#blaze being a viking funeral

[knowthelessyouneed]

Tomorrow, I'm finally getting a hysterectomy for my endometriosis!

Please, send all your good vibes and intentions my way for new beginnings and life without this particular strife.

#4/20 blaze it!!!! #it being my reproductive system #blaze being a viking funeral #endometriosis get thee to a nunnery #personal #life #endometriosis #cw medical

[callofdudes]

Wherever you go.

Ghost x Soap. Angst.

"Would you ever move back to Scotland with me?" Johnny asks, interrupting the comforting silence between the two. Their hands occasionally meet, fingers mingling. Johnny enjoys the warmth of Ghost's glove, wishing to feel the rough, calloused skin underneath it. The warm breeze is a comforting touch to the morning they share alone on the porch of the safehouse.

Ghost pulls his cigarette from his lips, smoke drifting from his lips into the morning air. He exhales quietly, his gaze never leaving the open plain.

"What do you mean?" Ghost asks, knocking ash off the edge of his cigarette before placing it back between his lips.

"You know what I mean... Would you ever want to retire with me some day? Head back to Scotland, love near my family. Just you and me."

Johnny looks at Ghost, finally having the courage to slip his palm against Ghost's, fingers intertwining together.

"Bold of you to assume we'd even make it that long."

Johnny scoffs, nudging him with his shoulder. "Stop saying that. Just drop the possibilities and pretend for a moment... Would you??"

Ghost hums. "I would."

He exhales smoke, pressing the bud of the cigarette into the step, dragging the ash marking over the stone before flicking it from his fingers in the ash tray beside him.

Johnny shifted closer, leaning his head on Ghost's shoulder. "I think we'd do nicely with a cat. A nice little flat, a view like this... Possibly even near that bakery you like."

"Got our whole futures planned out do ya Johnny?"

"Aye. Haven't stopped thinking about spending my life with you y'know?"

Ghost turns his head, pressing his warm lips to the side of Johnny's head, pressing a kiss against his scalp.

"I'd go wherever you go. Dead or alive. I'd rather be buried close to you than some sappy funeral ground around other dead men... Not like anyone would show up."

"I'd be there." Johnny corrects.

"Of course you would."

The silence continues for a minute, the both of them sitting on the words before Johnny speaks again.

"So you'll come with me?"

"Yes. I will."

Johnny smiles softly, looking out at the view. "Maybe instead of a normal funeral, I'll arrange us to be burned on old ships. Like vikings and kings."

Ghost huffed in amusement. "I'd actually like that. Sounds less stupid than being buried in the ground. I don't want there to be a corpse to find when I die."

"Why not?"

"Because when I go down I'm taking the Riley name with me. I don't see the importantance."

"So I'll just have us buried in the same coffin together. Holding hands."

Ghost scoffs. "Did you not hear anything I just said??" Johnny leans up, capturing his lips in a kiss. "All I heard were wedding bells~"

Ghost rolled his eyes, cupped Johnny's jaw and kissed him again. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you love me so much~"

"Got that damn right..."

Johnny smiled, closing his eyes, squeezing Simon's hand.

.....

John's fingers twirled the cold metal chain gently around his warm index finger. The cool chain warming his skin.

He looked out at the deep valley, rolling green hills and a cool breeze to the warm summers morning.

He looked down, running his thumb over the jar in his hand.

"Ok Simon..."

He gently placed the jar into the hole he'd dug and covered it back up. "Just as you wanted it... Nothing can bother you out here."

He continued to twirl his fingers in the chain, feeling it leave marks on his skin as he gripped it tightly.

He sat on the ground, reading the name on the small post he'd shoved into the ground.

Simon Riley.

He wished he could have wrote more but he didn't know if Simon would want that. He didn't really know what Simon wanted... He'd talked about death but John had always cut him off before he got to far.

All he really knew was Simon wanted John to outlive him or they'd go out in a blaze of glory together.

John didn't move, even as tears swelled and he felt his chest tighten when his throat constricted. Even when those tears slipped down his cheeks.

"It'll be nice and quiet up here for you..."

"I know you'd like that..."

He clears his throat. "We did have a little funeral. Nothing big... Price and Gaz were there..." His bottom lip trembled. "Alejandro and Rodolfo came too... Just to say goodbye to you..."

"I won't be far away... It's a big hike but I know it's right. And I'll come visit you always. Ok?"

He gulped. "And I'm... Gonna bring you flowers too, just so you don't get lonely up here. Make it look nice and pretty for you."

He wiped the tears from his cheeks, blinking away the pain. "I killed them..." John remembered it. Holding that knife to the man's throat, watching the blood pour as he gurgled and begged. He remembered feeling the agony, the anger and the sadness as he walked back out of that room.

"I gutted them for what they did to you..."

He looked down at the dog tags in his hand, smoothing his thumb over the engraving.

Simon Riley.

John curled up, pressing his lips to the dog tags, trembling as he cried. He buried his head in his knees, sobbing his heart out on that mountain top.

Ghost had tried to warn him, but nothing could stop this pain he felt losing Simon. His Simon.

He'd tear the world apart for taking away the person he loved with all his heart.

He'd make sure the world never forgot Ghost. That he would be admired and praised for everything he did. Simon Riley would live on in his heart. In the hearts of those who held him dear.

"I love you, Simon..."

Little thing. Iffy on posting it but who cares, it's 1 in the morning and I'm bored. Raw, one take thing so it's unedited. Cheers GhostSoap lovers.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #drabble #angst #its 1am so if you didnt cry or feel a little sad then im sorry for not doing my job right #i assure you i have more angst #and itll be delicious for me

[netheritenugget]

Hello all. Before I got polls, I promised myself I'd make this post when I did. And today's the day! So I have decided to officially retire this blog (for real this time, unless I wish to use it for some kind of shameless self-promotion in the future). I wanted to give it a nice sendoff, in a blazing viking funeral of a post, in the only ship that matters.

I will miss this blog, and the joy it brought. And it will never be forgotten. Happy blogging, wherever you are.

Yours, Roxy

PS If you're curious about where I've gone and why I've left, I talk about it on the post before this.

#eretbur #dsmpshipping

[mywifeleftme]

322: Rival Boys // Animal Instincts

Animal Instincts Rival Boys 2014, Tiny Records (Bandcamp)

Rival Boys were an Ontario indie rock band active in Toronto from the late ‘00s to the mid ‘10s. They were a three-piece comprising sibling vocalists Lee and Graeme Rose (on bass/violin and guitar, respectively) and drummer Sam Sholdice, with a sound somewhat like Vancouverites Mother Mother on a blue day. (Whom, as an aside, I have discovered are now way more popular thanks to TikTok than they ever were at the time—they have 8.3 million listeners a month on Spotify, which is like… 38 times more than the New Pornographers.) Both Roses affect a mewl somewhere between Violent Femmes’ Gordon Gano and Sarah McLachlan, with Lee’s more powerful bellow usually taking the lead. In conjunction with the cold mountain violin that periodically sweeps the floorboards, it gives their otherwise youthful affect a nostalgic somberness. They were emphatically a rock band though, capable of kicking up a surly crunch: they didn’t have the dance rhythms of the Metric/Land of Talk acolytes who were all over CBC Radio 2 (the national public alternative music station) at the time, preferring to lope along like the Pixies.

Rival Boys were no longer a going concern by the time I moved to Toronto in 2017; I discovered them when I found a CD of their 2009 EP Life of Worry in the basement of an Ottawa house I shared with a friend who’d known somebody in the band back in high school. It was the first time I can remember coming across a group remotely in my social radius that struck me as unequivocally good. I listened to that five-song EP to death for a few years, and I still think they really nailed their sound with it; as a result, I had kind of a chilly response to their 2014 farewell Animal Instincts when I found it at a punk flea market. They’d shed just a touch of the raw-boned vulnerability that had made their loose, imagistic lyrics cling like a thin flannel against a harsh wind; a bit less bite to the guitar; a hair less heedless urgency to the vocals. The serviceable cover of Wolf Parade’s “I’ll Believe in Anything” seemed on the nose; the new rendition of EP highlight “Construction Work” didn’t make my heart stagger around like the original.

But listening to it now, I think Animal Instincts’ real sin was just not being the record I’d fallen in love with. Life of Worry is special, but there’s plenty to like on the LP. Opener “Fortune” edges the hell out of the listener before finally giving us some of Lee in full thunder; “Young and Old” is a showcase for the close harmonies, wet-eyed violin, and martial drumming that were Rival Boys’ most distinctive element; “Don’t Bloom” gives us a little of everything Lee does well, flowing from a distracted, introverted croon to a high wail that arcs like a flaming arrow at a Viking funeral. On this listen anyway, even the new version of “Construction Work” is doing it for me. There’s a nice closure to the fact that it was both among the first and last things they cut: the original with its blazing, desolate frustration sweeping into a folk reel outro that feels like transcendence; the revision more brittle, reserved, like people on the cusp of leaving adolescence behind giving it one last go, the quieter outro never quite taking off but settling into a low, churchy organ drone. It feels like a dignified goodbye.

Which the record in fact was, although it may not have been clear at the time. Graeme dropped out of the music scene altogether; Lee was quiet for a few years, but soldiers on with the very good Ace of Wands; I’m not sure what Sam’s up to these days. Time moves on—it’s 15 years since the EP, 10 now since the LP. I’m sure for the band members and their fans it feels like barely half that time, like finding a book you set down just the other day covered in dust and all your friends so old all the sudden! If ‘00s indie music can be said to have been about anything, it was surely about digging deeper into the experience of being alive, celebrating the wild joy of it while you can, making something of that. Rival Boys surely made something, and it’s nice to have something physical of it to keep.

322/365

#rival boys #toronto #toronto music #'10s indie #indie rock #wolf parade #ace of wands #mother mother #music review #vinyl record #Bandcamp

[pomegranates-and-blood]

ἀλήθεια (Chapter 3, Vοσταλγία AU)

ἀλήθεια Masterlist

Pairing: Freydis/Reader, Ivar/Reader (past)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: The usual. My endless swooning over Freydis.

A/N: So, writing the next chapter of Nostalgia is proving harder than I intended it to, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to post it this weekend. I’ll try my best, but I’m slowly getting back to writing, I’m not at my usual speed yet, so I’m still struggling. I’m also working on a few 500 Celebration thingies, so I hope to post those soon too. In the meantime, hope you like this!

Freydis is pondering on the why you insist on speaking Norse with Galla when she is around, asking herself whether it is because you don’t want her to feel like an outsider, or because you want to remind your lifelong friend of the outsider amongst you.

She sits by the fire, working on stitching together a torn cloak, as you pace around the room, arguing with Galla.

“I’m not letting you do this.”

“Letting me?” Your laugh is mocking, arrogance lacing your words when you taunt, “You’ve forgotten a lot, my friend, if you think you have any say in what I do.”

“That is not what I-…” A sigh, and Freydis hears Galla bite back her anger. “I speak their tongue. I can do the talking, and you stay safe.”

“Why does that sound like an excuse to-…”

“I’m not trying to chain you, you know that.”

Freydis knows how much you hate being interrupted when you’re talking, so she is sure the other woman does. She cannot help but wonder if she does it on purpose.

You scoff, “I’ve heard that before.”

“I am not some Varangian that tr-...”

“Tis better you don’t speak of what you don’t know. I never meant my husband,” You interrupt, eyes blazing. Galla’s eyes give away the recognition, and full lips form around a word that once was a name. Freydis remembers the way you spoke of the man you led to his death with promises of love, she remembers that you being able -being willing- to do something like that was the first moment she felt she could completely trust in you. You take a deep breath, “We need to get to that city, it is safer if I go.”

“Safer? What happens if you are found?”

“What happens if you are?”

“I get killed, you do not.” Galla states, an uncomfortable stillness falling over the room at her words.

A sigh, and then, “Kattegat had a funeral for me, Galla. They don’t know I’m alive, no one has any reason to think I’m…h-his wife.”

You haven’t said his name ever since you left Kattegat, and with each passing day the jarring manner in which you go out of your way not to say Ivar’s name becomes more and more apparent to Freydis.

“Yes, of course. A Greek trading and trying to buy passage to the Mediterranean, who would think it has anything to do with Kattegat’s queen?” The other woman teases, but there is a concern in her honeyed voice that Freydis cannot help but feel all the way through her body.

“I can do it,” Freydis interrupts, stepping forward and letting her gaze jump between you and Galla. “They will think nothing of me, just another…Varangian.”

“Hm,” Galla states before you can say anything, dark eyes surveying Freydis slowly before full lips pull into a smile, “You’re a brave one, Freydis.”

She tells herself she shouldn’t feel so emboldened by the slight praise, but it makes her feel stronger, it makes her feel like she is reclaiming a part of herself, by letting herself do this, be this.

____

“If they so much as whisper my name, you get out. Promise me, Freydis.”

She frowns, but acquiesces with a smile, “I promise.”

You swallow, hesitate for a moment before your hand reaches for hers. It is warm, it reminds her of that particular kind of fear of that first night she was a free woman, and yet it reminds her of that particular kind of warmth of the first time she had something to call her own. The touch is soft and light, but it tethers her more than she would like to admit.

“Don’t leave me alone.” You ask her quietly, big eyes boring into hers. She nods her head, but doesn’t say anything else.

Galla puts a hand on your arm and brings you to her side, murmuring something in your own tongue that makes you smile, even if it is still tinged by anxiety and more than a tad of fear.

Freydis finds herself wanting to know what she said to you, just as she usually finds herself wanting to know what the Greeks say that makes you grow a little colder, wanting to know what the soft songs they sing at night mean to you, what the tongue of your Gods and your people speaks of.

And as Freydis makes her way through the port, she starts thinking of what it would be like to speak your tongue, share something more with you, find something other than you speaking her language that makes her belong at your side.

In a few words, she manages to sell the few trinkets Galla had stolen, and with the coin heavy in the pouch hanging by her belt, Freydis sets of to speak with one of the boatbuilders.

The conversation is short and to the point, and the man doesn’t hesitate to tell her all she wants to know, judging by the purposely meek posture and adverted eyes that she is a thrall doing as she is told. It is remarkably easy, to pretend, to lie and make them do as she wants them too.

Freydis dares think she understands a bit better why you chose to chain yourself to that Greek. She also -much to her chagrin- understands why you refused to do the same to Ivar.

As she takes her leave she sees some unrecognizable faces carrying recognizable shields. A part of her almost wants -though she knows it is impossible, though she knows even if it weren’t it would end badly for her- to see Ivar with them, to have him see her.

For all the times he took you from her side without meaning to, for all the cruel smiles he granted her as you held his hand and left her barren, for all the ways he took things from her -and for all the things he could have taken, had the tale been other-; Freydis wants to face him one last time. To prove to him that a king, a famous man, a monster, wasn’t enough to keep you with him, but her, a liar, a former slave, a woman, was enough.

Before she can ask herself whether it was the years that made her cruel or she was always this way, she recalls every time she was left starving while others feasted, and finds she does not care.

____

It is only a fortnight later that she manages to return to the camp and announce there has been set up safe passage for you and most of the Greeks back to the Mediterranean -Crete, you tell her with a blinding smile, as if she is supposed to know what that is. She still smiles back-, alongside Arab merchant vessels.

Freydis does know how to lie and play pretend around her countrymen, and she still holds on to the warm and encompassing feeling of pride that being responsible for arranging for the ships with the builders at the docks brought; but she finds herself uncertain as to how to interact with these Arabs, with their strange garbs and their stranger customs.

You, though, you breeze through conversation with them, you laugh and smile as if you can forget what brought you here and that all that surrounds you still is death and cold. And Freydis doesn’t bother looking away.

They speak their own tongue, that you share in short bursts, but they also speak Greek with you, even if theirs is choppier than yours of course. They meet you somewhere in between worlds, and the women of painted skin and covered hair make your eyes shine with warmth; and you make their laughs delighted and fascinated; as if you share more than just words, as your language and theirs mix and match.

When the night starts to set and the people -Greeks, Arabs, Vikings- set of to sleep in every nook and cranny of the wooden ship they can find, you find your way back to Freydis’ side, sitting next to her and sharing the warmth of your cloak as you set it over both your legs as if you don’t even have to think twice about it.

“Did you ever think you’d one day part from this land, Freydis?”

“No,” She offers sincerely, looking at the distant and dark sea. “Being a slave didn’t leave much time to hope for traveling.”

“And after that?”

“Kattegat was safe, familiar,” Freydis takes a breath, closes her eyes for a moment. “It was just another set of chains, maybe.”

“Those are familiar too,” You state, saying the words she cannot. All the answer she offers is a nod. You sigh, and give away a confession of your own, “Neither did I.”

“All you wanted once was to leave these lands.”

“Yet I never believed I would leave alive, not truly,” A chuckle leaves your lips, but it is biter, “I am still not convinced I am not dead, but I always thought death would feel more like…home.”

“Your…Underworld?” She asks, and you nod your head mutely.

You once told her of the creatures and Gods that inhabited that realm that you Greeks go to once you die. You told her of a king with a crown that makes him invisible, you told her of a queen that trusted and thus was condemned.

You told her of those creatures half-monster and half-woman, that punish those deserving, that drive men insane, that topple kingdoms with a word, that end battles with their presence alone.

Erinyes, you’d told her they were. They had names, but you keep those secret too, just like you kept your own once.

When she turns to look at you, her gaze lingers on the faint shine of the moon that makes your eyes glimmer, and in all the anger and the grief they harbor, there’s warmth. Too alike the warmth of fickle embers, waiting for the right breeze to burn it all again, but it is warm, and it is familiar to Freydis.

She wonders if there was more than stubbornness keeping you from giving away your name then, she wonders if the otherworldliness of you is not because of who your people are. Because Freydis looks at you, and there’s that seed of awe and fear that tugs at her heart, there’s the faint quickening of her breaths and the urge to never look away and learn each and every quirk of your mouth and shade of color in your eyes; and she wonders if you are something more than human.

You have to be, she reasons. Something more than her, more than him, more than any other. The curve of your smile isn’t like any other’s, the sound of your voice is familiar and fascinating at the same time, the way you dance easily between cruelty and gentleness is both terrifying and fascinating; you cannot be just a mortal like her, like them.

“Lord Hades saw her in that field, and fell in love,” You tell her, eyes absently travelling over the crowded room. Your smile is nostalgic when you continue, “Love made out of a God nothing but a man.”

“Careful, witch. That means love can make out of a man a God.” Valdís says, hiding a smile behind the horn from which she takes a sip, keeping clear eyes on you and giving you both a warning and something else.

“I want you to teach me your tongue.” Freydis tells you quietly, heart thumping a little out of rhythm when you turn to her with barely-masked enthusiasm, and a spark that she feared you had lost.

“Very well.” You muse, a serene smile on your lips.

You start pointing at the sky, and teaching her how to repeat the words you say. A part of her knows this isn’t how one is supposed to start learning a new language, but she loses herself in the low cadence of your voice and the lull of the ship, and finds not wanting anything to be any different, even if this doesn’t help her understand Greek any better.

It is a start, and that is all she wants. To find a way to meet you halfway between the two worlds that want you even if you don’t belong fully to neither. Freydis can learn to live in between realms, that is how she has lived most of her life: a woman when they wanted and lusted after her body, but not a woman when they refused her the chance to tell them no; someone loved when you smiled at her, but not the one you loved when your eyes met his.

But you have learned to live there too, she knows. His wife and their ‘daughter’, Kattegat’s Queen and Attica’s Anassa, yourself and what they want you to be.

Maybe, she dares think, you can both live there, in between worlds, in between places to belong to. Because even if you both belong to nowhere, you belong together.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog  

#freydis x reader #freydis vikings #freydis #ἀλήθεια masterlist

[rcmclachlan]

So, it’s occurred to me that I’ve never told y’all the greatest story I’ve ever heard: aka, the time two childhood friends of mine—as grown-ass adults—gave a dead rabbit a viking funeral and ended up setting our hometown’s lake on fire.

I come from a small ocean town and grew up on this lake:

Pretty idyllic, no?

The person who took this picture was probably standing on Washington St, and on Washington St is a tall apartment building in which my friends Tom* and Nick* lived as roomies for a while after high school. Nick’s girlfriend at the time, Grace*, was leaving for a weekend trip and asked Tom and Nick to take care of her pet rabbit while she was gone.

Naturally, the rabbit died.

After panicking and slamming a few beers to calm down, Tom and Nick didn’t call Grace to break the sad news to her. No, they decided the only option was to absolutely not tell Grace and instead give the rabbit a viking funeral. Being the crafty people they are (literally), they built a small boat, adorned it with riches aka just can tabs painted gold, placed the body in a paper bag and laid it upon a bed of twigs and newspaper, sparked the flame, and launched it into the lake. While Nick and Tom said a few words (they liked the rabbit well enough), the boat drifted to the center of the lake, as planned. Soon, it would burn to the point that the boat would sink, and that would be that. 

Except the wind picked up.

The little boat, now completely ablaze, made a bee-line for the very brown, very dry reeds, on the other side of the lake, and proceeded to run aground. 

Cue them running back to their apartment, where they called the fire department, watching from their window all the while as the lake suddenly looked like this:

But, EVERYWHERE. The fire spread so quickly because of the wind that Lewis Lake became a literal ring of fire. People were coming out to see what the commotion was and then ended up sticking around because who doesn’t like to watch shit burn down? If you said “me,” you’re a fucking liar. 

Tom was the one who called the fire department and, with the weight of the consequences of their poor decision pressing down on his soul, decided to tell them exactly what happened: “Uhhhhhh.... Some kids set the lake on fire.”

Which is not untrue. 

Anyway, the town’s one firetruck showed up to contain the blaze, but it was too late. The fire was out of control, especially since there was no easy way to get to the other side of the lake (where this photo was taken from). There was a tiny stone bridge on the left side of the lake (which was where I used to fish for minnows as a kid) and that’s about it. It was determined that they’d let the fire just... peter out on its own, with the department making sure it wouldn’t spread past the reeds. 

Except Nick and Tom didn’t know this and were panicking that the firefighters would pick through the ashes to discover the boat carrying the remains of Grace’s rabbit, so they immediately went out and bought a replacement rabbit. A rabbit that didn’t even remotely look like Grace’s because it didn’t have to look like hers to be an alibi. “No, sir, officers. We don’t know how the fire started. A rabbit? No, it can’t be ours! See, our rabbit is right here, 100% flame-free.”

I presume they high-fived each other, finished off the beer, and then figured that was the end of that.

And then Grace came home. 

She walked in the door, greeted Nick with a kiss, and made for their bedroom where her rabbit’s set-up was. There was a long moment of silence, and Tom and Nick didn’t take a single breath until Grace called out, “Hey, yeah, who’s fucking rabbit is this?” She came out of the room with a look Nick described as, “You know how Chucky the doll is possessed by a serial killer’s ghost? It was like that, but real.”

Nick explained that her rabbit died and they got her a new one. Y’know, all casual-like. Grace asked what they did with her old rabbit, and Tom immediately jumped in and said they buried it. Grace nodded sadly, and meanwhile Tom and Nick shared a relieved glance, because it seemed like—as they’d hoped—that was that. 

Until Grace looked at Nick and said, “Can I see it?”

Nick stared. “See what?”

“Where you buried him. Can I see it? I want to pay my respects.”

Tom got off the couch and shouted, “Hey, I just remembered that I have to run to Shirley Hardware,” while Nick pleaded silently for Tom to just fucking kill him. Nick communicated with his eyes that Grace was much faster and far more athletic than he, and possessed by a serial killer’s ghost, and would certainly stop him if he tried to knife her boyfriend. 

Oblivious, Grace smiled and said, “We’ll walk out with you.”

So the three of them walk outside, with Nick and Grace going to the left, because it was such a beautiful day so why not take a nice walk in Lewis Field? Tom, meanwhile, took off toward the right in the direction of Shirley Hardware. As soon as he was out of sight, he booked it for the right side of the lake, digging up some grass and dirt, making it look like something might be buried there, and then marking it with a crab apple branch held up by a pile of rocks. 

MEANWHILE, on the other side of the lake, Nick and Grace walked hand-in-hand, admiring the willow trees and the family of weird-looking ducks that had taken up residence underneath the bridge. And somehow she never saw Tom on the other side, in clear fucking view, because there were no reeds to hide him.

By the time they got around the lake to the little grave where absolutely nothing was buried, Grace sighed and thanked Nick for making an effort by burying her rabbit. The branch was a nice touch. 

Nick exhaled in relief and said nothing. 

Then she looked around and said, “... Did someone set the lake on fire?”

#rc had a childhood #*names have been changed #the rabbit viking funeral story

[i-am-not-my-brother]

20 "How Many Things am I Procrastinating On?” Questions

Tagged by the wonderful @penthesilea1623.  I don’t know the vast majority of my followers (though I love you all and will gladly be a grumpy internet brother to you all) so talk amongst yourselves and figure out who would like to do this next.

1. How tall are you? *SIGH*  Good gravy.  Much to my disappointment, my brothers managed to get to 6′ while I got to be the literal baby of the family at 5′8″.  Words cannot express my disappointment.  I have a permanent short man attitude where I’m willing to fight anyone and everyone.  I’ll toss anyone into a dumpster if they’re mean to you, see if I don’t.

2. What colour and style is your hair?  Officially I’m “strawberry blonde”.  Though if I grow my facial hair out, I turn into a goddamn viking with a blazing red beard.  My middle brother rocks that look already.  Oh, did I mention my hair is also partially pink?  It’s also partially pink.  And shaved short on the sides so I can be aerodynamic?

3. What colour are your eyes?  Boring bright blue.  Always wanted green, brown, or hazel eyes.

4. Do you wear glasses? Technically, yes.  Though I wear contacts during the day.  This being a rainy city most of the year, wearing glasses gets annoying real quick.  I do wear some sweet computer glasses at work.  BAM.

5. Do you wear braces? I actually got braces in my early 30s.  My brother both did theirs in their teen years and I felt left out (utter lie).  Years later and I still wear my retainers every night because, damn it, I paid for these straight teeth.  I’m going to keep them.

6. What is your fashion sense? Wacky and colorful.  I mean, yeah, I got traditional button-down shirts, but I also have swim trunks covered in cats.  I’ve got very manly floral shoes.  I just got a pair of shoes with orange wool plaid.  I fit in well in my city where this sort of nonsense receives praise.  I should not be encouraged.

7. Do you have any siblings? Two older brothers (in their 40s and 50s) and a step-sister (deceased).  I’m your sweet baby brother.

8. What kinda student were/are you?  I was really good at topics that interested me.  I had a mental block against math, so I stubbornly refused to try even though I did well when I had to.  Knowledge that I didn’t want was absorbed on a need-to-know basis.

9. What is your favourite subject?  Science and languages.  I studied Spanish, ASL, Japanese, Ancient Greek, and Latin.

10. Favourite TV shows?  MST3k, How It’s Made, Good Eats, Archer, Monty Python’s Flying Circus, QI.

11. Favourite books?  Wow.  Hmmm.  American Gods, Good Omens, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Hogfather, all the Sarah J Maas stuff, Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, any neuroscience book by VS Ramachandran, and What If? Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions (which I reread whenever I’m on a plane).

12. Favourite pastime? Video games, watching people play video games, talking about video games.  And hiking.  lol

13. Any regrets? My parents never said we should be doctors, lawyers, etc, but I was politely discouraged from pursuing my career in funerary sciences.  I wanted (and still do) want to work as a funeral director or the like.  I’m not a morbid person.  I just have a lot of strong feelings about death.  That... that still sounds weird.  Whatever.  But I’ve been very inspired by Caitlin Doughty recently.  So you cannot get me to shut up about death, the death industry, etc.

14. What is your dream job? See above.  I jumped ahead, apparently.

15. Do you want to get married? Not really.  I mean, I never had dreams of it.  I would not be opposed to being married.  I would rather marry people-- by which I mean I just got my minister certificate and can perform marriages.  That’s a dangerous superpower.

16. Do you want kids? I have two: a dog and a cat.  Of the human variety?  No.  Nonononononononononononono.  I worked as a nanny for my brother’s kids during my early 20s.  That was quite enough, thank you.

17. How many countries have you visited: Mexico, Canada, and Japan.  I’m pretty boring.  I desperately want to go to Romania, though.

18. What’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had?  I have a reoccurring one where I die for other people.  Jump on a grenade, lure zombies away, use some superpower that kills me to save someone I love, etc.  It’s not scary, necessarily.  I just wake up sad and achy every time.

19. Do you have any enemies? Anybody that hurts people I care about.  I make them my goddamn enemy.  >:|

20. Do you have a datemate? I have a lovely girlfriend that I have dated for 5+ years.  It’s long distance, though.  I’m sadly lacking on the cuddles, so if anyone has any completely platonic cuddles to spare, please send them my way.  I’m an A+ hugger.  Lots of experience being a huggable teddy bear.

#about me #I was at the doctor's office and thought 'Hell I'll fill this out' #and you know what? It was fun #The quiz not the doctor

[razieltwelve]

As morbid as it may sound, I'm curious. What does a funeral for a war hamster look like? I'm getting images of a Viking Funeral but with a hamster wheel/ball.

You’re not far off.

War hamsters are typically buried with a collection of their favourite toys, as well as trophies from their victories in battle or citations for their contributions to scientific research. They are typically buried next to their masters.

Of course, some hamsters and Dia-Farrons opt for cremation. On such occasions, the two are often cremated together by being loaded onto a barge piled high with tributes to their achievements in life and death, which is promptly set aflame via plasma bombardment.

The greatest of war hamsters are buried beneath mighty statues celebrating their deeds. The most common design for such statues is to show the war hamster crushing Grimm underfoot and blazing away with its weaponry as it snarls at its enemies. Its master is usually included in the statue, riding atop the war hamster with their own weapons firing.

Regardless of how they choose to be buried, the Dia-Farron maintain extensive memorials commemorating their beloved hamsters. These memorials include holographic footage and other details, so everyone can learn what their hamsters meant to them in life and death.

Incidentally, Professor Cuddles’s resting place is commemorated by a large statue depicting the legendary hamster in a lab coat and sitting on top of Vanille’s head while munching on a treat. It is considered customary for every hamster to make at least one trip there, and they consider it good luck to lay one paw on the base of the statue.

They aren’t the only animals to have great monuments in their name. Chomp is considered the patron of uplifted dogs despite never actually undergoing the procedure himself (it only became common well after his death). Nevertheless, it was one of his descendants that was the first uplifted dog.

Chomp is usually depicted with the scars on his face he acquired protecting Alison and Li from Grimm. The most common images show him standing between two children (based on Alison and Li) and a horde of Grimm. He almost died protecting them, and he is held up as an example for all dogs, uplifted or not, to follow.

[ofmikaelsonmagiks]

Matthias would be down for cremation, or even a viking funeral pyre, over burial after his death. It's not about minimizing his effect on the world, or some silly notion of going out in a blaze of glory. . . He's claustrophobic, and hates the idea of being stuck in a small box for the rest of eternity, even if it's just his body, and not really HIM at that point. He just. . .really really does not want to be buried, or entombed in the witches' cemetery or anything of the kind. Set him ablaze and let his ashes scatter to the winds, and he'll rest peacefully.

#headcanon #death mention

[tripstations]

10 of the best winter festivals in Europe: readers’ travel tips | Travel

Profitable tip: Carnevale di Ivrea, Italy

The battle of the oranges is held yearly in February within the fairly Piedmont city of Ivrea as a part of the city’s annual carnival. 9 groups over the course of three days hurl 500,000 kilos of oranges (from Sicily; they aren’t grown in these elements) of their try and kill the tyrannical marquis, who apparently was decapitated by the native miller’s daughter; the story dates from the center ages. As a spectator you received’t be concerned within the crossfire, however there’s an unimaginable quantity of oranges to take care of on the bottom. It’s one of many largest meals fights in Italy, and culminates with the funeral of the marquis. There’s a enormous number of avenue meals obtainable at affordable costs. It’s a enjoyable, feel-good competition that may go away you smelling of citrus for days. It’s all the time held on Sunday to Ash Wednesday – so 23-26 February in 2020. • hstoricocarnevaleivrea.it Martin Colegate

Up Helly Aa, Lerwick

{Photograph}: Andy Buchanan/Getty Photographs

On a tour of Scotland final winter I went to the Shetland Islands for a few days – and ended up staying per week due to a type of Norsemen-style Mardi Gras in Lerwick, which took days to get pleasure from and get better from. Up Helly Aa is a wild, torchlit social gathering with costumed Norse revellers, all-night dancing and ingesting, bonfires, processions and blazing ships which have fun the island’s connections with Scandinavia. The primary theme is who will be the Lord of Lerwick, apparently by being the final individual standing because the festivities finish. Most of the characters portrayed have been actual vikings with fascinating tales hooked up to them. The fruits of the festivities takes place on the final Tuesday in January (the 28th in 2020); the day after is a public vacation to get better. • uphellyaa.org Mike Wilson

Each week we ask our readers for suggestions from their travels. A number of suggestions shall be featured on-line and will seem in print, and the perfect entry every week (as chosen by Tom Corridor of Lonely Planet) wins a £200 voucher from resorts.com. To enter the newest competitors go to the readers’ suggestions homepage

Somerset carnivals

{Photograph}: Chris J Ratcliffe/Getty Photographs

You possibly can’t say you’ve actually skilled an English winter till you’ve skilled a Somerset carnival. Over the course of 1 fortnight in November one of many greatest illuminated parades on the planet travels across the county, warming chilly excessive streets with a procession of floats bearing hundreds of lights, banging pop tunes, and sulky tweenagers wearing masquerade costumes. The route takes in cities akin to Bridgwater, Shepton Mallet and Weston-super-Mare, however my favorite venue is Glastonbury, if just for the conjunction of stoned hippies, drunk locals, and bemused-looking guests. Bridgwater’s spectacular illuminated processions takes place on the primary Saturday of November. • visitsomerset.co.uk Alice Rooney

Fête du Citron, Menton, France

{Photograph}: Alamy

The Lemon competition is held on the finish of winter within the south of France, within the small city of Menton (from 15 February to three March in 2020) to have fun the Menton lemon. The theme modifications every year, however the carnival all the time consists of monumental sculptures made out of oranges and lemons (entry prices €10). There are additionally a number of parades stuffed with citrus floats and dancers (tickets price €25 seated, €12 standing). I discovered the entire expertise to be distinctive. • fete-du-citron.com Mila

Tartófla truffle competition, Bologna

{Photograph}: Getty Photographs

Final November we visited the Tartófla truffle competition held in Savigno, a 45-minute drive south-west of Bologna. Except for a brisk commerce in entire white truffles and stalls promoting truffle-flavoured all the pieces, there have been exhibitions, crafts and an enormous pop-up restaurant tent serving a truffle-heavy menu. There was even a workshop the place you could possibly take your canine to check its truffling potential. Our spotlight was the candlelit night truffle looking expedition (€10 adults) which took us via farmland with a truffle-hunter and his canine, ending in woodland the place the canine excitedly dug up a couple of truffles, although it ate half of them earlier than we had an opportunity to catch a glimpse! This yr the competition is being held over three weekends: 1-3, 9-10 and 16-17 November. • tartufosavigno.com Martha

Fête des Lumières, Lyon

{Photograph}: Alicia Canter/The Guardian

Lyon’s annual Gentle Competition takes place over 5-Eight December this yr. Non secular in origin, it’s now a deservedly common occasion with greater than 40 mild installations. Lasers and trendy expertise rework town’s statues, fountains, bridges and constructing facades right into a magically hued, continually altering wonderland, probably the most spectacular I’ve seen. There are spectacular fireworks, and street-food stalls promoting mulled wine, soups and native, scrumptious, fare. There’s lots to do in lovely Lyon earlier than darkish, too. Climb the hill to the basilica of Notre Dame de Fourvière for panoramic views of town and even the Alps, and benefit from the metropolis’s vaunted gastronomy. • fetedeslumieres.lyon.fr Fi

Krampus, Salzburg

{Photograph}: Johannes Simon/Getty Photographs

Solid apart the well being and security guide and be a part of Salzburg’s Krampus parades to discover the darkish facet of Christmas, this yr beginning on 6 December – St Nicholas Day. Be ready to atone on your sins because the fearsome Krampus, clad in stinking goatskins, clanking cowbells and terrifying horned masks, roam the streets in packs with flaming torches and birch whips, thrashing the legs of anybody unlucky sufficient to stray too shut. The town parades are usually tamer affairs, so head out to the villages for the actual deal. Positively not for the fainthearted. • salzburg.data Melita Dennett

Fiestas de San Antonio Abad, Spain

{Photograph}: Trevor Thompson/Alamy

Within the Matarraña, Teruel (inland between Barcelona and Valencia), the pleasant fiesta of Antonio Abad, patron saint of animals, is widely known on 17 January. The competition is held throughout Spain, however we actually loved the one held in Valderrobres village, the place on the evening of the 16th there’s a spectacular bonfire at which desserts and drinks are handed round. Early the next morning everyone seems to be invited to take part in a neighborhood breakfast – primarily native sausages and chorizo roasted within the embers of the hearth. Later in the principle sq. locals convey their animals to be blessed. Within the surrounding villages the bonfires are staggered so that folks can get pleasure from a number of of them. Keep at very affordable costs within the villages or in snug nation homes: a splendidly genuine expertise of common tradition. Annalee Curran

Gentle competition, Amsterdam

{Photograph}: Getty Photographs

Through the Amsterdam Gentle Competition (28 November to 19 January 2020), town is illuminated by mild artists from all around the world showcasing their work all through town centre. Tons of of designers and designers submit their concepts and the choice committee chooses 30 artworks. To totally benefit from the competition, as we did, it’s finest to observe steered routes on foot, and there are additionally routes for many who need to see all of it by bicycle and boat. John Kilkelly

Percée du Vin Jaune, Jura, France

{Photograph}: Sébastien Bozon/Getty Photographs

Subsequent yr’s Breakthrough of the Yellow Wine competition will happen on the weekend of 1-2 February within the picturesque village of Ruffey-sur-Seille, 80km south-west of Besançon. This native competition celebrates the discharge of the brand new classic of this very particular sherry-like wine which is aged for six years. A €20 day move is out there on-line (see beneath) which supplies you 10 tasting tickets for the winemakers displaying their produce of their embellished cellars plus a memento glass. There’s additionally a cookery competitors, a wine public sale, parades of Jura winemakers and nice avenue meals. • percee-du-vin-jaune.com Jantee

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