractive leader. You couldn’t help to grin slightly at the feral look plastered across Curtis’ face. Perhaps you had more in common with the third-class revolutionist than you realized.

Leaning into the screen as the attack played out, your breath fogged the monitor as you watched Curtis decide between obtaining his goal to capture Mason or save a fellow man. At the end of the slaughtering and witnessing Curtis’ choice of fatality, you were content with your agreement to Wilford’s chess game of marriage.

Turning away from the monitors, you slipped back into the waiting room to enjoy some Gouda.

Time seemed to pass slowly until Claude dropped off another tray of fruit and ordered everyone to get ready immediately, “Don’t leave this room. It’s too late to stop what’s happened, and now it’s your turn to help the train. I’ll be back shortly to lead you to the selection.”

The sound of the door closing behind her was like a gun sounding the start of a race. Six ladies frantically ran around the room crashing into one another, ripping garments off hangers and knocking items on the ground.

Rolling your eyes at the costume change commotion, you slipped out the door in hopes to eavesdrop on Wilford. After seeing Curtis on the monitor, you fantasized how or if he would accept his new role. Would he be curious and interested in the idea of being able to select a wife, or would he decline it?

---

“’…hold a woman with both arms…*’” Wilford jested.

Curtis looked so broken, nerves and bones exposed. The look of pain filling his eyes and the wordless shock of betrayal and disbelief across his face was not how you pictured this moment for him. Well, you pictured there would be shock, but not this level of absolute destruction.

Something happened to you then as you absentmindedly rubbed your breastbone, a dull ache starting to grow. This man, who was glorious and furious only a short time ago, now looked lost and lifeless. The dull pain continued along your bone and you could almost ignore the pain until he looked over at the wall you were spying behind. It felt like he knew you were there, pinning you in place with his agony as your own discomfort bloomed in your chest. The longer his eyes were in your direction, the more your chest hurt.

But that was crazy, you thought, of course he couldn’t see you. None of them knew you were there listening. Turning away from the hiding spot, you continued to rub your sternum as you made the way back to the ladies.

Reentering the room and seeing the group of potential wives was surreal; how the state of him and his clothes compared to the state of this self-indulgent mock harem. You knew Curtis’ story from Wilford’s files and the small-time you saw his takeover on screen. But to see the vast difference and pain of someone you might align yourself with while they stood before your own eyes- that was somewhat stomach-churning. Even for you.

Normally, you would capitalize on weakness. But Curtis’ pain had the opposite effect on you. Instead of the urge to squeeze, you wanted to hold.

Sitting down before the vanity, you observed the girls behind you in the mirror. Only two looked anxious about the upcoming selection. The other numbers looked like they were having an afternoon away, a short reprieve from the pressures of planning a charity fundraiser.

Number four looked high, kronole you suspected. Thank goodness she was wearing slip-ons. The state she was in you weren’t sure if she’d able to tie her own laces.

Looking at the candidates and remembering Curtis’ grief, your chest dully ached again. For a moment, you thought perhaps the two anxious girls understood the weight of the situation. But the longer everyone stayed in the waiting room, the more you overheard that their nervous whispers were only reservations in having to be in close quarters with a tail end-er.

None of these “I’ll write you a check” girls would do. They wouldn’t last against how feral and pained Curtis seemed. The train wouldn’t benefit with any of them by his side.

You clutched the lipstick case tighter in your hands as your thoughts swirled- none of these lunching ladies could steer Curtis the way the sacred engine deserved.

Despite Wilford’s promise of the selection being in your favor, seeing what Curtis could possibly select instead filled you with enormous dread for the train’s future. These women’s lack of ability and influence over Curtis would never do. They wouldn’t be able to protect him, wouldn’t be able to keep order on the train; Wilford’s vision would flatline.

You were not going to let one of these girls take your place with Curtis and squander the responsibility to keep the train stable. If Wilford believed there was something special about Curtis- that was enough for you to believe, too.

Looking over the inadequate girls, you selected Curtis for yourself.

Wilford reassured you were already Curtis’ type through Gilliam’s late-night chats and catching Curtis’ eye would easy, but you knew holding Curtis’ attention was another matter entirely. A man covered in filth day-in and day-out with limited choices and harsh conditions. You couldn’t imagine how overwhelming everything new must be to him. How everything shiny couldn’t be trusted.

Squinting at your appearance in the mirror, you pondered and planned. Reevaluating the competition, you examined yourself- clothes pressed, hair styled, makeup freshly painted- just like them.

Dropping your lipstick, you wiped your lips harshly and removed your eye makeup. Wetting a towel you wiped your neck, freeing your skin from the perfume. Fresh and clean-faced, you were slightly different than the other artistically painted ladies. Perhaps more approachable? You changed into the most modest evening gown you could find.

Claude opened the door and called for the seven of you to line up.

Taking the fifth spot in line, you waited for her next instructions. Claude surveyed over the seven offerings she was about to bring Wilford and stopped when seeing you. Running her eyes over you, she pursed her lips together.

Spinning on her heels, she called out while leaving the room, “Follow me, hurry up.”

~~~

When you floated in single file into the boxcar and lined up before Wilford, Curtis noticed you immediately. Weak from the fight, or from seeing you- a reminder of a life before the snow and ice, he stumbled slightly when stepping forward. You embodied the type of woman he fantasized about before CW-7 wiped out the world. And he began to feel an attraction he didn’t think he’d feel again.

As he walked closer to the numbered selection, Curtis stopped in front and looked each woman in the eye to see how they’d react to a lowly, dirty, tail end-er. A tail end-er who was now demanding respect. Counting the beats, he stared them down and waited to see if their movements gave way to any hints of judgment.

Option One seemed to be uncomfortable in her own skin, nervously rubbing the long sleeves of her dress. Was she nervous about the situation or him? Regardless, she wouldn’t do.

Number two was not his type, although she did hold her head high and make eye contact with him for the full time. Perhaps she’d be a civil option.

Three’s nostrils flared as soon as Curtis leaned into her view. Eliminated.

Four, well, he wasn’t sure if Four even knew what day it was, let alone where or why she was here. Discounted.

Five, Curtis tried to remind himself not to show how he already favored you from across the boxcar. Because up close, he wasn’t sure he could remain stoic in front of you for long. An odd feeling of being lost and found was stirring around his gut at the moment.

This foreign, mixed feeling made Curtis frown slightly before he was able to school his features. Seeing Curtis’ frowned reaction to you, Wilford made a small step forward towards the lineup. His own worry slightly showing before he was able to place back his mask for benevolent indifference. Claude gripped the gun in her pocket tighter, gleeful that you might fail Wilford and not gain a higher position.

Curtis never had any use for poetry but here you were right in front of him, something so incredibly unattainable that was now so easily in his grasp. The accessibility to having you made him unsure of himself. He was drawn to you when you entered the room, but having you so close, he knew he’d choose you. Fresh-faced and different from the others, you quirked an eyebrow and tilted your head slightly at him as if you ask, “yes?”

Curtis bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself and not give away his interest. As he did with the earlier numbers, he crowded into your personal space and stared, hard.

His mistake, because that was the instant a voice whispered in his head, mine.

That forgotten feeling of sexual possessiveness slowly started infecting Curtis. At least that was how he related this estranged desire, an infection. A limb waking after being denied blood flow for too long, pins and needles racing across his skin. A drop in the middle of a pond, causing ripples to fold out to opposite sides of the banks. Seeing you from afar and now smelling your light, teasing scent sent a sensation of twists and turns to his stomach making him light-headed and his cock twitch.

He became lost in the thought of you laying next to him. Your lips bruised from kissing and your scent on his clothes as he’d tell you to dip your hands inside your panties for him. He’d praise you as you’d moan next him, watching you pleasure yourself.

You were drawing Curtis in deeper into the web of the sacred, eternal engine. And Wilford looked on you both like a proud matchmaker and smug creator.

Stepping away from you reluctantly, Curtis moved to number Six and looked her in the eyes as well. From the corner of his vision, he watched your reaction as he brought his hand up to fix the strap of Six’s dress. Uninterested in Six’s hitch in breath, he concentrated on how you kept yourself facing straight ahead but narrowing your eyes in annoyance. Satisfied on seeing a reaction from you when he touched another, he moved to number Seven and repeated his action by fixing her shawl.

Turning away from Seven, Curtis never looked back at you or the other candidates. Instead, he made his way to the chair he sat in before you entered.

After Claude escorted your group back into the waiting car, Wilford sat down across from Curtis and pulled out seven numbered files, “I’ll let you review.”

“Five,” Curtis stated without touching any of the folders.

Nodding at Curtis’ choice, Wilford fixed the lapels of his robe and leaned forward to rest his clasped hands on top of the desk. “Excellent choice, dear boy. But in the sense of honor and one passing the so-called baton, you’ll need to know your soon-to-be wife’s job aboard our, well, your sacred engine.”

Wilford watched Curtis’ reactions closely as he explained how you helped maintain order and delivered a well-mannered serving of absolute punishment to any upper class rule breakers.

Wilford spoke poetically; Curtis listened intensely.

“I’ll give you a moment to think it over. But remember what I said, it is a marriage. The contract between you both will be followed because we need structure, social form. There’s an image to uphold. Once you select who you want, that’s it. They’ve all agreed to this.”

“So why did she?” Curtis asked before he could think better not to.

Wilford knew this question had been bouncing around in Curt’s busy little head for a while, “She enjoys her job and she enjoys your train. She knows how people are.”

“She likes to murder and punish.”

Wilford tsked and rolled his eyes, “Stop being dramatic, Curtis. She enjoys order and knows responsibilities. She is a good person to have on your side, especially in our high position of power.”

“So you want me to use her as protection?”

“She is structure. Besides, you can’t deny she’s more than easy on the eyes. More importantly, dear boy, she’s someone you can trust. And it’s sad to see you without anyone to trust nowadays.”

Curtis cut a sharp glare at Wilford, “And who the hell played me the whole way?!”

Sighing noisily, Wilford rose from the table and came around to Curtis’ chair.

“I understand you’re upset about Gilliam. But she didn’t have anything to do with his choices. If anything, choose something in the opposite direction of what I’m offering then. Number Four seems like an easy girl to mold,” Wilford patted Curtis’ shoulder ready to leave and allow him some time to think alone. “Is number Four the type you want to be saddled with? Do you have enough kronole?”

Curtis ignored Wilford’s baiting question as he read your file history and achievements. “Why is she the executioner?”

“'It’s easier for someone to survive on this train, if they have some level of insanity,*’” Wilford shrugged casually.

Curtis frowned slightly at that understandable line, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his arm.

“Think it over, Curtis. You two would be amazing together. You went with your gut and made it to the front end. You went with your gut and picked the best girl out of the seven. Make the best choice for yourself and your sacred engine. Would you like some water while you decide?”

Curtis ignored Wilford’s question. He looked at your old photo from when you boarded and a more recent sketch of you now. Running a dirty finger across your detailed sketch, his cock twitched in his pants again as he traced your painted lips.

Wilford set the tall glass of water down in front of Curtis, and with a flare that only Wilford possessed, dropped a single ice cube in the drink.

“Are you fucking serious?” Curtis growled after seeing a bullet frozen in the cube.

“Take your time to think it over. Read the note. The choice is yours, my dear boy. I’ll be back after it melts.”

The door closed behind Wilford and Curtis’ breath hitched in his chest.

Alone, quiet.

Curtis tried to compose himself in the eerie solitude. When locked in the tail section, he prayed for solitary confinement. A moment of silence. Now alone, he wasn’t sure what was worse.

Curtis raised the water glass up to the light and watched the prism paint the walls, choking out an uncomfortable laugh deep within. Gulping down the water, he spat the ice cube into his palm. Dirt began to run and channel along the lines of his palm.

Having enough of Wilford’s games, Curtis threw the ice cube on the floor and stomped on it.

He twisted the bullet casing apart and stilled his hands for a moment before unrolling the note to read the message.

Blank.

Asshole.

Curtis looked over at Wilford as he came back into the room. He didn’t say anything about the blank message, determined not to give him any more entertainment.

“Number Five,” Curtis stated, pushing the closed folder back across the table. Your pictures safely tucked inside his pocket.

“Excellent! Wise choice. Wait here and I’ll call Claude to show you to your new living quarters, there’s a private bath and a large bed for the soon-to-be-married couple. You’ll find out soon enough, but your soon-to-be misses and Claude aren’t the best-,” Wilford chuckled at the memories. “-Well, you’ll find out that detail out for yourself. What’s the fun in hearing everything secondhand?”

Curtis ran his hands over his face, not sure what to make of all that’s happened within these last days aboard the eternal engine.

Wilford snapped his fingers, making a show as if he forgot something and patting the pockets of his robe, “A piece of marital advice, dear boy. Your soon-to-be wife is more clever at making you feel welcomed than you know.”

Wilford pulled a tube of lipstick out of his pocket and rolled it across the desk. Curtis eyed the cylinder, trying to understand what Wilford was hinting at.

And then he knew.

Your sketch burning a hole in his pocket with your painted lips. Tapping the end of the lipstick on the table, it was that small detail he favored about you over the others. You were the only fresh-faced lady in the bunch.

---

The soft, classical music became a white noise as you looked out the dining car window and allowed yourself to relax. White noise, whiter scenery.

Dabbing the crisp linen napkin to the corner of your soft mouth, you arched a sleek eyebrow in anticipation.

Across the table, the slumped body finally lost to gravity and fell hard against the lace tablecloth as the train jostled and creaked itself out of a turn. The heavy weight of the fresh corpse shook the table causing a melody to play out on the fine China, vibrating a song of disturbance.

Huffing softly at your former dinner companion’s poor manners for falling face-first into his plate, you placed your hands on the table to settle the dinnerware’s rattling tantrum. Taking in the accomplished sight of your fresh kill, you gracefully held the teacup and saucer and brought the warm liquid up to the cold smirk on your lips.

Before settling back into the plush chair, you grabbed a cookie and closed your eyes to enjoy a moment of unsupervised silence.

“What did I tell you the last time you asked to do this?”

Shit.

Opening your eyes, you saw Curtis slide the dining car door close behind him, locking both doors on the keypad. His boots echoing loudly with each step as his eyes pinned you in place. His barely concealed anger immediately caused irritation to run down your spine.

“I don’t recall, please be more specific,” you couldn’t help but douse your words in annoyance before taking another sip of tea.

Why did he have to visit the dining car so soon? He was supposed to be having meetings with the security and maintenance departments. Swirling the remnants of tea, you couldn’t help but feel cheated that Curtis walked in and stole a bit of your alone time away.

The more you thought about the peace and quiet now lost, you rolled your eyes in the direction of the slowly chilling body across from you. Why did he always have to ask questions to obvious answers? Anyone would have known what you were doing here, the dead body gave it away for christ's sake. There was not much to deduce. He had always known what your tastes were like when he selected you- that was part of the deal. So for him to keep stifling your gifts over the last several weeks had become unacceptable. Looking over at the dead man’s ruffled hair you couldn’t help but snicker how things finally came to a head, so to speak.

Curtis narrowed his eyes at the sound of your soft laughter, “Watch yourself.”

Keeping in a sigh of vexation, you placed down your teacup and crossed your arms over your chest. Maybe if you restrained yourself, you could keep the displeasure you felt with Curtis about his lack of action concerning the poisoned body in front of you.

And then the thought dawned on you, “Seems your meetings ended earlier than I anticipated.”

Curtis shook his head at your blasé attitude of being caught doing something he specifically told you not to do.

“So sorry to interrupt your time with such a wonderful conversationalist,” he mocked, waving a disinterested hand at the body, “Things worked out better than you anticipated?”

“No, not as well as I anticipated,” you added back, giving him a pointed look. “Obviously didn’t have enough time to move the body before you found me.”

“I’ll always find you what you’re doing, you’re mine. My responsibility,” Curtis stated seriously.

Before you had time to enjoy the way his claim warmed you, he moved on and mentioned how Claude was currently overseeing the maintenance meeting.

You realized then Claude must have known what you had planned for your dead dinner guest, Vardo, and squealed to Curtis.

Seizing a bread roll from the basket, you roughly tore off a chunk between your sharp teeth. The longer you pictured Claude’s face, the harder you chewed. Your resentment for the woman mixed itself in with the taste of butter and sesame.

Claude liked to be an accessory to anyone with power. She only remained loyal to a person with sturdy purse strings, climbing the social ladder within the front end until she was able to get close enough to catch Wilford’s eye. You remembered how Wilford’s open position for a parts measurer was between her and another woman, Livia. Claude received the promotion and Livia avoided everyone for the next two weeks.

Shy and quiet, Livia didn’t speak a lot. Which seemed like a winning trait for someone who would measure humans to fill the role of replacement parts to the grand machine. But the reality of how the train was able to still run after these long 17 years was too much for Livia.

Upon finding out, she suffered hysterics and refuse to eat; crying for hours and mumbling incoherently about locks and gears, tumblers and bolts, little bodies and broken bones. Wilford was becoming increasingly agitated that her outbursts might happen in public and upset others. He said something needed to be done to ensure the grand secret of the sacred engine would not be revealed. During all this, Claude was increasingly delighted how Livia’s breakdown worsened each day.

Before the end of the second week and with Wilford’s concerns in mind, you convinced Livia to visit the club car and have a girls night with you. In between dancing, she told you how Claude was leaving notes with measurements and little tools on the food trays she brought to Livia’s room. Becoming so upset, she wouldn’t be able to eat. Even high on kronole, she didn’t give away details of what she saw or had to do during the job interview.

But her fate was all too late.

She mumbled once too much wine, “Never sanitize soul, not clean.”

Frowning at her jumbled words, you poured her more wine, “You’ll find peace soon, dear girl.”

The poison took her mercifully quick.

The bread roll circled and wobbled around your plate after you tossed it aside. You would never allow Claude to get too close to Curtis. You did care for Curtis, probably more than you were comfortable to admit. Besides, there was limited space for suggestions in Curtis’ head. Your voice held residency along with Wilford’s, and even Gilliam’s, words. You weren’t about to give any elbow room for Claude to whisper ideas to Curtis also.

When the train first started its maiden voyage, you tried to remain civil to Claude but she always gave off an air of unearned self-righteousness. And after what Livia told you, civility was barely hanging on.

Growling at your stubbornness, Curtis came closer to your side of the table. “I told you to give me time. Trust me like you trusted in Wilford. I would have given you what wanted soon enough.”

The memory of Livia still fresh in your mind, you snapped back at him, “Loyalty is what you were promised, but I don’t owe you patience or trust.”

Curtis narrowed his eyes at your attitude. He knew he overindulged your unique desires, but disrespect was something he would not allow. “Knock it off, dear wife. Act like a loving spouse and not a mediocre black widow.”

“Mediocre,” you scoffed at his comparison, “I could knock you off, you know. But what good would that do me, Curtis? I’m not sure I have enough poison for everyone on this train. At the moment.”

“You’re acting like a damn brat,” he muttered, annoyed and bitter at the thought you were still only with him for protection.

“I’m not the one continually breaking promises and then asking for the other spouse to keep believing in them,” you countered back, stomping your feet under the table and crossing your arms over your chest again.

“What, did Claude scurry over to you and rat me out?” You slapped your hands on the table and pitched your voice nasally high to mock, “'Oh, I’ll help you great and powerful ruler. I’ll run the meetings for you.‘”

Sneering at what you imagined Claude’s words might have been to him.

“I took out the garbage for you, Curtis. Vardo’s rumors would have hurt you. You could thank me instead of reprimanding me on how you didn’t sign off on this.”

You truly were a murderous brat.

Most passengers didn’t bother to recognize or question that the shiny new conductor next to you was also the dirty blood-covered rebel monster, who smashed through their glasshouse.

Truthfully, most didn’t care as long as their food was warm and their shit was flushed. Some believed so much in Wilford’s vision, they’d never question Wilford’s prophetic news that Curtis was their new conductor.

But some others did want to question. However, they knew better than to ask; except one, your dead dinner companion, Vardo.

Most believed the revolution was squashed and the rebels snuffed out. That the rebellious end-ers were tagged and placed back in their cages.

So when your freshly deceased guest started making inappropriate advances and asking too many questions at too many tables, you invited him to sup at yours.

Because if there was something you knew how to do, it was to tie up loose ends with a soft smile and a kind offer of something to drink. Every time you asked Curtis if you could take Vardo out for dinner, he would only reply- 'Soon.’

You finally got tired of waiting for Curtis’ permission and listening to Vardo’s rumors about the lack of skills the new conductor possessed.

And Curtis’ current lack of thankfulness towards you was pissing you off, “If you want out of the marriage, let me know.”

Curtis frowned at your obscene words, “What are you fucking talking about?”

“I’m not ignorant or daydreamy, Curtis. I know everyone on this train has a purpose and when that purpose or if room runs out, so will my usefulness. Besides, I’m already a shit listener if that dead weight across the table counts for anything. Maybe what I offer isn’t purposeful enough? Maybe we run out of room on the train again and I don’t make it past the cutoff number? Sure I could be safe if the number was 73% like last time. But there’s so many hypothetical questions. Wait, what was that deduction percent again?”

“74.” Curtis answered without a thought but then immediately looked harder at you.

Smirking slightly you carried on, “Ah yes, that’s correct. 74%. See, there wouldn’t be enough room for me. And the inevitable would happen again for Wilford’s wish of order to remain.”

Curtis’ jaw shifted at your words, he knew you were damn well aware the number was 74%. You were always off to prove a fucking point, but he wasn’t about to entertain the idea of you not being by his side. The notion that you could be separated from him brought a jab to his stomach he wouldn’t ignore.

He was owed this companionship, he was owed you.

He owned you.

He knew there was more to you that day during the selection. No hesitation or disdain when he leaned into your proximity. The silent challenge you gave him. There was something behind your expression, something he was still curious about exploring.

When Wilford revealed to him what your role was on the train, Curtis knew he found the connection, a shared portion of darkness. You offered a safe harbor to him for what he had done in the past and an understanding of what he’d have to do in the future.

He swore he wouldn’t lose you to any conflict- mathematical, mechanical, or man.

Curtis called your name as he calmly stacked the dishes in front of you and moved them aside.

He looked too calm to you, especially after walking in on you with a dead body. His features were cool as he nodded for you to give him the teacup sitting out of his reach.

As he continued to pile the dishes down the table towards Vardo’s body, you remembered how well acquainted Curtis was with death. Surviving all those years in the end section and massacring his way up to the front, one mere non-bloodied body wouldn’t give him much pause. It was you not waiting for his permission concerning the execution that soured his mood.

“I want an answer. Why did you do this, when I denied you my approval?”

“There was nothing to approve, I didn’t ask for your consent… this time,” you grumbled softly with admission.

“Oh, I know that dear wife,” he clicked his tongue at your retort. “You’ve been a goddamn worm in my ear about him for weeks but suddenly go radio silent about him? I knew you were up to something.”

“How did you even know I was here working?”

“A few things. The first, Claude mentioned you were having an intimate dinner with someone who wasn’t your husband.”

“Busy-bodied bitch,” you mumbled. “Hardly intimate. As you can see, it was work.”

Leaning forward and removing a sugar cube from the bowl, you tossed it at your dead dinner guest.

Watching it land down the back of his collar, you continued, “It’s been riveting conversation, too. What were the other few things?”

“She isn’t the only busy body here. Don’t waste food,” Curtis picked the sugar cube out of the man’s collar and tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth.

“It looks like it was plenty intimate to him,” Curtis kicked Vardo’s chair leg with his heavy boot. “Asshole’s sporting a fucking death erection.”

“What?” Sliding your gaze under the table, you saw Vardo’s pants tented. “Pft. That’s just the poison, not the conversation.”

“I still don’t fucking like it, y/n.” Curtis stated darkly.

You shifted in the chair suddenly uncomfortable on where this conversation may lead, especially with the tone he just used. Recalling what he said shortly ago, you tried to move on, “What did you mean about Claude not being the only busy body?”

“I find it surprising you have to ask that, especially when you’re so busy keeping such thorough records of everyone’s conduct.”

Surprised by his discovery, you tried to figure out when he may have found your notebooks. You knew you never mentioned the records you kept concerning the passengers to him, the scorecards on who should receive punishment when they tallied up too many transgressions.

“Wilford told me. Relax, I can hear the gears moving in your head so loudly, they’re drowning out the sound of the train’s.”

“...Why did he?”

“You already know how Wilford explained what your job was to me before I was allowed to pick you. But he told me other things I didn’t mention to you. He said you’d record events, a little homicide journaling. He described it as a dear death diary on why you wanted someone removed. But more fucking importantly, dear wife- he said you always ran punishments by him before carrying them out. But this one, you didn’t run by me.”

Not yet ready for Curtis to know how sincerely you cared for him, you opted for a vague reply, “This was because of personal reasons.”

“Yes, murders usually happen due to those.”

Huffing at his dry reply, you couldn’t help but feel exposed after hearing Curtis read your records. “When did you find them?”

“Two months ago, after Wilford’s death,” he smirked down at you. “I can keep secretes, too. Glad you finally did Vardo in. Took you long enough though.”

“What?” Your head snapped up from shock.

“I read about the inappropriate comments he made to the men and women in the working section. How he made similar comments to you. How they were increasing, making others more uncomfortable. I was pissed to read the fucking things he said to you, but even more when you didn’t come to your husband and say what was happening.”

“Nothing happened, this was work. Trash removal.”

“Oh, I know that dear wife,” Curtis ran his finger down the column of your neck and over your shoulder.

You could feel yourself respond to his touch, goosebumps and tingles.

Curtis leaned into the shell of your ear as he confessed against your skin, “I made sure to encourage him.”

Breaking out of the soft lull his touch put you in, you slapped his hand away and stood. “What are talking about, encouraging? What did you do?”

“I encouraged Vardo to pursue you. Told him to spread the rumors and concerns about me. Told him if he was able to get my wife to cheat on me and expose your lack of loyalty, I’d reward him for exposing the snake in the garden,” Curtis stepped in closer to you, moving his hand back to your neck and tracing the length of your soft throat with this thumb, “He was the snake. Not you, never you.”

You couldn’t believe what Curtis was admitting. “Why would you do that? I haven’t given you any reason to think I’d break my marital agreement to you, Curtis.”

“Not for that reason.”

“Then what reason?!”

“A wedding present.”

“What.”

“You enjoy doing what you do, so I let you, dear wife. Everything you do, I let you do. I read how little you could stand him. Anyone could tell how much you disliked Vardo, except Vardo.” Curtis watched your shock take over as you tried to process everything. “Vardo was stupid. Stupid enough to think he’d gain anything by going after us. After you. I told him to spread the rumors, prove to me how my dear wife wasn’t faithful. He objected, in the beginning, believed it was a trap. But when I offered him the chance to sleep with you- he agreed greedily.”

“…You set him up to see if he would sleep with me?”

“No, sweetheart. I set you up... to see how loyal you’d be to me.”

Snarling at his words, you smacked his hold on you, “Aren’t you just fucking splitting hairs, husband?”

Moving his hand tighter around your neck, you felt his thumb press into your windpipe. “Mind that bratty attitude. Vardo was fucking stupid, not knowing how tail end-ers are possessive. No one gets to covet my wife.”

As he pushed his thumb harder in your skin, you dipped your head back to gain a breath to speak, “You orchestrated all this?”

“You’re welcome,” Curtis lifted his thumb, relieving the pressure on your windpipe as he dropped his lips to your clavicle.

His touch and confession slammed into your core. Gasping at the feel of his lips, your hands wrapped around his wrists, squeezing them to encourage him to keep the pressure on your throat. Lowly moaning when he did.

Curtis knocked his knee between your legs and grazed your center with his thigh. Moving his thigh back and forth against your clothed clit, you bit your lip when you heard him say, “Rub.”

Rolling your hips against him, Curtis chuckled at your pleasure.

“Good girl.”

He dipped you back against the table as he sucked your neck harder between little sharp bites and kisses, “How wet are you, sweetheart? Grinding that pretty pussy against my thigh. I want to see how desperate you are.”

Your hips jolted up, lost in the smooth and steady twisting of his words.

“Fuck,” you gasped out.

Freeing a hand from your neck, Curtis ran his touch down along your body. Sliding his hand under your skirt, he bunched the material up your hips and licked his lips when he saw the large wet spot on your panties. Moving the damp material aside, he grazed his finger along your slick folds.

Your breath hitched at the contact and the darkness in his eyes.

Curtis teasingly twirled his fingers around your inner thighs, lightly circling your clit. “Can you purr?”

Not waiting for an answer, Curtis kissed you and dipped a finger into your pussy.

He bit your lip and hungrily moved to swirl his tongue over yours. Everything was vibrating in you, a fight of dominance and battle for acceptance.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let some of that tension go,” he encouraged, sliding a second finger into you.

Your resistance weakening, the grazing of his thumb circling your clit- you wanted to melt for him.

Bringing a leg up off the table, you hooked it around his waist and mewled at the sensations he was creating in you by the furious rate his fingers worked you.

Curtis began to slowly scissor you, only pausing his kisses to see your reaction better, “Fuck. You’re so beautiful. That’s it, sweetheart, squeeze my fucking fingers.”

“Please,” you whimpered, extending your other leg out as you tried to gain more friction.

He held your hips down against the table, “Look at you, so beautiful and wet. All fucking mine. My fucking reward.”

“I’m going to cum,” you squeezed the words out past your lips as your walls tightened around Curtis’ fingers.

“No, you’re not. Not yet.” Pulling his fingers away from your pussy, Curtis chuckled deeply at your forlorn expression. “I want to be inside you when you do.”

Bringing his wet fingers up to his mouth, he groaned in pleasure from the taste of you before pulling you off the table.

Kissing you possessively, Curtis’ tongue willed for access to your mouth again. You could taste yourself as you feverishly returned his kiss.

Without warning, he turned you around and bent you over the table. Your stomach seizing from the cold surface while your ass was fully on display in the air.

Yelping in surprise you felt Curtis kick your legs farther apart. Stepping between your soft thighs, Curtis grabbed your legs off the floor as your torso warmed the table underneath your skin. You heard him free himself from his pants and groan deeply.

He ran his hands up and down your legs unable to touch enough of you as he moved your knees back. Praising and kneading your ass cheeks, your heels hovered over your bottom as Curtis locked your folded legs underneath each of his arms. You felt his tip run along your slit, the head of his cock parting your wet lips. Grabbing your hips and with one strong thrust without warning, Curtis buried himself into you.

The table shook with every claiming thrust as Vardo’s body rocked against the fine china on the other side of the table. Curtis pinned his eyes on the corpse before dropping his gaze on your back.

Curtis railed into you harder, “Say you’re mine.”

Moaning at his command and losing yourself in him, you only whimpered in reply. You never felt like this before. You moved your hand behind yourself, trying to feel his hips, his hands, anything.

“No.” Curtis grabbed your blindly-reaching hand and covered his over yours, bring them down on the table. Locking you in place again, his stomach brushed against your back. The sounds of his balls slapping against you echoed throughout the dining car. Perched over you with more leverage, Curtis moved faster in and out of your tight cunt.

“Say it,” another snap of his hips, another long hard drag of his cock along your pussy. “Fucking say you’re mine!”

“Yours,” you finally panted out, your face flattened against the tablecloth that was crumpled in your fists. “Always.”

Curtis almost lost himself when he felt you squeeze your walls around his cock, throwing his hard thrusting off.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum right that fuck now. Fucking milk my cock.” His soft-toned, harsh words made you close your eyes as you screamed his name out in release.

Feeling your pussy tighten and flutter around his cock made Curtis bit his lip and drop your legs. Smacking his hands down on either side of your head, he encased your body with his grunts. All you could focus on when you opened your eyes were the muscles of his forearms flexing in your view as he rutted into you.

The sounds of Curtis fucking and using you to chase his release caused your body to tighten up again. Dropping his weight on top of your back, he snapped and slammed his hips into you. His primal moans set a ripple through you, your eyes rolling back as another orgasm took over causing your tight count to flutter around him again.

Growling out your name, he coated your walls, “Mine. You’re mine.”

Opening your eyes with sigh, you laughed softly at the window you and Curtis managed to fog up next to the table.

After catching his breath, Curtis propped his weight onto his forearms and kept himself within you. He wasn’t ready to pull out and let you go just yet.

The cool air hit your skin when slightly move off your back. Bowing down gently, Curtis kissed your sweaty shoulders making you shudder when he rocked against your sensitive core.

Basking in the aftermath of Curtis slowly softening within you, you realized how much you were willing to do to protect your husband. It was no longer just about the train.

“No more secrets between us. Understood, dear wife?”

“Understood, dear husband.”

“Good. It might be time to invite Claude for dinner,” Curtis said before kissing the back of your neck.

[kuramirocket]

Sandwiched between private properties in Southeast Austin sits a little-known cemetery off Hoeke Lane, just west of U.S. 183. From the outside, there’s nothing that indicates the site is the final resting place for a number of Mexican and Mexican-American residents who died decades ago.

It’s a wilderness. The headstones, many of which date back to the 1940s, are easy to miss. The weeds are overgrown, and trees and shrubs cover much of the 4.5-acre plot.

The cemetery has been called a couple different names over the years — the Montopolis Cemetery and San José II. But no sign will tell you that. In fact, there’s scarce information available about the cemetery’s history at all.

But members of the community and a team of researchers are trying to change that. They want to trace back its history and ensure the cemetery, along with its sister site in nearby Montopolis, is preserved.

Diana Hernandez is the lead researcher for (Re)claiming Memories, a research group out of UT Austin that seeks to restore and preserve missing histories in communities of color. She and her team have been collecting death certificates and reaching out to descendants of those buried at the cemeteries to help piece together the history.

“Once we start to research the people that are buried here and start to find archival documentation for each person, we start to see the community come to life through the cemetery,” she said.

The History

To understand San José II, Hernandez says, we have to start about 2 miles north at San José I. This historic Mexican and Mexican-American cemetery was built around 1919. It sits between two churches off Montopolis Drive, though neither of them own it. The site is believed to be unclaimed, or orphaned, meaning no one is responsible for its upkeep in any official capacity. But neighbors and community members have taken care of it as best they can over the years, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds and cleaning off gravestones.

A metal archway stands at the entrance and reads “San Jose Cementerio.” The cemetery was founded by a mutual aid society called the Union Fraternal Mexicana, and it served the migrant sharecropping community. This was during segregation.

“Mexicans weren’t necessarily allowed to be buried in white cemeteries,” Hernandez said. “In some cases I've seen where there's a white cemetery, and then right next to it is the Mexican section … In this case, it was just a completely different cemetery."

When Cementerio San José started to get full, the second one was created in 1949 in Del Valle. Over the years, the cemeteries changed hands. The original San José hasn’t had a known owner for several decades. San José II has an owner, but she’s believed to be in poor health and unable to maintain it, according to Hernandez. KUT reached out to the owner for this story, but did not hear back.

Based on their research so far, Hernandez and her team estimate San José I and II have more than 350 burials combined. But understanding how many burials are at each individual site is a challenge. That’s partly because on death certificates, the name Montopolis Cemetery was often used interchangeably for San José I and II. And not every burial has a gravestone.

Many people buried at the cemeteries died during concurrent epidemics, like influenza, tuberculosis and pneumonia.

“They were getting so many bodies that they were burying people in layers on top of each other, and they stopped documenting who all was getting buried,” she said. “Because there's no documentation for the number of layers for the people that were being buried in these mass graves, we're just never going to know. There's going to be layers of people that we're never going to be able to identify.”

Hernandez began researching the San José cemeteries at the end of 2019, just before the area was hit with another outbreak of a deadly disease — COVID-19. And again, this predominantly Latino neighborhood was hit harder than others.

“These histories repeat themselves,” Hernandez said. “I think that’s one of the reasons why this work is important, because it kind of sheds light on these pasts that weren’t acknowledged the way they should have been. We can use this knowledge to improve our present.”

The Descendants

Frank Monreal remembers the days when Montopolis Drive was just a dirt road. He and the other neighborhood kids, some 50 years ago, would play on the giant oak tree that stands in the middle of Cementerio San José. Instead of bicycles, he and his friends had horses.

“Everybody rode horses back then,” he said one day while at San José I. “We used to come out here, and they were our lawn mowers. They let them eat the grass and keep the grass low here.”

Monreal has relatives buried at San José I and II. From an early age, he understood death was a natural part of life. He often helped out with funerals. He remembers one burial happening at Cementerio San José when he was a kid. But it’s been a long time since anyone was buried there, he says. Most gravesites appear to date back to the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s.

There were more gravestones back then, he says, but some have weathered or broken over time. He used to walk through the cemetery on his way to school. He’d often see people putting flowers on graves, something he doesn’t see much anymore. Now, many relatives have died or left.

“That’s inevitable, you know, because generations change,” he said. “People move away.”

Preserving the cemetery, though, is important, he says, especially as gentrification has altered the landscape of Montopolis over the years.

“[The cemetery] is sacred ground to us, from our ancestors,” he said. “I don’t want to see it gone.”

Micaela Johnson, a 19-year-old artist and activist, can trace part of her family tree back to the Cementerio San José. She’s a member of the Limón family, one of Austin’s founding families whose descendants now number upwards of 3,500.

Many of her family members grew up and had businesses in Montopolis, like the Limón Bakery. She said her grandparents probably have connections to at least a quarter of the people buried at San José.

In her family, passing down stories from generation to generation is a common tradition. She remembers hearing stories about Aurora, her grandfather’s sister, who died in 1940 of pneumonia when she was 11 months old. She was buried at Cementerio San José, and her gravestone was decorated with marbles. But Johnson hasn’t been able to locate it.

She also remembers stories of Concepcion Trevino Garcia, her great-great-grandmother who died in 1939 from tuberculosis and was buried at San José. She left behind her husband and five young daughters.

“She was one of the strongest women that I have ever heard my family talk about,” Johnson said. “She was very driven and very loving.”

Garcia's grandchildren still visit the cemetery on Mother’s Day and leave flowers, Johnson said. Her family’s connection to the cemetery has inspired Johnson to get involved with (Re)claiming Memories and help ensure the San José cemeteries are well kept.

“It’s not just a place where people are buried,” she said. “It’s the life and the heart of a lot of our ancestry.”

One of the more recent headstones at Cementerio San José belongs to Augustina Rosales, who was at one time believed to be Austin’s oldest living resident. She died in 1994 at age 116. Near the back of the cemetery, she’s buried next to her husband Marcos, who died in 1951.

Rosales had 13 children and raised several others who were relatives or orphaned as if they were her own. She liked to dance to conjunto music and cook for her family, according to an Austin American-Statesman article about her death. Rosa Moncada, Rosales's great-granddaughter, says “she was awesome.”

Maintaining The Cemeteries

Moncada has several other relatives buried at San José, including grandparents and two older sisters who were born premature and died. Growing up in East Austin, Moncada would go with her mother and siblings to visit the cemetery. But they went less frequently over time, in part because the grass was often so high they couldn’t easily walk through it.

When they heard about the work Hernandez and her team are doing to help maintain the cemetery, Moncada and her sister Juanita Moncada Bayer started visiting again. And now they’re trying to keep it maintained, bringing relatives together to mow the lawn and clear out dead tree branches.

But maintaining the cemetery consistently isn’t an easy task. San José I is 2.5 acres.

“We thought, well, let's do what we can,” Bayer said. “But unfortunately, our mind tells us we can do it. But our bodies — like, that's hard work.”

(Re)claiming Memories and members of the community hosted a cleanup for San José earlier this year and hope to host more. They have been reaching out to city and county leaders, asking them to allocate more resources to the cemeteries' maintenance.

The more challenging endeavor will be cleaning up San José II. The site is difficult to access, making it hard for people to visit and maintain it.

Monreal remembers going to San José II as a kid to visit his grandfather’s grave with his dad. Back then, San José II had a proper entrance and was easier to get to.

Now, a locked chain-link fence blocks the main path that leads to the cemetery. Several sources told KUT the fence was put up by the property owner next door, perhaps to keep people from trespassing. KUT reached out to the law office that owns the property and was told it didn’t have anything to do with the gate. Hernandez and the research group are trying to get to the bottom of the issue and hope to create a proper entrance, so descendants can visit.

The area has long had problems with people dumping trash and gravel. A mound of dirt and debris now presses against fencing on one side of the cemetery.

And warehouses are being built on the southeastern side. This worries Hernandez because the cemetery hasn’t been surveyed; some burials could be outside the perimeter and could be disturbed. Community members have expressed concern that debris from construction is impacting the cemetery.

When KUT reached out to the construction manager for the company that’s developing the site, he was surprised to learn there was a cemetery next door. (“That is a jungle,” Brent Ramirez said.)

The cemetery itself is zoned for warehouse and limited office use, which some are concerned could make it vulnerable to development. (Re)claiming Memories is working with Council Member Vanessa Fuentes to get the proper zoning for it and a historical designation. Fuentes toured the cemetery earlier this year.

“It’s sad to see because it looks as if it’s been neglected and dismissed, especially with the development that’s right next to it,” she said. “Those are families and families’ history and legacies and relatives that are buried there. Those are stories that need to be told.”

Currently, pink marking flags stick up in various spots within the shrubbery of San José II. That’s the work of Joaquin Rodriguez, an Austin resident who has been going out to the cemetery to remove litter and clean off and mark gravestones that have been covered up over time.

He first learned about the cemetery late last year while researching his ancestry. Rodriguez, who was adopted, had taken a DNA test and learned he had relatives buried at cemeteries throughout Austin, including San José I and II. After seeing how neglected San José II was, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

The (Re)claiming Memories team wants to eventually create a digital map or database where people can upload information about the people buried at the cemeteries. Hernandez hopes this crowdsourced online resource will help bring the stories of the deceased together and shed light on the history of the Mexican and Mexican-American community in Montopolis.

The team is also putting together an exhibit on the cemeteries for the Mexic-Arte Museum in September. Johnson plans to perform a poem called “We Are Lost History” and sell shirts she designed, the proceeds from which will support the cemeteries' upkeep.

Johnson said she recognizes that Austinites who are not directly connected to the cemeteries may not see a reason to care about them, but she thinks they should.

“They might just see it as another gravesite or another old ancient Mexican burial ground, and they might [think] it doesn’t matter because it’s not a part of them,” Johnson said. “But it is a part of them. It’s a part of the history of Austin.”

And as development continues to alter the look and population of the Montopolis neighborhood, she says, it’s urgent to keep conversations about the cemeteries going.

“If we’re not actively trying to be like, ‘Hey, this matters,’” she said, “it’ll get washed away.”