#masoleum

[wandering-cemeteries]

Lafayette Cemetery No. 2

New Orleans, Louisiana

Oct. 2023

[aginggravestones]

Raffaele Sarno, 1888-1976

[proxycrit]

Day 47– The Lightning Temple

That giant unearthed mausoleum is rife with treasure! And horrors. Mostly horrors.

History is a wheel that spins slightly different each round.

(This totk rewrite au is called Familiar Familiar! It all starts when Zelda doesn’t get sent back in time and the butterfly effect devolved from there.)

((Wanna support me? Check out my patreon, with my throw away sketches and references! Remember to use web or android folks, apple charges 30 percent tax.))

[tacticalgrandma]

I’m not the only one right

[witchblade]

7 months ago

[xnomad]

[theseimmortalcoils]

Unknown mausoleum from @woodlawns_twilight_world

[oliviawebsite]

hey you gotta try this new weed strain its called "above-ground pool". one hit will make you feel a profound sense of ennui and self imposed isolation born of neglectful individualism and the suburban news-watcher's irrational fear of the other, holed up in little-duchys guarded and sealed like living masoleums. you have so many prizes and trinkets but no community to lean on. you have convinced yourself this is normal and okay. your kids all moved to different states and no longer speak to you. it also gives you a gnarly hickory ham sunburn

[fuckyeahisawthat]

While I absolutely adore all the "Viktor acquires Jayce's last name for accidental/practical/non-romantic reasons" ideas, I think Viktor would have had to solve his last name problem for paperwork reasons as a student at the Academy, and if he didn't have a last name, the simplest option would be to steal one.

He figures out within three days of starting at the Academy that he needs a family name.

Introducing himself as "just Viktor" gets him marked out as from the undercity immediately, if missing one of a hundred other social cues hasn't already. "Don't you know no one knows whose kids are whose down there?" he hears someone scoff from down the hall, after he's extracted himself from a conversation that was going nowhere good.

Family, like most things in the undercity, is assembled from spare parts more often than not. Family is who will have your back if someone is giving you shit; who will offer you half of something that is already not enough. His parents by blood are both alive and still live together, but no one knows them as anything other than Iveta and Hal.

But topsiders care about things like bloodlines and inheritance, and they all have family names. Not just the rich kids whose family names are carved into buildings, but the children of merchants and craftspeople and workers.

So, he needs to acquire one.

He can't just make one up. What if he picks something that sounds obviously fake to their ears? Or worse, the name of a real, well-known family that he then has to explain his connection to? No, it has to be a real name, just not one that anyone would care about.

He goes to the cemetery. Not the fancy one with the high wrought-iron gates and elaborate masoleums, but a humble one, in a part of the city filled with the modest homes of tradespeople. He searches until he finds an ill-tended family plot, the most recent date of death a hundred years in the past. A simple man, maybe a baker, judging by the carving on the headstone. That will do.

He makes up a story to go with it (a Piltover family of small shopkeepers, forced into the undercity by hard times several generations ago, but topsiders by ancestry still) and starts writing his name as Viktor Trini on homework assignments and forms.

"Viktor." Professor Heimerdinger catches his attention after class one day, a few weeks into the term. Viktor has a routine for this steep amphitheater-style lecture hall by now. Sit in the front so he doesn't have to deal with the stairs; make a bit of a show of gathering up his books and papers slowly after class, letting the students who are in a hurry get out the door first, without his uneven steps slowing them down.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Excellent work on the last assignment. Inspired problem-solving, if I must say."

"Thank you, Professor." He'd been gratified by the solution he came up with, but it's nice to hear someone else say it, too.

Heimerdinger is still holding his problem set paper, rocking on his toes on the small stepladder he uses when lecturing, when he doesn't get too animated and just start striding across the desk like a stage. "You know," he says. "I knew an Aloisius Trini, many years ago. Lovely fellow. He could get a bit gruff with the customers, when the shop was busy, but he made the best meat pies, so nobody cared. I was wondering, might he be your...grandfather perhaps?"

"Yes," Viktor says quickly. "Though I never knew him."

Heimerdinger lowers his voice conspiratorially. "I think you will find that great-grandfather works better, given the math." And he winks.

Viktor's throat goes dry. "Professor, I--"

"Ah-ah. No need to worry, my dear boy. Most people you meet in Piltover won't be nearly three hundred years old." He leans in, drops his voice to a whisper again. "We'll keep this our little secret."

Ah. He understands what's going on now. "Of course. What do you want in return?" He doesn't like this, owing someone who could have him expelled with the stroke of a pen.

Heimerdinger looks surprised at the question. "Nothing!" he says. But that can't be true. He'll ask for something sooner or later.

"I want you to succeed," Heimerdinger says after a moment. "I've seen a lot of students come through these halls, and you're very bright. I predict you'll do extraordinary things."

It still feels like a trap, and maybe it shows on his face, because after a minute Heimerdinger makes a noise of frustration and says, "Fine. If you insist on viewing this as a favor to be repaid, come to my office. There's a lightbulb that needs changing and I can't reach it."

That, he can do. "Thank you, Professor," he says quietly as Heimerdinger hops down the stairs of the stepladder.

"Don't thank me until you've seen the state of this light fixture. I can't reach it to dust, either."

[wandering-cemeteries]

Cemetery high rise.

Cimitero Monumentale di Staglieno.

Genoa, Italy

Dec. 2016

[livingsspecter]

𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚢’𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛

pairing: Gregory violet x reader

content: gn!reader and Violet go on a date at the local cemetery on Valentine’s day and awkward flirting ensues (reader is down bad)

word count: 886 words

A medley of leaves rustle under my feet and Violet’s, as we walk towards the goth-spiked cemetery gate. This time, he allows me to intertwine our arms while we chaperone; especially since I had to steady my pace to match his hurried steps.

One thing I noticed about Violet is that even if he always walks with his head hung low, his steps remain firm. Though unlike mine, they make little to no noise…I wonder if it’s intentional or-

My thoughts are sent to space when I feel an insistent gaze upon me, Violet stares until I look back, and calls:

“Come on”

I nod my head urgently, as if to get out of my mind zone and watch as he lets go of my arm to push the grand gate with both hands. We step in, and I dare to reach out for his arm again; he stops and raises a thin brow, but makes no move to create any distance.

“Are you scared of cemeteries?” The corner of his lips raise ever so slightly, and I scoff.

“Of course not! Why would I be?” I roll my eyes and let my hands slide down from his sleeve.

Violet watches my touch slip away, and just when my hands were about to hover in the air; he takes one of them, intertwining it with his.

“...No reason”

He gives me one last stare-down, squeezes my hand and picks up his pace, carrying on without any halts and double takes and I follow. The sight of the numerous tombstones are lost on me while the coldness of his hand fill mine, like an ice pack in a hot summer.

Our hands quit swinging and he stops, I look up from our interwoven hands to face a multiple-crypt, gothic masoleum; its columns were covered with overgrown vines, reaching an opaque entablature.

I keep on contouring the tomb’s extremities with my eyes, until Violet tugs on my sleeve to pull me down so I could sit beside him on the leaf-covered grass. He lets go and pulls his clipboard out from his pouch, supporting it on his thigh and occupying his left hand with a brand new charcoal pencil.

“It’s quiet here…” He mutters, close to whispering

Even if the words hang in the air, his ample gaze is already drawn to an empty page and he starts sketching, so I hesitate before answering.

“I assume you like it, then?” I cock my head, smiling warmly.

He nods, his gaze flickering from the page to my eyes, staring and unblinking—as usual. I chuckle and scooch closer, making leaves scatter around beneath me.

“Oh yeah, it’s…Valentine’s day today, did you know?”

His eyebrows raise and his grip on the pencil finally loosens.

“I’m aware…why?”

I gulp and the incoming words stop in the tip of my tongue, but I manage to push them out.

“So is this like…a date?” With each word, my voice got more strained.

To my surprise, Violet simply keeps adorning the sketch with a few lines, and hums in approval.

“…I suppose so”

My belly is filled by erratic butterflies, flapping their wings on my skin and giving flight to my hope. Hope calls for boldness and I feel on the top of the world, above all shame and restraint.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind paying homage to Mary Shelley-“*

The words roll off my tongue like a heavy bucket falling, my eyes widen and I freeze, becoming a hostage of Violet’s response…or lack thereof. He raises his head and sets the sketchbook down on his lap, his jaw was on the floor, his cheeks petal-pink under the shadow of his hood.

“Excuse me?”

I wave my hands frantically, increasing the volume of my voice without realizing. The pathetic flush on my face rivals the ripest tomato.

“Forget it!! It was a joke…I-“ My hands fly to cover my face, seeing nothing but the comfort of pitch black.

I let out a groan, wishing with all my heart that a tree would fall on top of me, it’d be an undignified, but quick death; anything to not face Violet’s imminent rejection. I sit motionless, with tense muscles and tightly shut eyes until I feel a tap on my arm, it was far from rough and furrowed like a tree’s trunk; and felt the same as the cold skin on my palm earlier.

My eyes shoot open and I let Violet lower my hands from my face to my lap. He was close enough for our breaths to mingle, his black painted lips were displayed like a savoury dessert on a bakery showcase. Before I could justify myself, he inched forward and pressed his lips on my forehead, leaving a dark lipstick mark.

“A bit too quick..don’t you think?” He whispers in my ear and I could see a smile, rare and precious right in front of me, and just for me.

The vision was so unberably bright that I quickly averted my eyes, taking a sudden interest in the clipboard laid across his lap.

Just then, I saw it: an unfinished depiction of my profile, down to my bust, so realistic I could dive in the paper and run my fingers through my own hair. My heart started pounding like a drum being striked and my lips curled up to match his.

“Yeah…definitely too quick”

*a!n: the author of Frankenstein, Mary Shelley, is rumoured (likely true) to have lost her virginity on top of her mother’s grave

[inky-duchess]

Good day, Your Grace! Would you happen to know anything or have resources about the funerals of royals? My scenario is a king dying after an invasion into the kingdom with his daughter becoming the new queen, and I‘ve been wondering about the specifics like where his grave/tomb would be and just how much time would be afforded to the funeral and a potential official mourning period.

Plus, would it be inherently inappropriate to have the daughter‘s coronation directly following the funeral (might give the impression that she just wants to get it over with and doesn’t pay enough respects to her father etc.) or would it depend on how it‘s done?

He would likely be buried on the grounds of a royal residence or in a designated place like a family masoleum.

Official mourning tends to last anywhere between two weeks and a few months depending on the culture. The funeral, again depending on the culture, would take place within a week of the death, to allow for a vigil where mourners and dignitaries can pay respects or travel for the funeral. The entire funeral and period of national mourning (such as businesses closing and some entertainments like playhouses closing down) would run about two week before things start getting back to normal.

The daughter's coronation would take placeva few weeks or a few months after the funeral, with enough time to be respectful and plan the event.

[koboldfactory]

masoleum attendant makes me feel very very gay

I should draw those funky robots again sometime

[garbria]

Flufftober Day 12

“This is spooky.” Nyx eyed the forbidding walls with suspicion, rubbing his arm as goosebumps rose under his jacket.

“Really?” Cor turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought Galahdans revered their ancestors.” 

“We do.” Nyx returned Cor’s look with one of his own. “What we don’t do is seal them away in cold marble under ground.” He dropped his hand as he leaned closer to Cor.

Cor huffed at him.

Nyx poked him in the shoulder. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” He poked him again. “I will never understand you Lucians, putting your dead in these giant masoleums far under ground. How do you visit during feast days?”

“We don’t, generally.” Cor looked around. “Especially here. The tombs under the Citadel are for the royal and royal-adjacent. You did say you wanted to come down here.”

“I know.” Nyx sighed and tugged a braid. “You’re always talking about the dead kings, the things they did. I just thought it would be more interesting.”

Cor smirked and poked him back. “You should know better than believe glaive rumors about buried treasure.”

Nyx scowled. “It’s not that, not that Tredd didn’t try his best to come up with some new ones.” He looked at the patterns carved into the black marble. “Crowe has all these theories about the connection between magic and the history of the Lucian kings. She was after me to report back what I found.”

“Remind me to introduce her to Lita in Archives. She’d love a chance to talk obscure magical theory.” Cor placed his hand in the small of Nyx’s back and steered him further down the hall. “There’s some interesting murals further down.”

“Alright, but after this, we’re going somewhere more lively. With drinks, preferably.” Nyx followed Cor’s lead.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[wutheringheightsfilm]

top 5 stained glass art pieces

ooooh nina this is so hard... i'm going to limit it to ones i've personally seen irl!

1. the great east window in york minster

it's gigantic... it is such a masterpiece in medieval glazing i just love it so much!!!

2. the entirety of saint chapelle (im cheating by saying this but like)

just look at it......

3. this depiction of st bartholomew in some random church in the middle of nowhere in north yorkshire

he's holding his flayed skin... isnt that awesome

4. this depiction of saint veronica (on the clerestory row (the bottom one), third from the left you can see her holding the cloth with jesus's face on it in a random church in paris near the pantheon

i so rarely see st veronica depicted in stained glass!!! i love spotting her hehe

5. this late 19th early 20th century angel done in a masoleum in the bronx NY

the iridescent glass is absolutely gorgeous. like i havent stopped thinking about it since i first saw it 2 years ago

thank you for asking!!! omg !!!

[witchblade]

I wish elden ring had increased drop rate hours like an mmo