#ash fire cambridge

[fixomnia-scribble]

WOW.

Scientists found an amazingly well-preserved village from 3,000 years ago

Text below, in case article access dries up:

LONDON — A half-eaten bowl of porridge complete with wooden spoon, communal rubbish bins, and a decorative necklace made with amber and glass beads are just a handful of the extraordinarily well-preserved remnants of a late Bronze Age hamlet unearthed in eastern England that’s been dubbed “Britain’s Pompeii” and a “time capsule” into village life almost 3,000 years ago.

The findings from the site, excavated in 2015 to 2016, are now the subject of two reports, complete with previously unseen photos, published this week by University of Cambridge archaeologists, who said they cast light onto the “cosy domesticity” of ancient settlement life.

“It might be the best prehistoric settlement that we’ve found in Britain,” Mark Knight, the excavation director and a co-author of the reports, said in an interviewThursday. “We took the roofs off and inside was pretty much the contents,” he said. “It’s so comprehensive and so coherent.”

The reason for the rare preservation: disaster.

The settlement, thought to have originally consisted of several large roundhouses made of wood and constructed on stilts above a slow-moving river, was engulfed by a fire less than a year after being built.

During the blaze, the buildings and much of their contents collapsed into a muddy river below that “cushioned the scorched remains where they fell,” the university said of the findings. This combination of charring from the fire and waterlogging led to “exceptional preservation,” the researchers found.

“Because of the nature of the settlement, that it was burned down and its abandonment unplanned, everything was captured,” Knight added.

“As we excavated it, there was that feeling that we were picking over someone else’s tragedy,” he said of the eerie site in the swampy fenland of East Anglia. “I don’t think we could smell the fire but the amount of ash around us — it felt close.”

Researchers said they eventually unearthed four large wooden roundhouses and an entranceway structure, but the original settlement was probably “twice as big.”

The site at Must Farm dates to about 850 B.C., eight centuries before Romans came to Britain. Archaeologists have been shocked at “just how clear the picture is” of late Bronze Age life based on the level of detail uncovered, Knight said.

The findings also showed that the communities lived “a way of life that was more sophisticated than we could have imagined,” Duncan Wilson, head of Historic England, the public body responsible for preserving England’s historic environment, said in a statement.

The findings unearthed include a stack of spears, possibly for hunting or defense; a decorative necklace “with beads from as far away as Denmark and Iran”; clothes of fine flax linen; and a female adult skull rendered smooth, “perhaps a memento of a lost loved one,” the research found.

The inhabitants’ diet was also rich and varied, including boar, pike and bream, along with wheat and barley.

A pottery bowl with the finger marks of its maker in the clay was also unearthed, researchers said, still containing its final meal — “a wheat-grain porridge mixed with animal fats” — with a wooden spatula resting inside the bowl.

“It appears the occupants saved their meat juices to use as toppings for porridge,” project archaeologist Chris Wakefield said in the university’s news release. “Chemical analyses of the bowls and jars showed traces of honey along with ruminant meats such as deer, suggesting these ingredients were combined to create a form of prehistoric honey-glazed venison,” he added.

Skulls of dogs — probably kept as pets and to help with hunting — were also uncovered, and the dogs’ fossilized feces showed they fed on scraps from their owners’ meals, the research found.

The buildings, some connected by walkways, may have had up to 60 people living there all together, Knight said, along with animals.

Although no intact sets of human remains were found at the site, indicating that the inhabitants probably fled the fire safely, several sheep bones were found burned indoors. “Skeletal remains showed the lambs were three to six months old, suggesting the settlement was destroyed sometime in late summer or early autumn,” according to the university’s news release.

Ceramic and wooden vessels including tiny cups, bowls and large storage jars were also found. Some pots were even designed to nest, stacked inside one another, Knight said — evidence of an interest in aesthetics as well as practicality.

A lot of similar items were found replicated in each home, Knight added, painting the picture of completely independent homesteads for each family unit rather than distinct buildings for shared tasks — much like we live today.

Household inventories often included metal tools, loom weights, sickles for crop harvesting, axes and even handheld razors for cutting hair.

The roundhouses — one of which had almost 50 square meters (nearly 540 square feet) of floor space — had hearths and insulated straw and clay roofs. Some featured activity zones for cooking, sleeping and working akin to modern-day rooms.

The Must Farm settlement has produced the largest collection of everyday Bronze Age artifacts ever discovered in the United Kingdom, according to Historic England, which partly funded the 1.1 million pound ($1.4 million) excavation project.

The public body labeled the site a “time capsule,” including almost 200 wooden artifacts, over 150 fiber and textile items, 128 pottery vessels and more than 90 pieces of metalwork. Some items will go on display at the nearby Peterborough Museum next month.

Archaeologists never found a “smoking gun” cause for the fire, Knight said. Instead, they suspect it was either an attack from “outside forces,” which may explain why the inhabitants never returned to collect their possessions from the debris, or an accidental blaze that spread rapidly across the tightly nestled homes.

“Probably all that was left was the people and what they were wearing; everything else was left behind,” Knight said of the fire.

But the preservation has left a window for people to look back through in the future. “You could almost see and smell their world,” he said.

“The only thing that was missing was the inhabitants,” Knight added. “And yet … I think they were there — you certainly got glimpses.”

[acquired-stardust]

Game Spotlight #10: MediEvil (1998)

Spooky season is upon us, which means two themed spotlights! Join Ash as she takes a look back at a game from her childhood in this Halloween edition of Acquired Stardust’s gaming spotlights!

Often discussed here is the legendary year of 1998, a year in which it seemed like pop culture at large was firing on all cylinders, and a big one in my childhood personally. It was the year of the one and only Disney movie I’d seen as a kid, Mulan, which helped me feel a little bit closer to my Chinese immigrant great grandfather, a figure that loomed large in my family. The world of video games saw heavy hitters with enduring legacies such as Spyro the Dragon and Burning Rangers. Sandwiched between a lot of all-time classics is SCE Cambridge’s MediEvil, a game that despite being noteworthy at the time has fallen off in terms of relevancy steeply.

Combining a Tim Burton-esque aesthetic and gameplay inspired by Capcom’s Ghosts n Goblins and Nintendo’s Legend of Zelda, and much like Megaman Legends was released before Ocarina of Time. MediEvil stars the reanimated skeleton of Sir Daniel Fortesque, revered ‘hero of Gallowmere’, revived in an unwitting coincidence by century-past nemesis Zarok who’s magic creates an army of the dead, gives life to stone statues and corrupts the living into doing the evil sorcerer’s bidding. An interesting turn of events in the opening of the game reveals that the moniker ‘hero of Gallowmere’, ostensibly earned by Sir Dan in the past fight against Zarok a hundred years before the start of the game, is actually completely misattributed to him, having actually been struck down in the opening moments of the climactic battle. This detail serves as the motivating force for Sir Dan’s quest, seeking to redeem himself and banish Zarok once and for all. It also touches on a very interesting concept as a hobbyist historian, the cliche that “history is written by the victor” is a very real thing and something that multiple fields of history grapple with - many things in the past (especially the very distant past) are tragically unknowable and our understanding of accepted history can be shaken by discoveries that have literally laid beneath our feet all along. It’s a small hook but one that’s always been fun for me and compelling enough.

MediEvil’s action-platformer gameplay is fairly standard for the time, featuring a number of strongly themed levels spread out across a world map which allows the player to tackle batches of levels in any order they choose. True to its Zelda inspirations the player will collect a variety of weapons and items that allow for new methods of attack along with new exploration opportunities, often allowing backtracking into previous levels to access new routes that are further populated with gold, health recovery or yet more items. Hidden in each level is also a ghostly chalice, normally inaccessible even if found, that is made obtainable through the defeat of enemies in the current level and will grant access to the Hall of Heroes, a Valhalla-esque realm in which Sir Dan’s former allies in the battle of Gallowmere now reside with their spirits bound to statues bearing their likeness. Each chalice collection offers a conversation with one of Dan’s many past allies and a gift, in many cases upgrades to overall health capacity or gold but many encounters also see the ally bestow their legendary armament to Dan to aid in his fight against the returned evil sorcerer. Chalice collection isn’t particularly difficult or involved, but adds a wonderful sense of progression to the game along with its great rewards.

While it may not be especially difficult to physically collect the chalices, fulfilling the qualification for it can prove slightly frustrating. Combat is very simplistic and slightly clunky, the player often not able to avoid taking damage depending on the weapon chosen as Dan and an enemy frantically bump into each other causing damage to the player. The camera can also be an issue and was even back in 1998. Most of these issues are remedied by familiarizing yourself with the way health and revival works, and realizing it’s actually very simple to spend a few minutes farming the first level to replenish your health stock before tackling a new level with more limited resources. Level design is also largely good, though these issues do come to a head in a later stage (the dreaded ghost ship). Despite some blemishes and minor frustration MediEvil is a game that rewards familiarity well and can take experienced gamers (and ones who adjust to its particular feel) very little time to beat. For the purposes of giving this game a spotlight my run of MediEvil only took four and a half hours, and the Playstation 4 remaster, released in 2019, took under four hours.

On the subject of the PS4 remaster, it’s a largely improved version of the game and in many cases a straight upgrade. Controls have been smoothed slightly, the graphics have kept their Burton-esque charm without straying too far visually or tonally like the 2005 Playstation Portable remake which looks and comes across a lot closer to Spyro the Dragon than MediEvil proper, which can be genuinely eerie at times especially as a child and especially in 1998. Replacing the text-only tomes that give lore and gameplay advice is new narration by veteran voice actress Lani Manella which also adds to the experience quite well without changing it into a more comedic or childish one which unfortunately crops up in detrimental ways in both the 2005 PSP remake and MediEvil’s 2000 sequel, MediEvil 2, also on the Playstation console.

Speaking of being a child in 1998, MediEvil has a special place in my heart for being one of the few times I can remember my whole immediate family bonding over an experience. In an especially difficult early childhood, this game is one of the only things I can remember bringing together my entire immediate family to bond and gush over. To this day my mother vividly remembers attempting to dodge the boulders of early level Cemetary Hill, as well as the eerie possessed villagers of the Sleeping Village. Although the 2019 remaster is a straight upgrade in many areas there is still an unmatched charm that the original brings largely through its visuals. There’s just something so charming about Dan’s low polygon count depiction along with many other enemies and locales. The remaster is still very strong visually and may fit more modern sensibilities (especially those who have a hard time visually with the distinct polygons featured in many Playstation titles). Both versions are worth playing, and the relatively low playtime for those who adjust to its gameplay means you can indeed tackle both the original and 2019 remaster in pretty short order if you so desired.

A gem hidden among the stones, MediEvil is undoubtedly stardust.

- Ash

[munchkindango]

♫+ashfur ;3 ALSO ♫+ashcrow :3c

YESSSS. rubbing my hands together mischievously

ASHFUR:

I met her accidentally

It was at the Cambridge Science Fair

And she was so impressed that I could make so many things catch on fire

But I was just covered in bubbles of methane gas

And you ended up burning

I'm sorry, I have always been a liar

And also

I swear to God you looked right at me, and let a silk red ribbon fall between your hands

But as I slowly sobered

I felt the rubbing of shoulders

I smelled the sweat and the children crying

I was just one among crowded stands

my version of ashfur in my head is that, he puts squirrelflight on a high pedestal, so high that his perception of her is nearly parasocial. but by putting her on such a pedestal, he unknowingly puts her in a position where she fails to do anything but look down on him. and science fair reflects that idea

No matter what you do

You could never stop me

From coming after you

Even if you don't want me

this ENTIREE song is so ashfur to me. also the frontman was rivers' bandmate in avant garde/zoom so that's a definite plus

ASHCROW:

Precious Evelyn left me

I'm left with the question

Why? God only knows

Your boo got up and left you

You're covered in ashes, I'm blinded by smoke

do i even have to explain this one... the 'you' in question is crowfeather to me and the lyric about being covered in ashes.. symbolism!!!

[xasha777]

In the shadow of an apocalyptic moon, where the skies bled crimson and ash rained like a somber snowfall, the University of Cambridge stood as a fortress amidst chaos. Its storied halls, once brimming with the bright minds of young scholars, were now eerily silent, echoing with whispers of the past.

Among the ruins prowled Isolde, a creature born of nightmares and forged in the fire of the world's end. With horns that spiraled toward the heavens and eyes as dark as the void, she moved through the deserted cityscapes, a specter of vengeance and sorrow. Her once-human form had been twisted by the dark magics unleashed during the cataclysm, turning her into a guardian of the damned.

One fateful night, under the blood-red moon, a group of survivors ventured into the university’s ancient library, seeking knowledge that might help them restore some semblance of order. The group, led by Professor Eleanor, a brilliant mind in arcane and mythical studies, hoped to uncover ancient texts that prophesized these dark times.

As they delved deeper into the labyrinthine library, with only the flicker of their torches piercing the darkness, Isolde watched from the shadows. Her heart, still human enough to feel pain, ached at the sight of her once-beloved sanctuary in ruins. The library was where she had spent countless hours, dreaming of a future that now lay in ashes.

With each step the survivors took, the air grew colder, the whispers louder. Books fluttered to the floor as if tossed by invisible hands, and shadows danced along the walls, twisting and writhing in the torchlight. Professor Eleanor, undeterred, pressed on, her eyes scanning the spines of ancient books until she found it—a leather-bound tome with symbols that glowed faintly under the moon’s eerie light.

As she opened the book, the ground trembled, and a ghastly howl filled the air. Isolde stepped from the darkness, her presence chilling the room more than the night air could. The survivors froze, terror gripping their hearts as they faced the demonic figure before them.

“I am the Keeper of the Lost,” Isolde’s voice echoed, a symphony of sorrow and rage. “You seek to restore what has been taken, but you do not understand the price.”

Professor Eleanor, her voice steady despite her fear, spoke, “We seek only knowledge, to prevent further despair. Help us understand, so we may heal this broken world.”

Isolde’s gaze softened momentarily, the human within wrestling with the monster she had become. A silent battle raged within her, until finally, she stepped aside, allowing them access to the tome.

“You may read, but be wary,” she warned. “Some truths are better left buried in the ashes of the past.”

With trembling hands, Professor Eleanor turned the pages, each word revealing the grim fate of the world and the role Isolde had played in its downfall—cursed to wander the ruins as both its sentinel and its prisoner. As they absorbed the tragic revelations, the survivors realized that their path to salvation would be fraught with challenges far greater than they had imagined.

Outside, as they departed with heavy hearts, the blood-red moon loomed larger, a silent witness to the ongoing struggle between light and darkness. And Isolde, with one last sorrowful glance at the university she loved, vanished into the night, her curse binding her to these haunted grounds until the end of days.

[denimbex1986]

'...Sydney Newman, the producer who created Doctor Who, famously decreed that the show should not include any bug-eyed monsters. As he saw it, sci-fi was about more than outer space. “I love [sci-fi novels] because they're a marvellous way—and a safe way, I might add—of saying nasty things about our own society,” Newman said.

That was something many episodes of classic Doctor Who – those that ran from 1963 until the show was ‘rested’ in 1989 – did spectacularly well. These ‘pure historicals’, as they came to be known, featured no alien interference whatsoever, and instead saw the Doctor navigating more human machinations...

When the show returned in 2005, with a new Doctor and new production values, so too did the historical episodes, though in its latest iteration they tend to be tinged with the supernatural and otherworldly...

The Fires of Pompeii

Season 4, 2008

Who says: It’s volcano day in Roman city of Pompeii, but the volcano in question shows little sign of erupting. When the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant) discovers that Mount Vesuvius is inhabited by magma-loving aliens bent on taking over Earth, he discovers that the historic eruption is no natural disaster at all; he has to be the one to cause the catastrophe that destroys Pompeii.

The real history: Vesuvius erupted and destroyed the nearby towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum in AD 79 – precisely when is a matter of debate, and our best testimony comes from letters written by Pliny the Younger 25 years after the fact.

What we do know is that eruption was cataclysmic, producing a cloud so thick as to blot out the sun. Within 24 hours, Pompeii and those who remained in the city were buried under three metres of ash and debris; on the second day of the eruption, Herculaneum was swallowed by pyroclastic flows.

Pompeii remained buried for some 1,500 years. Today, it provides a remarkable window into ancient Roman life.

There’s another very small piece of real history in the form of the sculptor Caecilius (played by future Doctor Peter Capaldi). He is based on a very real Roman who perished in Pompeii – and star of the Cambridge Latin Course, a figure familiar to anyone who learned high school Latin in the UK – the banker Lucius Caecilius Iucundus.

The Unicorn and the Wasp

Season 4, 2008

Who says: It’s 1926, and the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant) invites himself to a dinner party in a country manor, where the guest of honour is none other than Agatha Christie. But when one of the guests turns up dead in classic Cluedofashion – offed with the lead pipe in the library, in case you were wondering – they find themselves investigating a whodunit with the queen of crime herself.

This being Who, the culprit is not of this Earth, but a giant shape-shifting wasp (perish the thought). In the denouement, Christie develops amnesia; the Doctor drops her off in Harrogate some ten days later, as history demands.

The real history: The Unicorn and the Wasp is Doctor’s Who’s answer to the mystery of Agatha Christie’s disappearance in 1926 – though she didn’t vanish from a dinner party. On 3 December, she kissed her child goodnight, got into her car, and drove into the darkness.

What followed was “one of the largest manhunts ever mounted,” writes Giles Milton, and the furore only grew after Christie’s car was discovered abandoned. Thousands of policemen were assigned to the case. The Home Secretary took a special interest. Fellow crime writer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle even tried to use his self-claimed supernatural powers to try and locate her.

“It was the perfect tabloid story, with all the elements of an Agatha Christie whodunnit,” says Milton, though perhaps it lacks the satisfying conclusion of a Poirot.

There would be no grand reveal: Christie was found in a Harrogate hotel 11 days later, under the name of her husband’s mistress, with no explanation for her whereabouts – she simply didn’t remember...'

[illustration-and-animation]

WEEK SIX

To begin the week I will do some research on my chosen weather phenomenon. I decided to do research and my project on volcanos. I had a pretty good case study idea for it with that being Pompeii.

Pompeii was a city in Italy that was destroyed by a volcanic eruption in 79 AD. The volcano mount Vesuvius erupted and coated the entire city in 13-20ft of ash. This is the perfect place to start my research, so I looked into some documentaries. However the best thing I found was an animation that documented the day and how the eruption would have looked.

However my main idea is for the volcanic eruption to be something mundane. I want to draw people with metal umbrellas, staring at their phones walking through a volcanic eruption and ash falling with fire. Then showing workers shovelling away the ash like it’s a normal day.

I got this idea from one thumbnail in particular

The umbrella with the red tones made the connection for me. Red like the lava of a volcano and the umbrella protecting from ash.

So I did some experimentation, drew out my panels and created my final piece

I’m really proud of it, this has been the most enjoyable week so far for me. I really enjoyed the process and being able to think about my work instead of having to capture people walking by and having no time to make it look decent.

I enjoy having time to actually focus on what I’m drawing. I liked being able to just stay in the studio and focus away from the noise and stress that comes from working outside. Alongside that the idea for this week was also just really fun, turning Cambridge into a volcanic wasteland was an interesting concept for me to work with. I also finally got to incorporate ate my imagination into my work, even if it was only a little

Overall, it was a good week

[halcyon-reverie3]

OBCD Chapter 9 - Be The Change

“Knowing what's right doesn't mean much unless you do what's right.”

— Theodore Roosevelt

Passion, perseverance, persistence, productiveness — Diya was never short of these qualities. She might have left her dream once but she would never again. Not when fate finally gave her a second chance at success. Years after years of rejection, of hearing she’s not the best, she was finally accepted somewhere. Like a phoenix, she would rise from the ashes. No longer would she be anything but the best. No longer would she let anyone or anything bring her down. Examining the letter in her hands, a proud smile made its way on her face as her eyes landed on the letter’s sender — Cambridge School of Visual & Performing Arts. No longer would she break the promises she made to her inner child, who resurfaced once again. No longer would she quell her hope. The fire had charred her, burnt her to the ground, and out of the ashes, like a phoenix, emerged Diya Elostra — the best of the best, valedictorian. 

A flurry of suitcases, a rush of airports and a 9-hour flight later, Diya found herself at her destination. A quaint area, tall buildings, a new beginning. Just what she needed. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and entered her new dorm. It was the start of the academic year, her roommates just as excited as her about the adventures to come and the friendships to be made. Simple introductions, great possibilities, for any one of her roommates could grow to be her lifelong friend. Settling into her new life, she observed the dainty room. Oakwood frames, simple furniture, soft and small beds, and a window leading to a beautiful outdoors. It’s perfect, Diya thought, content. A few quiet moments later, she headed outdoors, passing by the hustle and bustle of newcomers. Everywhere she looked, Diya could see art, she could see fashion. Everything that stood for the Cambridge School of Visual & Performing Arts.

The soothing summer breeze accompanied by the bright and colourful outdoors calmed her agitated nerves. She was nervous, that much was as clear as day. But she was also happy. She had a purpose in life, just like those flocks of sparrows that tittered by, looking for food, shelter, with purpose. Strolling around the natural setting of the outdoors of the institution, Diya saw a wonderfully furnished gym. Inside, there were people of all shapes and sizes, of all ages, genders and colours. Stay fit for you, not for others, the words of her favourite influencer resurfaced in her mind. Intrigued, she planned to visit the gym someday. Someday when I don’t feel like my limbs will fall off, she thought, giggling at her own antics.

“Hey, you’re that IG girl, right?” One of Diya’s roommates asked her as they were heading out for dinner. “You know,” she continued, “that fitness influencer was talking to you about losing weight and stuff.” That was phrased awfully, Diya wondered, anyone else hears this out of context and they’ll think the influencer was insulting me. “Uh,” Diya tried, “ I think you mean that influencer that was motivating me? If so then yeah, that’s me.” Her roommates looked at her in awe. “Dude, you’re so different now. Like completely ripped,” one of them remarked. Diya blushed. She had tried to improve her condition, starting by improving one aspect at a time, but she never realised the extent to which she changed. But looking at her roommates’ eyes, she saw that there was no mockery, only pride, only astonishment. Diya smiled a gentle smile, perhaps the first genuine smile she smiled in a long time.

A compliment, if heard too often, turns into an insult, insincere or simply loses its effect. Everyday, ever since she came here, people have been constantly complimenting her, asking if she was “that IG girl”. It would have been bearable if it was only the people she knew, but even those that she never met before began asking her and commenting on her appearance.

Her gym day was no different. The receptionist was the first person to catch Diya’s eyes. Blonde, blue eyes, not much older than her, the lady seemed to not care about who she was, just what her student ID was. Finally, Diya thought, relieved, someone who doesn’t know me. But what she didn’t realise was that the receptionist hadn’t seen her face yet. The moment her eyes landed on Diya’s ID, a switch flipped in her. “Oh. My. God. You’re that IG girl,” she squealed. Not again, Diya thought, rolling her eyes. “Oh my god! How does it feel to be motivated by the most popular gym influencer? Oh, you’re coming to this gym! How did you lose so much weight? How…” She droned on, as Diya walked into the gym, ignoring her.

Entering the gym, she gawked at all the men and women. The amount of muscle and veins popping in that one room alone would have sent orthopaedic surgeons and nurses into a frenzy. They’d be over the moon if they saw this, Diya snickered. Compared to them, Diya looked like a stickman. But that didn’t faze her. Nothing would. Because she wasn’t doing this to be like them. She was doing this to be fit. However, she would be lying if she didn’t feel like she was in a Hollywood movie. Moments before Diya hopped onto a treadmill, a man the size of a mountain loomed over her. “Holy-,” Diya fell backwards, caught off guard by the man’s appearance. In her defence, the guy looked like Dwayne Johnson mixed with John Cena. Yet his personality was like that of a golden retriever. “Hiya,” the man said in a high-pitched voice. Diya looked up from the floor, bewildered. That voice and that body. It was like if Doraemon had a field day in the gym. “H-hey,” Diya stuttered, trying not to laugh in order to not seem rude. “Oh my god,” the man squealed, “Are you the Diya Elostra who was on call with my favvv influencer. Oh em gee, you’re like ripped and so cool. Please teach me to be like youuu.” Diya sat there, awkwardly silent. What did he sayy, she thought. This was like a fever dream but if the fever dream accidentally had poisoned mushrooms.

Her awkward encounter with the man she dubbed as Mr Ripped Doraemon had gathered quite the crowd. A group of girls across her pulled out their phones, long acrylic nails clattering on the keyboard. They seemed to be chewing gum but the way their mouths moved looked so weird. They look kinda like goats, Diya thought, before shaking her head, gosh, why am I so mean? I would definitely get cancelled should anyone hear my thoughts. My thoughts are literally like all that is talked about in a friend group chat.

One of the girls sauntered ahead, phone haphazardly held in one hand. “Hey giiirls,” she singsonged, “ain’t this that Diya girl, you know, the dumb body influencer who got fat fat?” “Gosh, what is she wearing,” one of the other girls, scrutinised. “Haha, she looks so dumb,” another one said. “Hey,” shouted Mr Ripped Doraemon, “you girlies are just jealous cuz none of y’all can look like her even if you tried. Them acrylic nails ain’t giving, darling.” Right before her very eyes, a fully-fledged fight erupted — people supporting Diya versus people hating on Diya. Diya questioned, All this over who’s Miss Body Goals? From the corner of her corner, she saw the administration entering the gym, fuming. “That’s my cue,” she announced, darting out of the gym.

Back in her dorm, Diya couldn’t shake off the guilty feeling. All those people, she thought, there must be so many people who were badly affected by my posts. Sitting up, she decided that no longer would that hurtful account be her identity. No longer will she just be the “IG girl”. Taking her phone, she deleted all her old accounts, replacing them with new ones. That old fire of fame had charred her, burnt her to the ground, and out of the ashes, like a phoenix, emerged Diya Elostra — body positivity influencer, not Miss Body Goals.

Diya’s new accounts quickly rose in popularity. But she wasn’t satisfied. Yes, she posted positive comments, yes she tried to promote body positivity and yes she was famous. But she didn’t want to be famous. She wanted to be a tsunami. She wanted to make a wave so big that no petty comment could break it. She wanted to make a storm, a powerful one that would destroy all social stigma against needing help, getting help. She wanted a thunder oh so loud that everyone would have to hear the truth, everyone would have to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth. For getting help isn’t a weakness, it’s a show of strength. She wanted a calamity for all things negative, a flood that would wipe the slate clean. She wanted change.

So, she decided to be the change.

“Diya, you know the whole old account, new account thing,” her roommate asked her one day as they were jogging. It was the crack of dawn and the world never seemed newer, cleaner. Be the change, a voice spoke… no. It commanded. “Yeah,” Diya said, “what about it?” “So, I was thinking… and you can totally disagree, no biggie. But what if, instead of the hashtags that you used to spread about ‘being the best’ and ‘body goals’ — which were kinda weird if I’m being honest-” Diya winced. “Sorry girl, but you know it’s true. Anyways, what if we make a hashtag, but this time, it’s like… ultra positive?”

“An ultra-positive hashtag,” Diya repeated, thinking. “It’s a good idea, but do you really think people will listen to me after all the chaotic events that I’ve been a part of? I swear, people make such weird videos about me. I saw one saying I was in jail for like murder or something.” Her roommate laughed, “Well, so what? You’re Diya — you say what you think and ain’t nobody been able to stop you from doing so. And so what if people make such videos? They’ll do anything they can for attention and that’s no good.

Seek respect, not attention. It lasts longer.”

Diya lay in her bed, evaluating her next moves. A video? A post? A story? None of her ideas seemed powerful enough to bring about that storm she dared to dream of. She researched ideas, none of them were strong, she asked friends, her roommate’s idea-generating capacity stopped at her speech from earlier that morning. No one was able to present an answer worthy of execution. Disappointed, Diya decided to proceed with a simple post online.

Makeup bags, messy closet, tutorials online. Diya finally deemed herself presentable. With the help of her roommates, she took simple but delicate pictures. Beautiful pictures, all aesthetically pleasing and cute. Body goals, she thought, before she stopped. The entire point of this was to break those standards. Yet, old habits die hard. No matter how hard she tried, she resorted to her old ways. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she examined her looks. The person in the mirror was her, it would always be her. But whether it would be the real Diya would be up to Diya herself. And right now, it was Diya, albeit not the Diya she wanted to be. I look… pretty, she thought. “You were pretty before,” her reflection countered, “you will always be pretty, nothing can change that. People might call you ugly, hideous, unpleasant to see, but who are they to judge what you are? No amount of physical beauty will ever be as valuable as a beautiful heart. So have heart. Have heart and be the change.”

Diya shot out of her bed. Wiping all traces of makeup, she changed from the beautiful dress she wore to her ordinary clothes. That dress felt like it was full of labels, she thought, relieved at the familiar feel of her normal clothes. Why bother looking ‘cute’ if you’re just gonna be uncomfortable? Changed, she looked at her reflection once again. She looked… homey. Normal. “No,” she thought, “I don’t look normal. I look like me.” She didn’t bother taking pretty pictures. She didn’t need a pretty picture. She needed a real one. Taking a selfie, she posted it online, with a hashtag that truly reflected her inner self. With a hashtag that would always be Diya, would always be everyone in the whole wide world.

#BeTheChange

Be the change. A fire roared in her soul. Be the change. A fire that would burn all the negativity, leaving not chaos, but peace in its wake. Be the change. She wanted to be a tsunami.  Be the change. A wave so big that no petty comment could break it. Be the change. She wanted a storm. Be the change. A powerful storm that would destroy all social stigma against needing help. Be the change. Against receiving help. Be the change. She wanted thunder. Be the change. A thunder loud enough that everyone would have to listen. Be the change. To hear the truth and to speak the truth. Be the change. For getting help isn’t a weakness, it’s a show of strength. Be the change. She wanted calamity for all things negative. Be the change. A flood that would wipe the slate clean. Be the change. She wanted change. Be the change.

So, she became the change.

[hmmmlosims]

Cara Danielle Cambridge | Social Butterfly | Nurturing | Daredevil | Virtuoso | Adventurous |

Ash Fire Cambridge | Loner | Heavy Sleeper | Ambitious | Brave | Charismatic |

Ruby Elvena Cambridge | Green Thumb | Computer Whiz | Animal Lover | Genius | Ambitious |

Gen 5 START!

[hmmmlo]

One of my sim sons Ash Fire and his rubber ducky best friend

[kakitysax]

@maxisfunky @thatoneguyinmathclass buckle tf up

So I went to school at a classical school which means that they had to teach us Latin so I took like three years of Latin AND THE CURRICULUM WAS FUCKING ICONIC 👌👌👌

See okay so It was called Cambridge Latin and it taught Latin by weaving this slice of life narrative about the interpersonal drama between the following ancient roman characters:

Caecilius (kai-KILL-ee-oos) - Head of the family we primarily follow and star of the iconic opening sentence, Caecilius est in horto (Caecilius is in the garden)

Metella (Meh-TELL-uh) - Caecilius’s wife and certified girlboss

Quintus (QUEEN-toos) - Caecilius and Metella’s only son so I don’t know how he’s also the fifth (infant mortality prolly.) Iconic for reasons we will discuss later

Grumio (GROOM-ee-oh) - the family cook. drunk 90% of the time (like canonically. homeboy bibit lots of vinum.) massive chad (somehow)

Clemens (CLAY-mayns) - the family servant. certified r/niceguy but snakes Grumio’s girls after they find out what a trainwreck Grumio actually is (this happened like three times I shit you not)

and various side characters

And it’s so fucking funny because I mean first of all all the illustrations look like this

And also all the stories are AMAZING it’s like we’re in 6th?? 7th grade??? And there’s like. A whole plotline where Caecilius brings home this hot new ancilla (female slave) named Melissa (May-LEE-suh) and Grumio Quintus and Clemens are all enamored and Metella is really fucking bitter about it and it’s in L A T I N

And another plotline where Grumio gifts his girlfriend of the week, Poppaea (Poh-PAI-yuh) a cursed ring and her house fucking burns down

But see.. and this is the iconic part

This family lives in Pompeii

And in the last chapter of the first textbook they ALL FUCKING DIE IN THE VOLCANO

Like deadass the last story opens out with something literally just like this. Almost word for word.

No exaggeration. In fucking Latin.

Clemens is running through the city, looking frantically for Caecilius. He finds him collapsed in the family home.

"Clemens," says Caecilius. "My faithful servant. My wife and son still live. Find them. Provide for them."

Clemens begs Caecilius to come with him. "It's too late for me," his master responds. "Go now. This is my last command to you."

Clemens tearfully leaves. Cerberus, the family dog, barks and nuzzles his master. Sed Caecilius non respondiit (but Caecilius doesn't respond.)

Cut to Clemens, who running through the streets of the city. Around him, fires burn, people are screaming, and blood runs through the streets. He comes across Grumio, who is drunk off his ass.

"Grumio! Our master is dead! Come with me, we need to find Metella and Quintus!"

Grumio laughs in his face. The smell of alcohol wafts through the air. "It's the end of the world," he says. "Who gives a shit?"

Clemens, enraged, punches Grumio in the face. Grumio falls unconscious to the street.

Clemens leaves him lying there, flecks of ash raining down onto a face flushed with wine. He leaves, determination in the steel of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw, to fulfill his master's dying request.

AND THAT'S THE END OF CAMBRIDGE LATIN COURSE BOOK ONE???

Like. You gotta understand. We were in MIDDLE school. This was an emotional roller coaster for us. It was so fucking funny.

Anyway yeah that's Cambridge Latin Course, you gotta look up the memes they're so fucking good.

[ingek73]

Sarah Vine: Duchess Meghan’s eyes are ‘utterly devoid of emotion or empathy’

September 01, 2022

By Kaiser Meghan Markle, Royals

All of the most hateful Daily Mail columnists have been “activated” in the past week to screech about the Duchess of Sussex. Jan Moir saw the Bat-signal and she shat out a repugnant, racist “column” last week. Dan Wootton was frothing at the mouth about how the Duchess of Cambridge needs to fly out to Montecito to “rescue” Prince Harry. Now it’s Sarah Vine’s turn. Vine is chilled to the bone about Meghan’s “threat” to the monarchy. In truth, I thought Meghan’s profile in The Cut was threatening too, but in an awesome way. Like, she’s just putting them on notice. She can speak about what they did to her at any time. She could always speak about her experiences, and she’s largely chosen not to. It was shot across the bow and it was done elegantly. The DM and the Windsors got her message and that’s why they’re all freaking out. Some highlights from this frankly unhinged Sarah Vine column, which reads as a parody:

Envy Emeralds: The scraped back hair, the austere black polo-neck, the bright green earrings the colour of envy. The half-opened mouth, a faint sneer playing on the lips. And the eyes, a deep, warm brown yet somehow cold as ice, utterly devoid of emotion or empathy. The Duchess of Sussex’s latest interview — 6,400 words of faux sincerity and fawning praise delivered from her lofty £14.5 million perch in the hills of Montecito — is an Exocet missile tipped with poison, calculated to strike at the heart of the British monarchy.

Meghan’s Malice: It’s a threat so open, so blatantly obvious she might as well have stuck a horse’s head in the Queen’s bed. Every line drips with menace, real or implied. Even her supposed moments of vulnerability are loaded with malice….Like everything Meghan does these days, this interview is a masterclass in manipulation, a carefully orchestrated, professionally executed exercise in brand-building.

They’re worried Meghan might be believed: On and on it goes, each ‘revelation’ more delusional than the last. The tragedy, of course, is that people will believe this narcissistic drivel. The world is full of idiots who think the Queen is a lizard and that Princess Diana was the victim of an MI6 assassination plot, so this is no great leap of faith.

No mention of Diana in The Cut: Indeed, it is perhaps no coincidence that this interview should coincide with the anniversary of the Princess of Wales’s tragic death in a car accident in Paris, 25 years ago. Not even Meghan would dare to draw an overt comparison, but the timing can’t be overlooked. There is nothing and no one this woman will not exploit in pursuit of her own advantage.

Hellbent on revenge: In common, I suspect, with the Royal Family as a whole, I had hoped that once Meghan had obtained the life she desired — that is to say a private existence away from the scrutiny of the cameras and a release from her obligations as a working royal — she would, if not quite extend the hand of friendship, then at least relent in her attacks on the Queen and other senior members of the family. But it’s increasingly clear that she has no such intention. If anything, she seems hellbent on revenge. And she is using all the tools at her disposal.

Burned to a crisp: Make no mistake, this woman doesn’t just want to hold the feet of the Royal Family to the fire; sheq wants to burn the House of Windsor to the ground and dance on its ashes. The awful tragedy is that, with the help of Prince Harry, she may just succeed.

[From The Mail Plus]

The thing is, if Meghan was so “hellbent on revenge,” wouldn’t she have already sought it? It’s been two years and five months since she left Salt Island. I understand that revenge is a dish best served cold, but if “revenge” was her post-royal raison d’etre, why the hold-up? Isn’t it more likely that, as she said and suggested in The Cut, she was treated abominably, she needed time to heal and she is now ready to process some of the horrible sh-t she went through? Plus, it’s not like Salt Island has been silent about the Sussexes in the past two years and five months either. It’s not like Meghan is bringing up ancient grudges out of nowhere years later – there is still an active smear campaign against her and her family. There are royal courts still actively briefing against her. Meghan was saying: I f–king see you and you should know that I have receipts and I can choose to speak whenever I want.

-

‘ It’s a threat so open, so blatantly obvious she might as well have stuck a horse’s head in the Queen’s bed.’

lol what?

[hunters-of-the-wastes]

 Gregory “Doc” Soames

(art by @sketchesandnonesense​)

Occupation Medical Professional Nationality British Gender Male Pronouns He/Him Orientation Straight Age Ghoulified at 65. (Born 2012)

Bio

Gregory Soames, also known professionally as Doc Soames, is a Ghoul that can be found within Collegetown. Gregory was born on July 17th 2012 in a tidy isolated cottage in rural Sussex, in southeast England. He was the child of a  housewife who was married to a Marine pilot and because of his father’s active duty, much of Gregory’s younger and adolescent years was spent moving frequently, allowing him to live a variety of countries, such as Egypt, the Philippines and Japan, before eventually returning to Britain when Gregory was near teen’s.  His parents presumably later divorced with his father remarrying a woman, with that marriage producing a son, Gregory’s half-brother. He was educated at Eton College, and subsequently graduated from University of Edinburgh's Medical School. He also attended King's College, Cambridge for a year before leaving to go to medical school where he started to study English Language and History.

Following in his father’s footsteps, Gregory also worked with several other organizations including the British police and also served in the military like his father, before joining too served as a Captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC), a unit in the British Army. In his later years, Gregory presumably retired and headed to the United States and eventually ended up having a car accident severe enough that he had his arm in a sling afterward due to unfamiliarity with the different driving customs between America and the United Kingdom. As tensions grew between between the United States and China and National Emergencies began to be declared, Soames began once again volunteering as a Medic, only this time to the US Army. As time went on and the violence grew, he was soon transferred to Boston to work as a mobile medic to aid people injured in the reoccurring riots.  Whilst treating patient’s one gloomy day, on October 23rd, 2077, the war finally came to a head. Many American citizens did not heed the air raid sirens, believing them to be signaling just another drill, and of those, Gregory too realized too late what was to happen. As the Bombs started to fall, the Vaults sealed in their inhabitants as the Earth burned in atomic fire. A few citizens took shelter where they could: sewers, and subway stations, drainage centers. However, without a very strong outer shield of dense metal or rock to defend them from both the heat and kinetic shockwave of the nuclear blasts, many had perished. Some, like Gregory, who despite his old age, managed to survive long enough to find shelter until the bombings had stopped, lived to see the city and world turn to chaos, with dust everywhere and the smell of... emptiness.  Few civilians survived the full-out nuclear exchange. Those who survived the nuclear exchange would form the basis for the brutal civilization that existed for the next 20 years, until the first Vaults re-opened. . . Gregory had turned Ghoul not long after the bombs had fallen. As time had gone on and his age became a burden to him, he went out into the crumbling city and laid amongst the ruins in the hope he would soon die to radiation. As he laid amongst the husks of burning buildings, rain had begun to fall. It was black; tainted with soot, ash, radioactive elements produced by the nuclear explosions and various other contaminants produced by nuclear weapons. It did not kill him, but instead transformed him into the form he is known for now. A ghoul who was old even before he started his 200 year journey into the new world, using his talents as a Medical Professional to get by, before eventually settling in to Collegetown and running his own Clinic. Description Gregory is a man/ghoul of 65 years of age, and has been for almost 200+ years now. Equipped with a dry and acerbic sense of humor, Gregory is enigmatic and conceals many facets of his personality with a veneer of sarcasm. He appears and sometimes himself claims to be narcissistic (although he also shows many signs of self-contempt which would be impossible for an actual narcissist) and appears to have a disdain for most people, leading some to label him "a misanthrope, though is this actually a result of watching and dealing with the before’s and after’s of 200 years of carnages. Despite this however he has a humorous sarcastic streak, which quickly makes him likable to some. Gregory stands 5′6. He has brown hair though much of it has fallen out  due to both age and radiation and what is left is somewhat turning white. He originally weighed about 175 pounds, though after his ghoulification, its now close enough 145 to 140. He was raised in the Methodist faith, although after 200 years he now remains agnostic.  Gregory’s eyes are a striking blue color, and he often wears thing rimmed glasses to see, claiming that in two separate occasions both before the great war and after, to have been gassed and blinded, and that he had been tortured and beaten on numerous occasion’s for being a ghoul, all of which messed with his eye-sight, though not enough to but him out of work.   It is revealed that Soames is subject to hypertension. Various instances also show that besides heavy smoking, he is a heavy drinker, suffers blood clots in his legs and is prone to temper tantrums. He is also highly competitive, and is shown to be a sore loser when he loses in anything, whether it is bridge, betting on baseball, competitions with other military and medical units, or even bingo games.  Despite this however he is often quoted as a wonderful doctor. His co-workers hate him for his surly temperament and cavalier attitude. His students hate him for being vicious, demanding and very unforgiving. The thousands of people he has saved over the years, however, call him a miracle worker and adore him for saving them.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Sixteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: A very special shoutout to @anonymouscosmos for all of their encouragement and support! You are a god among insects. I’d also like to thank the discord chat for enduring my nonsense, as ever. Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore and detailed descriptions of previous abuse. Stay safe!]

Her head had been blown open, or at least it felt that way. The explosion was so close to her face that her helmet had just peeled off like it was made out of shrapnel-laden papier-mâché.

  Sergeant Shaun 'Lucky' Cathan was flat on his back hardly a foot away from her, pinned under the weight of the debris that was slowly crushing his armor. 

  She couldn't move. Her arms and legs wouldn't respond. That blow to the head had been nearly fatal. She was trapped on her stomach, inches from him.

  "Backhand-" Cathan choked, his voice wet. His gauntlet fumbled for her own, large metal fingers gripping her hand. "End of the line for me, eh Handy?"

  She gurgled something, trying to talk. One eye still worked. Barely. It felt like it was full of glass every time she forced herself to blink. It was too dark to see much anyway, even if she squinted. Her head throbbed with the beat of her heart. 

  "Save--your strength, Vega." Cathan instructed. 

  She wasn't sure what strength he was even talking about. Her armor felt like it had collapsed down on her spine. "Sir-" Vega managed to say. "S'been an honor-"

  "Don't give me that-- shit , Vega." Cathan chuckled. "I was just another dog of war. You'll get out of this. Go back to that man of yours, have a few kids, live your life." He coughed, wheezing, "my time is up, Handy."

  "No, no I'm-" Backhand tried to pull him closer, tried to get upright. Pain jolted down her back and legs and she halted, trembling. "I c-can't leave you here, Sarge." She groaned, knowing deep down that it was futile but refusing to give up .

  Cathan's grip tightened briefly. "It's alright, Handy." Her CO murmured. "It's alright. Make sure Tabitha has me buried on American soil. Or chuck my ashes in the harbor, yeah? Piss off all those Cambridge fucks." He chuckled.

  Backhand nodded as best as she could, the tears stinging painfully against the flayed skin of her face. "I will. Promise."

  The rubble overhead creaked and groaned, dust falling down on top of them. "Won't be long now." Cathan mused faintly, "Not long at all…"

  …

  Danse struggled to sit up and roll Vega onto her back. His own injuries faded to the background of his mind as she laid unresponsive, blood slowly pooling in the dirt beneath her left side. Her mouth opened and closed in a spasm; her eyes had rolled back in her skull and her fingers twitched erratically. 

  Have to hold pressure. Stop the bleeding. Danse numbly pressed his shaking hands down on her side just below her ribs, his body suddenly awash in a cold sweat as he realized just how much blood she was losing. He could almost hear Haylen rambling about the arteries, internal bleeding, penetrating damage, Worwick and Brach and Dawes and Keane and Danse felt like he was going to be sick. 

  "H... Haylen! " He yelled desperately. It was the only thing he could think to do.

  Then, against all odds, startling the everliving daylights out of him, Vega sat up . " Oh , you fuckin' asshole! " She hollered at Maxson around Danse's body while the paladin scrambled to attempt to stem the flow of fresh blood that her motion sent spurting out. "You really fuckin' shot me?! You're the worst kind of dick! " 

  Danse was flabbergasted. Her state was clearly compromised, how was she even conscious-

  "Fuck!" Vega growled in pain, dropping her forehead to rest on Danse's chest. "Oh fuck, fuck fuck you, you told me Danse was fuckin' dead, you liar! You expect me to just stand by and let you kill him in front of me?!" She continued to rant at Maxson, her voice muffled somewhat by Danse's shirt. "You dumb fuckin' prick, you stupid fuckin' dipshit motherfuck son of a cockass! This ain't exactly my first time gettin' fuckin' shot, you fuckin' fuck!"

  Danse realized that Arthur hadn't said a damn thing, possibly just as bewildered and awestruck by Elizabeth's impressive grasp of blue-streaked vernacular as he himself was.

  "Paladin Brandis, if I may…?" Haylen's voice was almost inaudible over Backhand's continued snarling. Danse jerked his attention away from Elizabeth, trying to blink the sweat out of his eyes in order to determine the field scribe's location.

  "Scribe, get the hell back behind the line!" Maxson barked. 

  Heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Rhys and Haylen, the knight using his power armor like a shield to protect the scribe as if they were out in the field. Haylen was suddenly there , on her knees in the gravel next to Danse and Elizabeth. The paladin's eyes were now blinded with tears of gratitude and he huffed out a breath. "Danse, I'll get to you in a second." Haylen said softly, patting his hand. "Let me have her, okay?"

  "Haylen, I…" the large man didn't know what to say, his words failing him. He clutched pitifully at the scribe's hands, sure that he was gripping too tight.

  "I've got her, Danse. It's okay." Scribe Haylen soothed.

  "Yeah Danse, s'okay." Backhand said blearily, "s'Haylen, she's great. We love Haylen." Her head lolled back like it was too heavy for her to hold up. "Haylen made sure I got to eat and stuff."

  " What? " Danse rasped. 

  "The tactics Elder Maxson used during her incarceration…" Haylen trailed off, grimacing and then continuing in an undertone, "I made sure Rhys smuggled in something for her when he brought Brandis' meals."

  "Vega, Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry." Danse apologized needlessly, resting his forehead against Elizabeth's as he supported her neck. "I didn't think anything would happen to you. I...I didn't think in general, I guess." He admitted.

  Vega smiled . "Hey, I'd say whatever shit I went through was a pretty decent tradeoff for finding out that you didn't bite it after all." She slurred. "Missed you."

  " Christ , Vega." Danse muttered in dismay, fighting to untie her hands. Haylen took over after a moment, the scribe's fingers infinitely more steady than his own.

  "I need a Stim and a bloodpack!" Haylen announced after examining Vega's abdomen, looking up worriedly. 

  Not a soul moved. The only sound was the noise of Maxson wriggling in the grip of the armored knight who finally had him secured. "Listen to the scribe!" Brandis shouted to the mute crowd. "You have a sister bleeding in front of you and you would be still and silent? Where are the brave, compassionate soldiers I once knew? Knights! Scribes! Are you not Brotherhood?"

  Two aspirants finally elbowed their way through the throng, making a wide berth around Maxson. One of them bore a large canvas bag. "Good, good work. Drop it here." Haylen instructed, unrolling her field kit. "Can I get a scribe with steady hands and another knight for the opposite side?" She called. 

  A knight thundered past Maxson, the man throwing Danse of all people a haphazard salute before he took up his post at the other end of the group. Maxson practically seethed with rage. "Knight, how dare you salute that--that thing! "

  "That thing is still Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel, Maxson." Brandis growled. "He won the trial fair and square."

  "I will not allow it to live!" Maxson shrieked hysterically, struggling against the iron hold of the knight bear-hugging him. "I don't care how many of you I have to take down, Danse dies today! "

  "Maxson!" Brandis chided. "Do you even hear yourself? You sound insane! Think about what you're saying before you do something you'll regret!"

  "Not before he dies! "

  "Which would you rather be known as, Maxson? The abuser or the synth fucker?" Maxson froze at the sound of Danse's voice. The burly paladin shot the elder a bloodied sneer, his head tilted to the side at an almost arrogant angle. "After all, you got fucked by a synth." What the hell was he saying? Danse felt unhinged , words flippant, his tired limbs barely cooperating as he forced himself up on his knees and then to his feet. "You let a synth fuck you, Arthur." 

  " Abomination -"

  "You ordered a synth to fuck you." Danse reminded him, voice grating as his words came faster. "Demanded it to fuck you. Abused it. Threatened it with a certain death mission if it didn't. Then gave it that mission anyway." Danse rubbed at some crusted blood beneath his blackened right eye, grimacing. "Does it make it better if you didn't know I was a synth? Because then , you have to justify the reality that you molested a soldier in a compromised emotional state utilizing your privileged position of authority. Can you accept that , Maxson?"

  "You...Maxson, is this true?" Brandis asked incredulously.

  "That thing is clearly lying!" Maxson scoffed, looking around at the spellbound crowd like he expected everyone to agree with him. "Dammit, I am the elder -"

  "Did you hope that I would die out here, Arthur? Or did you assume that I would come crawling back to the Capital Wasteland after my inevitable failure in the Commonwealth?" Danse cut him off bitterly. "Did you think I would be easier to break once I had lost everything , Maxson?"

  "He always fights with Danse!" A tiny squire chimed in. Danse hadn't realised that Maxson had Ingram summon the damn children to watch their trial. "We heard them fight!"

  "Silence, brat! " Maxson screamed, his face purpling with fury. "I am the elder of this chapter, last of the Maxson line, and I will be given the respect I deserve! "

  "Cade's records can verify my story!" Danse shouted hoarsely for everyone to hear, his shoulders heaving with emotion. "Every time we engaged, I did not escape unscathed. Nearly every injury was documented. The dates will align with high-stress situations, and I'll stake my life on there being a long stretch of shit mood during the absence of your preferred punching bag, Elder! "

  " Liar! "

  "Abuser!" Danse yelled in reply, "murderer! You killed Cutler, through your biased orders! You killed Knight Astlin, Scribe Farris, Knight Varham! You killed my brothers and sisters!" Danse's fists clenched tight enough to ache. "And for what, Arthur? For a synth? Or for a man that had no interest in you? Either way, I refuse to accept their blood on my hands, Maxson!"

  " You killed them and you know it!" Maxson shrieked, kicking his legs desperately. "All you had to do was obey me, Danse! Was your pride worth their lives?"

  "There was once a time in my life where I would have done damn near anything you asked of me." His anger petering out, all Danse felt now was weary and bruised. "I loved the Brotherhood, Maxson. I still do. But the path we have taken under your leadership is heinous."

  "Don't you dare to lecture me about devotion, you mechanical mockery! " Maxson retorted.

  "This body may be synthetic, but my heart and mind…" Danse paused, saluting once more. " Those belong to the Brotherhood, Maxson. To my brothers and sisters in arms. Nothing can change that. Not even the knowledge of my true identity."

  "That's what you think!" Arthur flailed in the knight's grip, trying in vain to escape. No doubt so he could pitch himself at the paladin one final time.

  "Elder Maxson, through your words and through your deeds, I deem you unfit to lead our chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel at this point in time." Brandis announced abruptly. "As the senior ranking officer, I, Paladin Brandis, will function as the interim elder until we receive proper instructions from our superiors." He removed his helmet, staring down at Arthur sternly. 

  The young man was quite the pitiful sight, bedraggled from trying to beat Danse within an inch of his life as well as from his struggling afterwards. He still looked mad enough to kill, those blue eyes almost crackling with pent-up fury. "You planned this, didn't you?!" His paranoia on full display, Maxson made no attempt to maintain any sort of composure. "Just how many synths have infiltrated our chapter? Well Brandis?! "

  "Arthur, that's enough ." The senior paladin said in reply, his tone measured. "Don't make an even bigger fool of yourself. Bow out while you still have some dignity." He sighed. "Perhaps the stress of this campaign has been too heavy of a burden to bear for you. I sympathize, but I cannot permit you to carry on in this manner, Maxson." Brandis raised his eyes, scanning the crowd. "Cade! Knight-Captain Cade, please see to Maxson. He is obviously unwell."

  …

  Vega flickered in and out of consciousness. The weeks of abuse culminating in this final (though inadvertent) attempt to end her seemed to have nearly been successful. She only barely remembered Haylen treating her wound, mumbling out an apology to the younger woman for leaning so much weight on her. She caught snippets of Danse and Maxson shouting at each other, bits of the trauma that Danse had endured coming tumbling out and making Vega wish that she wasn't half-dead so she could at least flip Maxson off.

  " Rest , Vega ." Haylen had ordered. " You need rest ."

  And really, who was Backhand to refuse? 

  When next she opened her eyes, she was greeted by a canvas ceiling overhead. Vega squinted a little at the brightness of it. How long have I been out for?

  "Welcome back, General." That familiar voice snapped her out of her staring contest with the tent above her and she rolled her head to the side, unable to help her smile at the sight of Danse. Still a little bruised and banged-up, but alive . 

  Tears streaked down her cheeks and Backhand wished that she could have stopped them, sniffling loudly and covering her face.

  "General Vega, there's no need for that." The paladin chided her softly. Something bumped against her knuckles and she realized after a second that Danse was attempting to give her glasses back. 

  Vega accepted the glasses mutely, grabbed Danse's hand and used his arm as leverage to pull herself up off the cot. 

  "Wait, Elizabeth you-" The paladin began to protest, rising to his feet to stop her. Her legs nearly gave out but Danse managed to steady her, one large hand splayed on the small of her back. "You shouldn't be upright yet, Vega." He scolded.

  I missed you. I thought you were dead. The words tangled up in her mouth and instead Backhand mumbled, "I thought I missed you." Danse's brows furrowed in confusion and she hurried to correct herself, "I mean--I...I thought you were dead!"

  "I needed some time to regroup. Straighten my head out. Heal." The paladin explained quietly. "The O'Brians nursed me back to health."

  "What happened , though?"

  "What happened to you , Vega?" Danse asked instead, gripping her elbows carefully to keep her upright. 

  Backhand shrugged weakly. "Maxson thought I knew you were a synth."

  " I didn't even know I was a synth." Danse huffed, thick eyebrows raising once again. "How on earth would you have known?"

  "Maybe he was going on a witch hunt, trying to get me to confess even though I wasn't guilty of anything." She closed her eyes as she mumbled, "I missed you."

  "I thought of you every day." Danse replied bluntly. Her head shot up and she stared at him, watching as a flush crept up his neck. "I er, I...I am not good at these sorts of things," he admitted. "But it's true. I thought of you and...and of your son. Of the life you should have had. When Preston tracked me down, we realized that something must have gone wrong. So I...came back." 

  Oh . She hated the disappointed pit that yawned open in her stomach. She should have known that he wasn't thinking of her in the same way that she had thought of him. 

  Backhand rested her forehead on his chest, willing her tears to abate. "We need to get them out of the Institute." She said thickly. "All of them. Anyone that will come, Danse."

  "I think you and I should speak to Pal-- Elder Brandis. He has expressed interest in working with the Minutemen." Danse sighed heavily, then continued, "I cannot recommend that we work exclusively with the Brotherhood. There are years of prejudice that have been beaten into these men and women. The allowance of my presence is a show of good faith, but I don't know if I trust the rank and file to storm the Institute without turning it into a massacre." He gave her a wry smile. "I cannot blame them. Even knowing what I am now, it's going to take me some time to remove my knee-jerk reaction."

  "There's always something else to do." She wasn't trying to complain , but God she was tired .

  His facial hair brushed against her forehead, scraping the skin lightly. "I know. What was it you said in the Glowing Sea? 'A run ashore'?" He queried while giving her forearms a gentle squeeze, as if to comfort her.

  "I thought you were dead." She hadn't meant to say it again, watching his eyes go dark and kicking herself for bringing it back up.

  "I suppose I was, for a time." Danse murmured, his expression troubled.

  "I... please don't do that to me again." Vega begged. Her hands fisted in his fatigues, wrinkling the worn fabric. "This is going to sound really dumb and really selfish, but please . Don't."

  "When you thought I was dead, did you..." Danse hesitated. "I mean, did you really miss me? I'm not even...well, I'm not a..." He cast his eyes around, narrowing them like he was physically searching for the word he wanted to use. "Human." He finally managed to say, the admission obviously paining him. "I'm a freak of nature, Vega. A perversion of science and an example of where mankind has gone wrong--"

  "Danse." Backhand cupped his jaw, her palms smoothing over the bristle of his stubble as she coaxed him to look at her. "No offense, but you cannot be this stupid."

  "What do you mean?" The paladin asked, his confusion endearingly evident. "I'm not...how am I being…?"

  Backhand blinked. Maybe he could be that stupid. "You're probably the most human person I've ever met, Danse. The way you care about your squadron, the way you've helped me...look, I wasn't upset about you being a synth, I was upset about you being dead ."

  "Oh." Danse breathed. "Really? You... really? Me being a synth wasn't…?" His words kept faltering, uncertainty shining through with every hitch. 

  " You , Danse. I cried about you being gone ."

  "Elizabeth…" 

  "So don't you dare scare me like that ever again, got it?" Backhand leaned forward, boldly pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

  "I--yes. Understood, Knight. Uh, General." Danse stammered, his fingers absently touching the spot she had kissed. "W-We should...go speak to Elder Brandis. If you believe you can walk a short distance? I know better than to ask you to stay put and be patient."

  "Permit me the usage of your arm to keep me upright and yes, we can absolutely go."

  ...

  Please don't do that to me again .

  She had missed him, she said. She had mourned him, even. Cried over him. Danse's head was spinning.

  How could that even be possible? How could she...he was a machine . 

  No time left to consider such weighty problems, unfortunately, as he found that far too soon the two of them were approaching what had formerly been Maxson's quarters and now served as Brandis' war room.

  "Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse and General Vega!" Elder Brandis greeted them warmly with a loose salute, gesturing around the war table afterwards. "Kells, Cade, Ingram, Quinlan, Doctor Li, I trust you all need no introductions?"

  The briefing was, as they usually were, tedious. Nothing brief about it, if he was being brutally honest. Vega held her ground though, which was all he really needed.

  "You boys aren't tyrants or fuckin' warlords. Not while I have any sort of say in the matter." She said sharply. "If you want Minutemen support, we are working as a team and the Minutemen have uninhibited access to all information as it is gathered. That means we'll need Quinlan's full cooperation." She held up a hand, staving off Quinlan's outburst. " Only in regards to the Institute. We don't want your super-secret Spec Ops sealed Brotherhood case files, so don't get those boxers in a bunch." Cade snorted and Proctor Quinlan looked absolutely scandalized, even as he grudgingly nodded. 

  "Now, General, this is all well and good but what does the Brotherhood get out of this bargain?" Kells asked pointedly. "As far as I can see, we're the integral piece in this plan."

  "' As far as you can see ' is an apt phrase, Lancer-Captain Kells." Backhand's tone was cool. This was General Vega for certain, the woman who had whipped the Minutemen back into shape. "Because what you can't see are the rest of my operations. The Minutemen aren't the only force I have at my disposal, just the most obvious." She leaned in a little, her eyes cold as ice behind the lenses of her glasses. "Do you really want to test me on my home turf, Kells? After everything that's happened?"

  "Not testing you, General Vega." The lancer-captain clarified, "simply identifying what seems to be an imbalance in the negotiations."

  "I got you Doctor Li." Vega retorted. "Without her, your Liberty Prime would still be a pile of junk. I've gotten your scribes tons of information to sift through, I've done everything the former elder asked of me."

  "Lancer-Captain Kells, if I might also interject?" Danse asked hesitantly, cringing on the inside as everyone turned to look at him like they had forgotten he was even there. Kells inclined his head after a moment. "Sir, we cannot be so quick to discredit our position. Due to our aerial location, we will be within the perfect striking distance to any sort of localized, above-ground assault."

  "I am more than aware of our position, Paladin . But that does not negate the fact that we have a much larger stake in this than anyone else-"

  "Larger than the locals who have been getting body-snatched for years?" Vega cut him off. "Let's not forget that myself and your new elder were starved and tortured for weeks , while the rest of you sat around and twiddled your thumbs out of fear and respect." She spat. "Don't fuckin' come to me with your scale-tipping bullshit . It took a synth to make you all sack up, and I don't intend to let you forget that." The woman straightened up, looking grim. "I'm not giving you anything else. You can either work with us, or you can keep pitching yourself against the Institute until they've all slipped away and you're left with nothing but an empty facility and unanswered questions."

  "She's right." Doctor Li affirmed tersely. "They won't just wait around to be pummeled. This isn't the Enclave. The board of directors will do everything in their power to avoid you and waste your resources at the same time."

  "We cannot afford to entrench ourselves in a drawn-out assault, Kells." Brandis reasoned. "When we strike, we have to do it decisively. Give it everything we've got and cut off the head."

  Kells nodded, seeming satisfied. "Understood, Elder Brandis. I meant no disrespect, General Vega."

  "None taken. I'm still recovering from getting the shit kicked out of me, so my manners aren't up to par quite yet." Vega rested her elbows on the table, steepled fingers tapping her chin. "I won't take anything from you that you're unable to give, Lancer-Captain Kells. If I can avoid using the BoS altogether, I will." She murmured, tilting her head. "I need to get in touch with some people before I can offer anything concrete, but once Lieutenant Garvey knows I'm alive I'm sure the rest will learn fast. We'll rally and plan accordingly." 

  "Well then, what are we waiting for?" Ingram asked eagerly. "C'mon Vega, let's head to the comm deck and get things squared away!"

  "Excellent plan. You two are dismissed." Brandis agreed, making a shooing gesture at the two women. Once they had departed, he turned his attention to Cade. "Do you have faith in our medical capabilities, Knight-Captain?" 

  Cade nodded. "We had been planning to attack them head on anyways, Brandis. If we're truly going in a little less 'shock and awe', we may actually tip more towards over-prepared."

  "I'm not certain how useful their teleporter will be to us once we get inside. I'm sure they'll lock it down with great expedience. However there is another possible egress." Quinlan spread the old blueprint out on the war table, fingers indicating a small service tunnel. "Now, if their measurements are accurate, power armored troops will not fit in this tunnel. But unarmored individuals most certainly will. This includes any…" he hesitated, like he was preparing himself to say it, "... refugees , or non-hostile denizens." 

  Quinlan referring to synths as anything but had Danse's head spinning. Vega was an absolute marvel .

  "It will be heavily guarded." Doctor Li warned. "They like to pretend that there's only one way in or out. Their precious molecular relay ."

  "Danse, I think you ought to take point when it comes to securing this tunnel." Kells remarked, making the paladin straighten up. "We won't be able to gauge our level of involvement until we have a full muster from Vega, but I'd like a senior-ranked soldier in the mix. And I know how much you enjoy being boots on the ground." The older man offered Danse a thin smile.

  Danse was so moved he needed to take a moment, finally choking out a ' yes sir ' with his hand over his heart. That Kells, even after all the years of growing to despise synths, would trust him with such a task-!

  Perhaps they did stand a chance, after all.

Part Seventeen

[povvertaken]

for @theasteriae​ / from a meme i cannot find / not accepting / below the cut for length

Jacob can’t remember the start of the night. It was probably Cee’s flat, because most things start at Cee’s flat. The other night, Ford sent him some snippy little text about liking one of Ram’s photos on Instagram. Maybe that’s why he went headfirst into a bottle of whiskey as soon as he arrived. Cee knows better than to get in between her friend and her twin, and he’s sure that if she had managed to corner him he’d get an ear full. Who gives a fuck, he thinks aggressively. Everyone in their friendship has fucked each other once, and Ford has done the same or worse to Jacob before.

But now he’s out in the smoking area of some members club or other. He’s pretty sure it isn’t the Ned or one of the SoHo houses. He sulks, leaning against a wall and occasionally tapping out ash. Somewhere inside, Ford is probably leaning up against Lex, whispering in her ear. He rolls his eyes, can’t stop himself thinking about it even as it twists his mood into something ungainly and mean. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it from his pocket, eyeing it blearily. A text from Ram, asking where he is.

He taps out a reply and then goes on Instagram, to like another picture that Ram’s posted, one from a couple of days ago. Fuck you, Ford, he thinks violently. It’s not his fault that Ram gives him puppy eyes and smiles like that when he enters a room. And Ford’s been playing around with Lex for longer than Jacob’s even known Ram. His entrance into the entire group began the summer he dropped out of Cambridge and crashed with Cee’s family, drawn into her parties and friendship group.

Lost in thought and memory, he doesn’t notice Ram until he’s standing in front of him.

“Alright?”

He mumbles around a cigarette, releasing it from clamped lips to hand over to Ram. Ram nods, and Jacob tilts his head. Usually, Ram is the more talkative of the two. He looks him over, gaze lingering on that mouth, the column of his neck. There’s no denying that Ram is attractive, but something puts the dampeners on Jacob’s plan. Ram doesn’t seem entirely himself.

“You sure about that?” He asks again, easing off the wall to stand a little closer.

Ram hums an unclear response, and Jacob notices the way his head lolls slightly.

“I’m fuckin’ not, champ. How much have you drunk?” They’ve only been here a few hours, two tops, and he knows that Ram can hold his drink better than this.

“No’ much,” Ram slurs.

Jacob reaches out, grips the top of Ram’s arm and pulls him closer.

“You taken something? Cee give you something different?” His tone is hard, inquiring, and he watches as Ram’s brows knit together. With no answer forthcoming, he tries a new approach. “It’s okay, luv. You’re not in trouble, but I’ll look after you if you’re on a bad high, yeah?” He croons in Ram’s ear, conscious of the growing weight of the other’s body, sagging against his own. Ram manages a pitiful hum in response, and Jacob angles himself to better support Ram’s weight.

Phone in hand, he orders a cab before trying to get Ram back into the club and out the front door. He knows how it will look, pap shots of Ram’s head nuzzling into his neck, his arms slung around Ram’s waist. Well, fuck the paps. He barges past people who get in his way as he makes his way out the club, shielding Ram wit his own body. By the time they make it out the front door, it’s a few steps into the cab and Jacob has the foresight to click the seatbelt into place for Ram.

“Fuckin’ hell, Ram,” he mumbles, as Ram leans heavily against him. “Don’t worry, we’ll get back to mine soon.” The only perk of paying exorbitant amounts for London rent is the speedy return home after a night out, and Jacob is grateful for it when the cab pulls up. The driver pretends not to watch Jacob as he unlocks the doors and scoops Ram up, carrying him bridal style into his building.

His fury at Ford dissipates as he looks down at Ram, nestled into his arms, eyes rolling back in his skull. All Jacob feels is fear, fear that this is one trip the drummer might not return from. It’s not like he’s in love with Ram, but seeing him so vulnerable sends a sick panic through Jacob. He kicks his own front door open with more force than is strictly necessary, laying Ram down in his own bed.

The first thing he grabs is a bucket, setting it by the edge of the bed, and then pillows to help keep Ram propped up on his side. It’s only after that Jacob back away and reaches for his phone, dialing Cee.

“It’s Ram, did you give him something? Are you okay?” The questions come out rapid fire as soon as she picks up.

Of course I didn’t give him anything, I’m fine. Why? Why? Jacob, has something happened? Her voice crackles on the other end of the phone, and Jacob’s lip curls up, a ghost of his anger from earlier in the night.

“He’s in my bed, fuckin’ nearly unconscious. I’m gonna call an ambulance, I think he’s been spiked. Let Lex know.” He ends the call abruptly. Still drunk, still angry, he’s not sure how he’s suddenly become the responsible adult, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like any of it. Ram moans quietly, and Jacob moves to his side, kneeling by the bucket which is thankfully empty. 

“Hey luv, how’re you feeling? Something’s messed you up good and proper, you know.” He smooths hair from Ram’s forehead, damp with sweat.

Ram mumbles something that sounds like feel bad, and Jacob blows air out his noise. He’s not built for nursing people, but he’ll make a go of it.

“I know, I know. Listen, I might have to call someone, I don’t know what you’ve had, Ram.”

Ram slowly shakes his head, cracking one eye to look at Jacob. He reaches up, fingers brushing Jacob’s cheek. He catches Ram’s hand, folding it beneath the blanket he’s drawn up around Ram’s shoulders.

“I have to call someone, but listen, I’ll stay with you the whole time.” He hovers for a moment, and tucks hair behind the shell of Ram’s ear. He presses a kiss to Ram’s temple before standing and moving to the doorway. Fear roils in his gut with the whiskey he drank earlier, and he fires off a text to Cee.

Calling ambulance, Ram’s fucked up. Will you bring Lex if I tell you which hospital?

Without waiting for a reply, he dials the emergency services.

[wxldhxrt]

Kaiden McCloud || Son of Hestia || Mageia

full name : Kaiden McCloud dob : 5th November godhood : Son of Hestia gender : Male sexuality : Gay face claim : Daniel Sharman label : The Burning Phoenix  house : Mageia fave song : Drown - Bring Me The Horizon 

Born in Cambridge, England, Kaiden spent his whole life living with his father. He never knew his mother, only a few vague comments over the years about her from Frank Sinclair. Kaiden's life was harsh and painful from the very beginning. Despite living in one of the more affluent cities in England, they had very little money thanks to a father who couldn't keep a job and spent every penny they had on alcohol or simply gambled it away. It was obvious that Frank never wanted children and yet he was burdened with a son he now had to provide for. 

From a very young age Kaiden learned to take care of himself, cook his own meals, wash his own clothes, because no one else was going to do it for him. He often was left to take care of his father as well whenever the man came home blackout drunk, simply so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit. But being self-sufficent from a young age was only the tip of the iceburg for Kai. Beneath the waters lay a very dark life few knew about. 

Abuse was something Kaiden was more than accustomed to. His father's temper when drunk was beyond vile and Kaiden bore the brunt of it. Scars still litter his body from the many beatings he's suffered over the years, his back being the most prevalent, covered in lashes made from a belt, Frank's weapon of choice when he wasn't using his fists or cigarettes to burn his son. 

Broken at home, Kaiden found his escape at school. He was a bright young man with a passion for art although it was on the darker side. He was quite the loner, only a few close friends because Kaiden liked to keep everyone at arms length, after all if he couldn't trust his own father, how could he trust anyone else? 

One day when he took the worst beating of his life, Kaiden's true powers exploded. A fire that had been building within him for his entire life ignited and the blaze swallowed up everything in its wake. Uncontrolled raw godpower engulfed Kaiden's childhood home, burnt it all to ash, his father included, with only Kaiden left standing. From that moment he was taken to Camp Godspeed and told of his true parentage.

[westywrites]

WIP Playlist tag

Thank you so much @kittensartswriting for the tag! I had hoped to get to this morning, but ended up running out on some errands with my roommate instead. My whole plan for the day was severely skewed, but hey I made it here eventually anyway!

Rules: list five songs that most encapsulate your wip/the most essential songs on your wip playlist.

I will admit I don't actually keep playlists for my wips, but I do have quite a few songs that make me think of The Corvine or some of the characters in it. And I have a tendency to ramble so my explanations of why are more detailed than they need to be, whoops.

I'll put the explanations (and links to the songs) under a cut, but here are the first songs to come to mind: Factory Girl - Kronos Quartet & Rhiannon Gidden, I Will Never Die - Delta Rae, Arsonist's Lullaby - Hozier, Riverside - Agnes Obel, Wanderer's Lullaby - Adriana Figueroa, and so so many songs by Cosmo Sheldrake.

Factory Girl - Kronos Quartet with Rhiannon Gidden

This song perfectly encapsulates the vibe of The Corvine both in how it sounds (the sombre, tense but hopeful and beautiful sound of the strings? so good and it feels like such an old song) and in the lyrics. Like the girl they describe is Cambridge to a T, and the factory burning down... the lyrics of the last two verses fit this story so completely that I've actually made an edit about it before

I Will Never Die - Delta Rae

"Spread my spirit like a flock of crows"... The vibes of this song, the determination... knowing that no matter what happens you'll be alive in the love of your closest connections. Again, an older sound. The fire, the willingness to burn the world down if that's what it took. This is all my kids and the love they carry for each other. But especially Avenir (she has fire powers and trauma around fire from when she was younger. She knows "the old heat of the raging fire" very well). I could ramble about this song in relation to my characters forever.

Arsonist's Lullaby - Hozier

If we're gonna talk about fire, we should talk about this song and how it fits Avenir. "But my peace has always depended/ On all the ashes in my wake"... it's her. She would entirely agree that all she has is her fire and her demons and everything she is trying to reach. And she's almost 16... it all fits. (Look, if it weren't the 1830s, Avenir would deal with her life through music, I can't help but associate more songs with her than any other character.)

Riverside - Agnes Obel

The vibes. Another kinda somber, slower, older sounding song. The want of escape, but not really knowing what you're doing or why. Cambridge definitely sees "how everything is torn in the river deep" (I'm just realizing now, the first time she sees the tear in the universe, it's actually while looking into a river/the canal... huh)

Wanderer's Lullaby - Adriana Figueroa

Listen to this song and associate it with your characters, I guarantee you you can in some way or another. And it will almost certainly make you cry if you think about it too much...

I want to sing it to all my characters to reassure them they're on the right path and things will work out. "You are the dawn of a new day that's waking". They're gonna change the whole world, save so many people. But they're uncertain and scared and and and- I could rant about this one too.

As a treat, honourable mentions, which are all songs by Cosmo Sheldrake because he is basically my favourite musician. "Come Along" and "The Moss" make me think of Lennox because of the optimism and the idea of learning from/pursuing/joining the stories we tell. "Egg and Soldiers" applies to all the kids, but also in particular to Lennox and his lack of forethought. "Solar Waltz" is all the kids and the pressures placed on them by adults and by life. And "Linger a While" is specifically the vibes of the time they spend in the middle of the book at the safehouse (those lyrics, man, so powerful).

I will tag @ratracechronicler (I know Factory Girl was recommended to me by you, and I think Delta Rae was too. wow!), @erinnharper, @vnsmiles @charlmtte No pressure to do it, of course, but if you wanna share some music that makes you think of your writing, I'd love to see!