Anthropologists once excavated the graves of thousands of Native Americans. Now museums in the U.S. are slowly working to return those remains and funerary objects to tribes.
A village in southwest Alaska recently reburied 24 of their ancestors who had been excavated by a Smithsonian anthropologist in 1931.
About half of the village of Igiugig crowded into the Russian Orthodox Church in the center of town on a drizzly fall day. In the center of the nave sat three handmade, wooden coffins that held the bones from the now-abandoned settlement of Kaskanak.
The remains were unearthed by Aleš Hrdlička, who was the head of the anthropology department in what is now the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History. The question of how people originally came to North America and from where drove Hrdlička to dig up the bones of Native Americans all around the United States. Historians estimate that he took thousands to Washington, D.C., for research.
After more than eight decades in the museum’s collection, Igiugig’s ancestors finally returned home for reburial.
The community of Igiugig is majority Yupik, a people group native to Alaska.
Annie Wilson, an elder in the village, attended the funeral service and explained that Hrdlička’s excavation was fundamentally objectionable in Yupik culture.
“We were always taught you don’t dig up old bones of anything or anybody. That’s their resting place until the good Lord comes someday,” said Wilson.
Coffins carrying Igiugig ancestors are loaded onto a skiff for the final stretch of their journey, from the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C., to a burial ground in Alaska.
Because I’ve been looking for a reason to start writing for this fandom, and @yoolee gave me one. Thank you! Go easy on me everyone, it’s been awhile. (Also wtf is 2nd person and consistent tense *flails*)
From her prompt post: AU -
Reincarnation – they meet again in the modern world (Mitsunari x MC, ~3k words)
“An old book, eh?”
The day you’d mentioned your fruitless quest to find a vintage cookbook to one of the regulars at your cafe, he had nestled his chin on his hand, lips pursed thoughtfully as his fingers drummed your worn formica counter. “A friend of mine owns a bookstore, if you can believe those still exist today. And he loves collecting vintage and rare stuff like that. Maybe he could help you out.”
Mischief sashayed through his eyes, and that should have tipped you off right then and there. Would have, if you hadn’t been eagerly scrambling for a piece of scrap paper to write down the address Hideyoshi gave you. Instead, the moment passed as he shoveled the rest of his breakfast down the hatch in an impressive gulp and gave you a cheerful thumbs up, standing and tossing a handful of bills down to settle his check. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes,” he said as he tucked his wallet away, gracing you with one last cheeky wink and a broad grin as he left. “Good luck!”
“Just you today?” Marinette looked up as Queen Bee landed on
her balcony, currently wrist deep in potting soil.
“Vixen texted, she has to watch her sisters, and Chat
apparently has work. Both said they’ll
be by later tonight.” Queen Bee tilted her head curiously. “What are you doing?”
“Well, spring is starting, so I’m getting my planting done.”
Marinette tilted her head to indicate the pallet of assorted flowers and
packets of seeds, as well as the mis-matched collection of pots. “Want to help?”
Queen Bee sniffed and turned her nose up. “And get dirty?”
Marinette smirked slightly.
“Just admit that you don’t know how.”
The heroine gasped in outrage, then pouted and sat down
beside Marinette. “Fine, pass me that
Marinette giggled. “It’s
called a spade, and you don’t need one right now. Get a pot and put some potting soil in it
“Um…” Queen Bee looked between her suited up hands and the
large bag of potting soil, prompting Marinette to sigh and pull her gloves off
before passing them over. Sheepishly,
Queen Bee pulled them on, then started to reach into the bag.
“Queenie, just use the old pot in there to scoop some in.”
Marinette chuckled, showing her the small, battered plastic pot, then handing
Queen Bee a long rectangular pot. “Scoop
enough in to almost fill it, then tamp it down a bit with your hands.” Not minding the dirt, Marinette demonstrated
with her own pot.
Trying to act like she knew exactly what she was doing,
Queen Bee copied what her girlfriend did, sitting a little straighter once she
had her pot filled. “Now what?”
“Now, pick out some flowers.” Marinette nudged the pallet closer to her,
and Queen Bee picked out the brightest, yellowest flowers on it. “Then, use the spade to dig a little hole,
tip the flower out of its pot, rough up the roots a little bit to encourage
them to grow, and plant.” The young woman suited action to words, letting the
heroine see as she carefully planted the flower she had chosen. “Then make sure the dirt is nice and secure
around it. Once your pot is full, you
can water it.”
Queen Bee beamed once she had finished copying
Marinette. “I did it!” Realizing, she huffed and turned her nose
up. “Told you I could.”
“Uh-huh.” Marinette tried and failed to hide her grin. “Want to finish up that long pot? For something like that, you’ll want to space
the flowers here, here, and here.” She said, using the spade to make marks in
the dirt. “Then you can hang it on the
railing. Once we’re done with everything
we’ll go around and water it all.”
They spent the rest of the cool spring afternoon filling up
Marinette’s pots. When they were done,
Marinette showed Queen Bee how to start the vegetable seeds she had bought in a
seed starter tray.
Finally, the plants were all settled and watered, and
Marinette looked up from where she was packing away her few gardening tools to
see Queen Bee let out a long sigh and brush the back of one hand over her
forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt.
She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing so as not to tip her
off. “Thanks for helping with my
“… It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Queen Bee
admitted, which from her meant that she had really enjoyed it. “I wouldn’t mind learning more.”
“I’d be happy to show you more, though I’m not really great
at gardening myself. I’m good enough to
keep my plants from dying, anyways.”
Marinette smiled and leaned over to kiss Queen Bee’s cheek. “I had fun doing this with you.”
As she went to pull back, Queen Bee quickly tugged off the
borrowed gardening gloves and reached up to cup Marinette’s cheek with one
hand, turning to press her lips to the other girl’s in a proper kiss. Marinette gasped softly, but didn’t pull
away. Queen Bee was just wondering if
she had moved too quickly and whether she should back off when Marinette’s lips
slanted over hers, prompting a soft sigh as she closed her eyes and allowed
herself to enjoy the kiss.
“Nice, Queenie.” The
two girls broke the kiss with a start, blushing slightly as they registered
Vixen and Chat standing on the roof and grinning widely. “Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Vixen
chuckled, flicking her tail as she lightly hopped down onto the balcony. “I’m tempted to steal a kiss myself.”
“From which one?” Marinette countered, doing her best to
recover after having been caught off guard.
“Either. Both. Both sounds good,” Vixen mused as she moved
over to make room for Chat. With all of
the gardening supplies that still needed to be put away, plus all of the new
pots, it was getting a little cramped on the balcony.
Chat tilted his head.
“Hey, Queenie, did you know you have dirt on your face?”
“What?!” Queen Bee
screeched. “Marinette, I need your
Marinette pouted at Chat as Queen Bee rushed
past her and inside. “Dangit Chat, I wanted
to see how long it would take for her to notice.”
we’re skipping past a lot of quality content in these later compilations. they mostly contain early entries in the uncle $crooge title, which means we’ve officially reached the status quo for duck adventures. duckventures.
Summary: You wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into as you find yourself locked in the brig of the pirate ship. There’s treasure to be found, but will Captain Hongbin be able to trust you enough to let you play the game?
Fluffy Destiel and also me practicing Dean’s characterization. Also, apparently I’ve been in fandom since like 2009 and I’ve never written a 5 + 1, so here you go
The flowers don’t look like the ones in Mom’s
garden. Hers are droopy, sun-dried,
brown, crinkly. These are vibrant,
glossy, alive. It’s November. All the flowers in Mom’s garden are dead.
Dean looks down at the flowers being shoved into his
hands and wrinkles his nose, deciding then and there that Mom wouldn’t like
them, not one bit. Still, he does as
he’s told. There’s something wrong, he’s
figured out that much. Mom hasn’t met
them at the motel yet. Dad won’t explain
what’s going on. And Dean can’t find the
words to ask.
In his stroller, Sammy lets out a sharp, piercing
wail. Dad doesn’t stop pushing, like Mom
does when they go for walks and Sammy decides he doesn’t like it. Dean breaks into a short run to get level
with his brother. At the sight of him,
Sammy calms a little, but he still looks scared.
Well. It’s a
new place, and Mom isn’t here. Dean’s
He wants to comfort his little brother, but words are
still out of his reach. He makes a few
cooing noises instead and pulls a face that always promises a laugh. He gets one.
Pleased with himself, Dean bounds ahead a few paces.
Dad finally stops pushing the stroller. “Give the
flowers to your mom, Dean.”
Dean pauses. He
can’t see Mom. There’s new dirt spread
on some of the grass in front of him.
Dad points at it. He wants Dean
to do something about it, Dean can tell, but he doesn’t quite know what. Hesitantly, he sets the flower down and
follows Dad back out.
Author’s note: The chewing part didn’t actually take as prominent of a role as I’d initially meant it to… but I kinda like the direction the story is going right now, so I’m just gonna roll with it.
Success is the child of drudgery and perseverance. It cannot be coaxed or bribed; pay the price and it is yours. - Orison Swett Marden
He was alone. He was alone in the entire world. He had no one he could count on. It didn’t use to be that way, but it was now, and it was entirely his own fault.
He didn’t like to admit it, but on the rare occasions where Stan had actually worked up the nerve to be completely honest with himself, he knew that there was absolutely no way he was going to make it out of this on his own. The endless abyss of perpetual failure that his life had become, had grown too deep, and he, had grown far too comfortable wallowing in the muck at the bottom. With each passing year, and each figurative shovel full of dirt, it became more and more apparent that his only hope for redemption lay in someone else helping him get back up. If no one reached down to him, if no one offered him the little boost of motivation he needed to start climbing again, Stan was just going to keep sinking.
The symbolism of Daryl passing the shovel to Sasha
Beth was the last person to die before Tyreese. Daryl, being the one who adored Beth the most, passes on the shovel to bury a loved one to Sasha, who cared the most about Tyreese.
The fact that Daryl is facing away from the grave might be symbolic as well, as it might be conveying how Daryl will now have to recover from the loss of Beth. And of course, Sasha is facing the grave because she has to face Tyreese’s death.
Tiny hands find purchase on the flat stone bench, accompanied by a knee, then a foot, and finally Roland is standing next to the queen. Her back is straight, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Roland shuffles on his toes, waiting for her to look at him, to cup his chin and squeeze him in a hug until he can giggle no more. He’s about to say her name, his mouth dropping open, when she turns and flashes him a bright smile, reaches out with both hands to tickle his sides.
“R'gina!” He squeaks with laughter, wriggling within her grasp until she relents and allows him to plonk down next to her on the warm stone, sparkling in the summer heat. He still wears his cloak, even with the blistering temperatures, the deep green material flowing like a river behind him when he runs across the grass.
“What brings my little merry man to the gardens?” She asks, her eyes flicking to the sweat soaked hair plastered to his temples. He really should take off that cloak.
Roland looks up at her with big eyes, chocolate coloured like her own and flecked with gold. His head tilts to the side, “Can you keep a secret?”
Regina’s brow furrows, the quickest flash of stables in another life streaming before her eyes. She blinks, tries to not let Roland see her smile falter as she nods her head. “Of course,” she holds out her hand with her little finger extended, “pinky swear.” It’s something she and Henry used to do - before curses and evil queens entered his world - and the thought has a lump forming in her throat.
“What’s a pinky swear?” Roland clambers to his knees, intrigued by her words and her gesture, pulling her from her memories.
“It’s a special promise. The most sacred of all vows.” Regina takes Roland’s hand from his side and lifts it in line with hers. He closes his fist and leaves out his little finger too, mirroring her. “We link pinkies and your secret is safe with me.” He’s nodding, soaking up every syllable she has to say and it leaves her beaming when he wraps his finger around hers.
“My papa,” he says, a mischievous grin playing on his lips that matches a certain thief’s. There’s a swift tug in her gut at the mention of him and she clears her throat, nods slightly, and draws her lips in a line to keep the corners from turning up. “He likes you.”
She scoffs then, shaking her head as she flicks the hair which had fallen over her shoulder back behind her.
“And where did you find this out?”
“I was sneaking!” He claps his hands together and Regina smiles at how animated his features are when he talks, how much he reminds her of Henry at that age, but she doesn’t let that upset her, not this time. She soaks it in, the memory almost as warm as the sun itself when it wraps around her. “I sneaked into Uncle John’s tent and–and I heard him and papa talking about you.”
Curiosity gets the best of her and she can’t help asking more. “Roland, were you eavesdropping?” Regina isn’t quite sure if she believes this tale, but she’d be lying if she said a small part of her didn’t wish it was true. She tries to keep her tone firm, but her smirk gives her away. He shakes his head and a laugh erupts from him, his small arms wrapping around himself as she pulls him into her lap to pepper his cheeks with kisses.
The next morning he’s walking towards her table in the great hall, the thief clad in his green tunic and brown boots, bow slung casually across his back. She quirks an eyebrow as he pulls the chair out beside her and sits down with the grace and swiftness of his profession. He’s always so smooth, she thinks, so fluid with his motions. A few moments pass in silence as Robin shovels down his breakfast, the clink of fork against platter becoming almost hypnotic while she watches him.
“I gather one of my men has been rather…loose lipped,” he gives her a pointed look, the curve of his lips making her eyes sparkle with mirth, “of late.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, because she made a promise and she will not break it.
“Well,” he begins, lifting his arm to rest his elbow on the wooden tabletop, “I suppose I’ll just have to tell you myself, since you already know.” Regina narrows her eyes at him and he chuckles. How is he always so relaxed? If her heart wasn’t pounding out of her chest, she’d offer him a retort. He extended his little finger, completely oblivious to the glances thrown their way by the packed hall. “But you’ll have to pinky swear not to tell anyone.”
She knew the smile on her face was cracking her evil queen mask. She knew Snow had been listening intently to the whole interaction from two seats away. And she knew that for once, she didn’t care about any of it. She links her finger with his and he leans in close, close enough that she can feel the heat of his breath as he speaks, the air washing over her lips and making a heat rise up her cheeks.
“I like you, Regina.”
His blue eyes are dark, locked with hers. It takes all of her will power to keep her voice steady as she tells him, “good,” that sparkle in her eyes gleaming like the reflection of stars on a still lake. She stands from the table - leaving their bubble - his finger limp as she pulls her hand away from his. Her heels click against the stone floor, her hips swish beneath the satin of her gown and she leaves the hall, content with the knowledge he is well and truly in her palm.
On our way to and from school, Severus and I frequently pass by this odd sculpture creation thing of a bird.
We’re pretty sure it’s a chicken, given the feet, but we just call it a bird to be safe.
And every day we see it, we giggle and shake our heads a little, because it is such a silly bird.
On the way back home from school one day, Severus and I passed our shovel chicken friend, and he said “Man, that bird is dickless! It is SO dickless!”
Shocked. Instead of agreeing with him as per usual, I was silent, so he asked me: “Mama, don’t you think that bird is dickless?”
And I answered - “Ummmm, possibly. But I’d prefer you didn’t use that word. It’s not very appropriate, okay.”
He was a little frustrated at my answer, first of all we’d already agreed that the bird was dickless, because we laugh at it all the time, second he knows the word is appropriate because I’m the one who asked him to use that instead of saying “stupid”.
So I’m running through my vernacular, when the hell in my sleep deprived state, did I give him permission to say “dickless” and what even does that mean?
He sees me searching, and says “Mama, it means ‘silly’, you know? Ri-dickless?”
That prompt? OTP meeting in the woods disposing of corpses. Yeah, I think I need that. Nickels? Yeah. <3
Sorry this took so long, it just kept getting longer and then I hit a wall close to where I wanted the ending to be and it just refused to budge. Also, this is my second attempt at filling this prompt because my first was super dark and kind of gross. I might still finish it and post it but I don’t think many of you guys read that kind of stuff.
I really kind of love this little au. It’s so fucked up and unhealthy. If anyone has some general prompts for it I’d totally be willing to write more.
I just realized I never gave Nick a body to be dealing with… I think I made up for it though.
Kelly tugged on the tarp, his feet slipping over the slick underbrush as he tried to find the leverage to dislodge his load from the rock it was stuck behind. He cursed at the lump in the tarp. For once he was thankful the lump didn’t snark back at him. That would have made the whole situation about ten times more awkward.
He adjusted his position one more time and gave the tarp another strong tug. His right foot slipped in the muck and the next thing he knew he was spread out on his back with a tarp that held a dead body lying on top of him. This weekend just kept getting better all the time.
“I think I hate you even more now that you’re dead, you bastard,” Kelly grumbled as he shoved the tarp wrapped body off of him.