#also when blitz crawled into the hospital

[milady-mothman]

helluva boss s2 ep5 spoliers

omg

OMG

THIS EPISODE WAS AMAZING

[makeadealwithdean]

makeadealwithdean's friday fic rec list - harringrove edition

here's a list of the fics i've read lately and highly recommend! these fics are not mine and belong only to the writers, so writers, as always, if you don't want to be mentioned on here, message me, and i'll take you off no questions asked! also, this list is special because i'll be focusing on just harringrove, and since several of these are camboy!au's, these fics are smut and 18+ ONLY, so minors dni!! (gif is mine)

camboy!au's:

"never gets old" - @brawlite & @toastranger

Rating: E || Words: 78k

Falling in love with a cam boy named KingSteve isn't the smartest thing Billy Hargrove has ever done, nor is it the most healthy -- but the good choice is rarely ever the fun choice, and Billy is all about living life fast and loose.

"Love Is A Sickness (And Lust Is Absolute Madness)"

Rating: E || Words: 25k

Steve snaps a pic with his hand around his dick, angling the camera so that the stream is visible in the back. He can’t help but stroke a few times before sending it, wishing he had the balls to just put his webcam to good use so SuckMeDead could see him in all of his wet, messy, horny glory. Realistically though, he knows that full-on cybersex isn’t something he’s ready for, not until— Not until he’s made sure this camboy isn’t Billy Hargrove.

"Ride The Lightning" - socknonny

Rating: E || Words: 12k

Steve has an epic plan to Get Back At Daddy after his parents don't embrace his new-found bisexuality. An epic, epic plan, inspired by his favorite camboy. There's no way this can go wrong.

"Not Your Prince (But I'm Your Pretty Boy)" - ImNeitherNor

Rating: E || Words: 10k

“Not desperate,” Steve told himself, staring at the page while heat crawled up his chest and neck. “So not desperate.” Which was a lie because he was getting a membership just to comment and view more videos of the guy with the pierced dick. He licked his lips and tapped his thumbs on the space bar, deleted it, and almost hit his forehead against his desk. It was a username. Why did it matter so fucking much? Christ.

others:

"Sideways" - robthegoodfellow

Rating: E || Words: 46k

On Friday, Billy terrorized his stepsister, harassed his crush, and got blitzed with the school drug dealer. And then it all went sideways.

"definitely better than being dead" - @dragonflylady77

Rating: T || Words: 3.5k

When Billy comes to, everything hurts. He keeps his eyes closed, even though the space around him feels dark, and slowly takes a tally of where it hurts: hands, sides, chest, back, feet too... He listens to the noises in the room and the regular beeping of a machine close by tells him he’s in a hospital.

"Cross Road Blues" - @weird-an

Rating: E || Words: 6.6k

Billy sells his soul to Steve Harrington at the crossroads.

"His baby" - @lovebillyhargrove

Rating: E || Words: 32k

After Billy's death his car comes alive and decides to take revenge on certain residents of Hawkins. (My note: BILLY'S CAMARO FIC, MY BELOVED)

"come back down to my knees, gotta get back (gotta get free)" - @hartigays

Rating: E || Words: 5.5k

Billy is like, really gross. Steve likes that. He really likes that. And honestly, what could it hurt to indulge a little? (This is flayed!Billy, btw)

"The Art of the Dick Pic" - @lazybakerart

Rating: E || Words: 4.8k

Steve gets shipped off to a military academy, yet his biggest problem is his lighting.

"silvertongue" - @the-copperkid

Rating: E || Words: 9.2k

It's a hot summer night, and Billy and Steve find themselves stranded in the middle of a flash flood when Steve starts getting Upside Down-related anxiety. There's, unfortunately, only one thing that's certain to take his mind off of it — but Billy assures him that it wouldn't be so strange if they did it together. Just as long as they don't touch.

"Bed-sharing, almost-caring" - Thei

Rating: Not Rated || Words: 11.8k

It's late, dark and snowing, and Steve would rather do anything else than drive around looking for Billy Hargrove. But Max asked, and he can't say no to those kids. Not after everything. He finds Billy at the quarry. Billy is not okay.

"Cherry" - @lazybakerart

Rating: E || Words: 58k

They’ve got ten minutes before Steve’s break is up and he has to go back to wishing for death with a smile.

"King of Diamonds" - @shieldofiron

Rating: E || Words: 4.7k

“What’s the matter, Hargrove?” Steve Harrington flings his bags onto the bed with a fucked up little grin, “Scared of the big bad bed?” Billy just glowers at him, for the five hundredth time that day. He should have known when coach said they were bunking alphabetically and some of the rooms would only have one bed, that luck would not be on his side. Billy shuffles on his feet, squaring his shoulders, “Get out of my way.” Harrington cocks his head to the side, “Is that how you speak to your King?” “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Way.” “Or what?” Harrington's smiling in that vicious way, lip curling. (Or literally any part of this series, cause holy shit, King Steve)

"Rules for Survival" - @jad3w1ngs

Rating: E || Words: 5.5k

His first breath of free air had got caught in his throat however, because God may have allowed him to leave his old hell, but that was only so that he could be plunged into a new one. Sure, maybe he was being overdramatic, but the universe must have it out for him. Why else would he be roomed with possibly the prettiest, most infuriatingly sweet man ever? One who spoke about boobs and chicks and everything else enough to hammer home how out of bounds he was? One that he’d have to continue to pretend around. Billy’s other survival mechanisms had kicked in almost instantly. Unfortunately, the survival mechanism for dealing with his crush on his stupidly handsome roommate was apparently to be a massive asshole. Every innocent comment, every kind remark or offer of friendship was rebuffed with a snappy or bitchy quip, ones that had him groaning internally each time they left his lips. Not that it seemed to deter Steve, if anything his eyes lit up whenever Billy threw an insult his way, which was odd because he wouldn’t have pegged Steve as a masochist.

"Locker Room Antics" - @mid-nightmare13

Rating: E || Words: 5k

Just as he was about to take another swing for Hargrove's face, Steve found his wrist caught in a large hand, his back against the metal lockers, and his lips pressed against another pair. He grunted, protesting for maybe ten seconds before he was grabbing Billy's hair with his free hand, and kissed him back. Kissing Billy was nothing like kissing a girl. It was a dangerous combination of teeth and tongue locked in a battle for dominance. And he hated himself for backing down. "I want to fuck you," Billy said against his lips before beginning to suck and bite down his jaw. Steve let out an involuntary moan, suddenly finding his jeans far too tight...

"Wild on You" - @oopsiedaisiesbaby

Rating: E || Words: 2.6k (series wc: 80k)

Billy startled when rather than fall to his own back, beside him, Steve tightened his grip in Billy’s hair and moved halfway on top of him as he reconnected their lips. (this whole series actually is amazing, 10/10 recommend)

"if you don't like the company, let's just do it you and me" - hoppnhorn, @the-copperkid

Rating: E || Words: 9k

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Billy tuts, and it’s nearly sickening, too fucking good, the way he looks like he can think of nothing better than digging his teeth into Steve Harrington. “Look at you. What’re we gonna do with you, huh? Tell me what you want, pretty boy.” * Steve is really fed up with walking in on Billy having sex in his bed, until Billy’s opening up the invitation to him, too — because like, if you can’t beat 'em, join ‘em, right? But see, three's a crowd. And Steve doesn't like to share.

"break up with your girlfriend ('cause i'm bored)" - @the-copperkid

Rating: E || Words: 15k

@umissedconnections: Bambi eyes. m4m. i was rippin cigs in the sae p-lot. u made urself puke 2 make room 4 more beer. incredible? ur my hero PLS say ur into guys * Steve finds he has a secret admirer who's continuously hitting on him via his university's Missed Connections Twitter account. // Tommy and Billy are the worst roommates ever.

last time's list || my fic rec masterpost || my masterlist

[mister-maiden]

Outlast 1: Oh dear

Rating: 8/10                    Genre: Adventure/Horror                  Difficulty: Medium

TIME SPENT COMPLETING: 4-5 hours

Dark clouds signal your arrival at the iron, rusted gates of what appears to be a psychiatric hospital. You check your precious camera and battery supply before reviewing the file that led you here. You slowly move out of your vehicle…and as you peer towards the towering windows above, you could swear you are being watched. Several abandoned cars lay in the lot, webs and rust collecting on the exteriors. With the eerie sound of wind accompanying you as you make your way inside through an open window, you can’t help but think you may have made a dire mistake. This is Outlast. Developed by Red Barrels and released in 2013.

You are Miles Upshur, an investigative journalist who received a lead from an anonymous source about experiments on patients and violence occurring within Mount Massive Asylum. Armed with only a camera, batteries, and a few bandages, you make your way inside to find the story of a lifetime, only to come face to face with the evil inside all men. You’ll make your way past some of the worst of humanity mankind has to offer. People burned to the muscle, nearly skinned men walking around, torture, sacrifice, and more. Full of mental instability rather than healing, Mount Massive Asylum holds the most unstable people imaginable, and the surroundings to match. Chunks of building have fallen from a lack of care. Blood and other bodily fluids smear the walls and ceiling with religious signs. In contrast to its purpose of healing, it has become a festering blister that’s ready to pop.

Outlast’s soundtrack is a thing of beauty. Rather than focusing on loud, sudden jump scare sounds, they choose the violin and fiddle as a way to slowly play the character into a false sense of security. In some cases the player may feel himself ease up to a simple, empty hallway due to the near religious harmony of the music’s instruments. Then in other cases the player will find their hearts pump out of their chest as the music becomes a blitz of fear and panic. It forces the player to never feel safe while inside the asylum. Making the player feel sane and safe before shoving him into an unsafe situation with clashing, fast paced instruments and horrifying events is what Outlast is all about.

The game’s game play takes a note from Amnesia by having your character unable to fight back against the denizens of the asylum. Not every person wishes to harm you which makes it worse when someone you walk by suddenly wishes to shove a knife into your back. As the lead said, most, if not all of the men inside of the hospital have been experimented on. Be it losing their eyes, their limbs, or their sanity. There is no defense against your attackers. The only defense you have is using your camera’s night-vision function, lose them within the darkness, and pray they won’t find your hiding spot. You’ll need to be crafty and have a sharp eye to find batteries laying around so your camera doesn’t die, or you will be the one traversing in the abyss without a light, (and it is not a fun experience having someone’s face pop onto the screen because you were walking forward without a light). Some rooms are entirely black and relies on the night-vision in your camera to traverse which becomes horrendous when the battery is low. Remember to search every area, otherwise you may find yourself in a dire situation.

It seems Outlast took another piece of game play from Amnesia and had much of its lore placed in notes around the asylum. You can choose to hunt and find these notes to discover the full extent of evil doings happening within Mount Massive, or you can focus on finding a way out. It’s your choice. Nothing will really change of course as you will still need to find a way to escape to publish your findings.

Rating: 8/10 Mental Asylums. Every character was memorable, every chase is a horror in its own, and the surroundings was just a wonderful place to have the game set in. Mental asylums are often thought of for the crazies and most unstable of minds. Outlast took advantage of this and played on the strings of horror to bring a nail biting escape through the hell that is Mount Massive Asylum. If it would have introduced some sort of different game mechanic rather than just sprinting down hallways and turning valves and finding keys, this could have been perfect; however, with too similar mechanics to Amnesia, I feel as though it can’t be a perfect score. It tried too hard to mimic the mechanics of a game that was successful in the past. Granted it brought new mechanics of a camera and made the horror more fast paced rather than slow, it still felt almost too similar.

----------------------------------SPOILERS----------------------------------

My experience with the game + Discussion

When I want to play a horror game, I obviously want to be scared. When Outlast came out, I was overly excited to try it and boy was I impressed.

To begin, the introduction to the asylum was absolutely beautiful. It was the best way to introduce a game’s setting to the character I have seen in a while without becoming ridiculously difficult to remember every detail. All the player knows is that you’re an investigative journalist looking into a story suggested to you. It’s best to leave much ambiguity to the game’s context to the player rather than telling them outright, “Oh, this game is about this and this.” Throughout your stay in the asylum, there is always this sense of the supernatural due to religious symbols being placed around and strange events happening; however, if you read all the notes found strewn around the hospital, you will find that everything can be explained and pointed down to scientists performing horrible experiments, and their new invention. The Walrider.

The Walrider is the primary antagonist of the story. It’s body is made entirely of small nano machines invisible to the human eye unless they are grouped together. All of the random movements, killings, and religious worship can be brought down to this single antagonist as it has spread its influence among the denizens as an experiment gone wrong. Mount Massive Asylum is just a front for a secret laboratory hidden deep within the earth, experimenting on the tormented minds of patients in order to find someone to become a host for this swarm of nano machines. Only someone who has seen or been through so much horrendous trauma can be strong enough to control it, and who would be a more perfect host than someone suffering from mental instability?

I thought this antagonist was an amazing twist to a villain because everyone expects horror these days to be all about the supernatural or some shape of demon, but instead it is a contrast and it is completely man made. In the beginning of the game, running away from an insane doctor and butcher twins, you never get the sense of the horrors of the asylum being man made and something supernatural must be occurring. I was absolutely shocked at the conclusion of the antagonist being made of thousands of tiny machines that have been desecrating the asylum from within and it took me ages to really twist my mind around the idea. In fact, the game is filled with characters I just can’t forget because of what they did to my character. For instance, the twins.

The twins are two characters who seem to appear at the worst of times, naked, with machetes. Their theme was all about silent killing which was horrifying because no other enemy in the game would walk silently and not talk at all. This completely changed the game once these characters were introduced. It went from constantly having to flee in a panic, opening doors quickly and sprinting inside, to planning what doors to open, sneaking about and hoping the other twin wasn’t at your throat already. They were patients gone mad at the hands of the Walrider and experimentation, with temptations of wanting to eat your tongue and liver. They are very loyal to Father Martin, the self proclaimed priest of the asylum who worships the Walrider like a god.

There are several other characters that are worth mentioning. Chris Walker, the giant man who simply wishes to kill you. Rudolf Wernicke who is one of the primary researchers behind the Walrider experiments. If you look deeply into the notes and find hints around the asylum, you will find that the true evil is a corporation called the Murkoff Corporation. All of this death and destruction is simply for their gain to learn more about the human mind. I thought this was a brilliant idea to have an entire corporation behind the evil rather than this being just one big accident from experimentation done within the Asylum because not only does it give the REAL antagonists a face and mysterious chain of command, it also helps make a story for the newer addition to the Outlast series, Outlast 2, which is set in the swamps...but that’s for another review.

The chase events in this game made my heart pound, some more than others. For instance, one chase I vividly remember had me drop out of a vent and into a room with a man strapped to a chair who suddenly begins to scream. The calm sound of air now changed to an adrenaline rush of violin and drums as the insane make their move and begin to try to destroy the wooden doors separating me from them. It was so sudden that I began to panic and look around before staring directly at an iron plate blocking a door. As soon as I moved it, the doors burst open and several men with bloodthirsty visages shuffled on inside. Once I locked the door behind me, I had to sprint into several new rooms, each having more revolting images than the next with no time to process what I was seeing. The adrenaline rushed while I continuously closed the doors behind me to slow my pursuers, trying to find any means of escape I could before crawling into vents, windows, all with the same music pounding in my ears and the sound of my character’s heavy breathing constantly on my mind. Every exit began to scream danger as the sounds of fists against the doors filled the hallways. The pursuers constantly screamed to get after me as I made my escape through a mini elevator helpfully provided by a rather friendly voice on the end of an intercom. With no time to react and judge whether this was a good idea or not, I had to choose to enter the elevator, only to find myself face to face with a man with wires in his arms, a surgical apron around his waist, and the same friendly voice saying “You made the right choice here, buddy” before suddenly being punched into submission and falling onto the floor.

If the developers wished to make a game that forces you to panic and make dumb decisions based on the information and time given to you, they damn well succeeded. I was horrified every second of my play through and would recommend this game for anyone to try. It often goes on sale with its counterpart Outlast 2 and is a fantastic example of a quicker paced, modern horror game.

VERDICT: I’d recommend getting this game on sale. It is worth the full price, but this game goes on sale alongside its sequel, Outlast 2 far too often to not be taken advantage of. Have fun you guys c;

[kiruuuuu]

Blitz/Rook oneshot in which they recover together. (Rating T, hurt/comfort, ~2.2k words) - written for @magehir as a bribe to cheer you up 💝

.

He never liked hospitals much. He’s hardly alone with this attitude yet he’s heard there are people out there who find them comforting, seek solace in the knowledge of not having to worry about much, about someone else taking over responsibility. He prefers being in charge himself and being reminded how fragile his body is, how easy it would be to never walk again or be discharged, unable to perform his job, eats at his confidence. His self image is largely dependent on how well he does in Rainbow, a close link formed even in the very first weeks and now, only a few months later, he already can’t imagine life without this colourful group of operators around him. He’s come to realise he needs this or his self-worth would plummet, and so being confined to a bed in a foreign country has him almost stir-crazy.

Parts of his body won’t obey him, other parts refuse to work the way they’re intended and he despises being this weak. For the others, he puts on a brave face, smiles through the pain, reassures them he’s fine, not to worry, he’s not bored at all, no, thank you for asking. He refuses to be a burden and so he’s perfectly at ease with his situation whenever anyone’s there even if Bandit’s narrow gaze indicates he’s not falling for it one bit. Figures. Professional liars are always good at spotting kindred spirits. He doesn’t tell on him but what he does do after one visit is to hang back and offer him a cigarette. Blitz has only tried smoking a few times and remembers it as vile but he accepts nonetheless.

He coughs his way through it, grimacing for no one’s benefit and it’s refreshing to not feel obliged to pretend he likes it. Bandit smokes by his side, silent and not even smirking over his suffering. Oddly, it helps. It’s a little like rebelling against the entirely too professional medical staff as the doctor he’s seen maybe five minutes in total would probably have a heart attack if he saw him like this, and so it’s refreshing. The awful taste lingers but he refuses to wash it down because it’s a sensory fuck you to everything holding him down. He’s not dead. He can do what he wants. He’s still himself.

.

There’s a recent change with which he’s very much not okay yet. He’d be fine if it had been just him on the brink of death, water under the bridge, he’ll eventually heal and go back to doing what he always does, but it’s not just him. He only needs to turn his head to the side to see a shock of brown curls spread out on a pillow just like his own yet so far he’s avoided doing so because he’s not ready. Not in the state he’s in right now, not as delicate and shaken as he allows himself to be only when he’s alone.

For a while, he obsesses about the presence next to him, wonders whether the young man is studying him with reproach or pride, but when he finally looks over, bright blue eyes are fixed on the ceiling just like his own were, lost in thought. Rook senses his attention, however, and returns the gaze. He looks pitiful, maybe even more mangled than Blitz himself – fell down the same crack Blitz did, according to what the others told him, crawled to the same place vaguely shielded from the icy wind. Rook’s fall was worse though. He still made it over to him.

“You’re alive”, Rook murmurs and sounds surprised as if all his actions hadn’t been aimed towards achieving this fact. “I’m so glad.”

Blitz starts to cry.

It’s a culmination of it all, the pressure of not making anyone worry, the guilt, the gratefulness, the stress and the fear of not recovering fully. Most of all he feels unworthy of Rook’s troubled smile – he gladly would’ve given his life if it meant the young man in the bed next to his would’ve been spared all this pain. His tears are silent, hot streaks on his cheeks, burning his skin where they touch it and souring the peaceful atmosphere between them: Rook’s brows draw together and Blitz wants to reach out and smooth them back, wipe the concerned frown off his face and gently stroke his usual smile back onto his mouth, fingers drawing over the curving of his lips. He also doesn’t want to worry Rook. But he can’t stop crying.

.

He familiarises himself with Rook’s hands over the next days. He’s not allowed to get up but does so nonetheless, sits by his sleeping beauty’s side for hours and watches the rapid movement of his eyes under his lids, the way his lip trembles sometimes, his fingers twitching as he recovers while unconscious. Blitz’ fingertips trace the rivers of his veins on the backs of his hands and the turmoil inside him calms whenever he finds the skin warm. He catches himself shivering now and then despite being wrapped in several layers at all times, having requested more than one blanket and regularly waking up sweating profusely. It’s better than being cold.

Rook’s hands are softer than his, less calloused, and the lines weaving their way through his palm less prominent than Blitz’. Sometimes, his fingers curl around Blitz’ while he sleeps. Sometimes when he’s not sleeping. The grip is tighter and they readily interlace with his even though Rook keeps pretending to be asleep. Both of them know he’s not. After a few days, Blitz can feel the young man’s eyes on his when he encases a hand with both of his own but he doesn’t meet his gaze. The debt is too large. He owes him.

Eventually, it’s not just hands anymore. Rook’s hair, normally silky and soft, is now sweaty and dull but Blitz doesn’t care. He explores the curve of his jaw, holds his breath when Rook tilts his head back for better access, brushes over his nose, strokes his cheek, even dares to touch his lips. They press against his thumb momentarily in a weak kiss and Blitz can’t. Not after all he’s done for him. He withdraws his hand and shakes his head when Rook motions for him to give it back. They need to talk.

“You could’ve died”, he says.

Rook is ready. “You would’ve died.”

It’s true. Their shared body heat is what saved them and as furious as Sledge was upon Rook disobeying his orders to stay in and not go outside to look for Blitz, he’s now relieved Rook sneaked out regardless. Because instead of a dead operator, he has two injured ones now which he deems an improvement. Blitz isn’t sure it is, not when he sees Rook’s broken smile. He, too, tries not to make anyone worry. Bandit just shook his head at them both.

“If you hadn’t found me, we both would be dead right now. It was a lucky coincidence that you did.”

“Maybe it was more than a coincidence though.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Rook was probably joking, so Blitz’ serious reply seems to amuse him. “No. You’re right.”

“Why did you do it?”

The question scares him witless. It was more than a month ago that Rook asked him out, expressed interest and inquired whether it was reciprocated. Blitz declined for a multitude of reasons ranging from possible work complications to inexperience on his part, but most of all he didn’t want to disappoint Rook if it turned out he wasn’t as invested as the young man seemed to be. Surprisingly, Rook accepted his answer easily enough and never mentioned it again, but this.

This.

If it turns out he risked his own life to save Blitz’ purely out of completely misguided sentimentalism, an obligation born from an unhealthy infatuation, Blitz wouldn’t be able to live with himself. If unrequited love was all which drove Rook to such extremes, not only will Blitz never be able to repay him, he’ll also have to request a reassignment. Personal feelings must not get in the way of their work. He’ll forever blame himself for not being more insistent upon turning Rook down, for not squashing any hope he might’ve had left. Besides, he’s sure that Rook will in time come to regret his actions.

However, Rook’s response baffles him. “I get asked a lot why I’m in Rainbow and I never had a proper answer. It wasn’t mean, just curiosity I think – but everyone else has something special to them. Something only they are good at. I don’t. And when I tell people, they always seem to expect more, seem to think there’s something I’m hiding or haven’t realised myself but they’re wrong. I thought they were wrong. I had nothing.”

It’s the first Blitz hears of this. He’s noticed Rook and his friends joke about it before but never got the impression it affected the Frenchman to this extent. “That’s not true, you -”

Rook pays no heed to his objection and simply continues: “Remember the mission in Brazil? You put together your own team and wanted me on it. I don’t think you know I overheard the conversation, but someone suggested someone else instead. And you said: I’d feel much safer knowing Julien has my back.”

He remembers. He needed someone whom he could trust completely, someone who wouldn’t miss a single shot. And while a lot of operators fulfilled this requirement, he specifically wanted Rook.

“And so I thought: what if this is what I’m here for? To allow you all to do your special thing while I provide cover. As a support. As someone you can rely on. Someone who makes sure you don’t have to worry.”

“But with this, you went too far”, Blitz states quietly.

“Did I? We’re both alive, aren’t we? I finally found what I’m good at. And I’m not apologising for it. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Blitz shakes his head but there’s not much he can say. Rook has made up his mind and seems content with his conclusions, so the only thing left to do is offer his hand again which Rook takes immediately, squeezing and offering a smile. It’s genuine this time, not the pale shadow Rook shows the others.

So it wasn’t an obsession, no arbitrary flight of fancy which Rook filled with entirely too much importance. Instead, it was loyalty, admiration and altruism. Blitz is familiar with all of them. Maybe they share more than he was aware of. Maybe he needs to re-think his decision.

.

Bandit gets sent ahead because he’s the only one not hungry. Jäger keeps teasing him about being worried and usually earns a snarky response or an elbow in the ribs for it, but he’s probably right, as much as it pains Bandit to admit it. He hasn’t been eating or sleeping much and is the only one to always accompany whoever is heading to the hospital that day. It’s not that he enjoys the visits, he’s usually worse off afterwards because the whole fucking building depresses him to no end but he still goes with a grim determination. It feels like the right thing to do.

He braces himself for another barrage of lies and reassurances, takes a deep breath and enters the room without knocking – he doesn’t need to, Rook and Blitz are the only occupants and their families won’t travel this far to visit them now. At first, he’s alarmed at seeing Blitz’ bed empty and him not sitting by the other one, but he spots him at a second glance.

It’s a mirror to how they were found.

They’re curled into each other as much as their injuries allow them, breath mingling and foreheads touching. They’re holding hands, chests rising and falling slowly, eyes closed this time not due to unconsciousness but restful sleep, rosy – not blue – lips parted, eyelashes devoid of fine crystals fanning over healthy-looking cheeks. Neither of them is shivering, unlike Blitz whenever Bandit saw him sleep recently.

He looks at them, looks until this image replaces the one which haunted his dreams, replaces blinding snow with the pristine white of the sheets, replaces two almost-corpses with this, something budding. Replaces what could’ve been an ending with a beginning. Once he can’t remember the original anymore, can’t remember the dread and shock, he turns around and closes the door softly.

When he arrives in the cafeteria, he announces: “They’re sleeping. Let’s come back later.”

“What, you don’t even want to draw dicks on Elias’ face?”, IQ jokes and nudges him.

Normally he’d grin and make a counter suggestion but he just shakes his head now. Not this time. “You know what”, he switches topics after noticing the snacks in IQ’s hands, “I’ll get something to eat too.” And he ignores the meaningful glance IQ and Jäger exchange.

[keyes-tothecrown]

No Waves: Part 1>>  Special Appearance by: Early Cleary January 20 - January 24, 2019 HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs, Hammersmith & Fulham, West London 

He came to in front of a Mercedes. The extreme agony his body was in mirrored the impression he left on a caved in windshield. Several guns were pointed at him and a heavy boot suffocated the back of his neck while his hands were cuffed. The edges of his vision were swallowed up by a cloud of blood and black uniforms. 

The next wake up call found him handcuffed to a hospital bed. Connected to one of those machines that go ‘ping’. Broken ribs like daggers beneath the skin, a head axed in half by pain, only one eye able to open and focus. A doctor was attempting to rationalize with the double vision of two Germans spitting and snatching a medical chart away. Ringing feedback in his ears didn’t help with the translation on what they said. 

The next few days: extradited back to England. Remanded to the First Night Centre at Wormwood Scrubs. Sentenced for piracy and a host of other, smaller offenses. 

The day after Maddox was moved to D wing of Wormwood for high risk prisoners. He couldn’t rejoice in a single cell as the famous Wormwood Scrubs rats considered him an intruder, boldly attempting to burrow under his single thin blanket to nip at his skin at night. 

He took to sleeping during the day. Drugs were helpful and as plentiful as the cockroaches crawling the walls. A handjob in the showers netted him a few snorts of a camel-colored powder. He nodded off immediately. Woke up in his cell drenched in sticky sweat to vomit. Then slept.

A few more days passed and Early Cleary sat waiting for him at a table in the Visitor’s Centre. 

‘I brought clothes so ya don’t have to look like a disheveled waiter anymore. Filled up your canteen account too.’ Early paused. ‘I don’t mind saying ya look a right mess. The mugshot was flattering even with the black eye. M’sure that’s the main concern. Seen it yet?’ 

No response was forthcoming. ‘Been in ‘ere myself, before I met your mum. It’s even worse than they say. Usually prisoners riot but in Wormwood the screws walk out all the bleedin’ time. Imagine that. Guards scared of the inmates? Bright side is: they can be bribed easily. Or, the not-so-bright side is if anyone has a vendetta against a pirate they can pay a guard to off ‘em easily.’ 

Early had known Maddox since the boy had been born. Tried to look out for him, even understood why he spit on his mother’s watery grave to join up with Roman’s group of imbeciles initially. Early had also warned Maddox as late as the month before the island invasion, when the young pirate’s frustrations had reached a boiling point. ‘Told ya didn’t I? Roman would either get you killed or thrown in prison.’

Maddox swept strict black hair away from the bruised eye mentioned to look at the captain of The Stagger Lee. Once a pirate and first mate to Madeline Keyes, the older man had left piracy nearly a decade ago to sail under a legal flag. Maddox was used to the soft jabs but wasn’t in the mood. Nor did he appreciate a lecture. Long arms crossed tightly to his chest as he leaned forward into the table for support. Heavy lids over pitch black eyes fixed on the one constant in his life. This arsehole. “Come all the way over to say I told you so? Fuck you, Early.” 

The older man sharpened his attention on the lingering slur over syllables normally intensely aligned. ‘Fuck me? Fuck you if the plan is to be sat in a cell 23 hours a day high as kite and pretending this shit isn’t happening.’ 

Early had never been a man easily aggravated. Seeing Maddox blitzed like an idiot while bound in a spider web triggered the captain to reach across the table and lightly smack an ear to get his attention. Evidence of the young man’s injuries were still apparent but he was clearly feeling no pain. Early leaned in then, the already low volume of his voice turned down further. ‘Listen to me boy and listen hard. Be smart. Be smart and you will survive. The attorney they appointed doesn’t know shit, we’ll find a better solicitor, someone who--’

Movement required nothing short of the energy to push through wet sand, however Early’s words snapped something dry and brittle in Maddox. The man had said it all Maddox’s life. Be smart. Think carefully. And... and crashing the coronation of a king wasn’t smart at all. Obviously. He got it. But if he wanted to spin like a top too it was his business, not Early’s. 

It wasn’t going to get better. 

It just wasn’t. 

A hand shot around the back of Early’s neck. Maddox didn’t know where the hitch in momentum came to keep the older man’s head from slamming down on the table. The hinge at his jaw ached and a bitter bile settled on the back of his tongue in his speech. A taste of every day on that island. “You listen to me now old man. This is it for me. The only way to help myself is to snap your neck right now and speed up my execution. So don’t fucking come in and tell me what to do, or what to be.” 

The aggression kick-started a thumping pulse in him. He breathed shallow with skin on fire from the acid oozing out of his pores, hating the fact Early had come for nothing. “I’m fucked, okay? I’m fucked.” The relief arrived only when two burly guards ripped him out of his seat, shoved him to a wall, and shackled his hands again. 

Early had seen this version of Maddox before. A cornered teenager angry, mean, self-sabotaging. Flailing at the end of a rope someone else tied around his neck. Flecks of the hostility swam in dark pupils during the months they connected while the man was stuck on an island, realizing Roman had screwed over pirates who seemed stupid enough to be dragged along. 

Early wouldn’t dare say how much Maddox looked like Madeline in that instant. Nor did he fear his neck being broken. What he did have were questions with no answers. Maddox was more rational than how he acted currently, so why step out of hiding to show up at a king’s coronation? He was a gunner, a sniper. Early had watched him train every day on the The Blue Lena. If he wanted someone dead as the authorities claimed, the king of Germany would be in the ground already. And Early’s neck would’ve been broken at the table he sat at, drumming his fingers quietly. 

 The collar of his coat had been turned up during the seated scuffle, and the older man smoothed it down again as he rose to stand. The guards wrestled with Maddox, and Early raised his voice over a chair the pirate kicked over in the process. ‘He’s high. Give ‘em a drug test. Check his cell. Check him too. Thoroughly.’ He walked to the exit not bothering to look back in response to Maddox’s curses, waiting for the clank of the bolted door to open and usher him out. ‘Do your job or I’ll bring an investigative journalist with me next week. Been, wot? A month since they’ve been out to do a story on the wretched conditions of this place?’ 

A loud buzz and Early paused in opening the door where a guard waited to process him out of the prison. ‘And hear that, Maddox? I will be back.’ 

[ossward]

UVBrite Water Bottle Review – Is This Self-Cleaning Bottle Worth It?

Reusable bottles are all the rage but could they be doing us more harm than good?

Bacteria love a dark and wet environment, making reusable water bottles a breeding ground for bio-contaminants like bacteria, viruses, and mold. The LARQ water bottle is here to change that. Using UV-C light technology kills the bacteria and viruses lurking in your bottle. Plus, no need to clean your bottle on a daily basis (not that we were doing that anyway).

As we discovered in our UVBrite Bottle review, this pioneering bottle not only makes tap water clean to drink but there’s none of that musty odor you typically get from ordinary water bottles. So you can trade those single-use plastic bottles for an eco-friendly, stink-free, and totally safe drinking experience.

Plus, the UVBrite water bottle is so stylish it’s basically a new wardrobe accessory. You’ll want to show it off to all your friends.

In this UVBrite Bottle review, we’ll check out the brand’s two models: the original UVBrite Bottle and the lightweight and travel-friendly UVBrite Bottle Movement. But first, we’ll start by discussing the innovative sterilizing technology of both.

What is UVBrite?

UVBrite is a self-cleaning water bottle that uses UV-C light to quickly purify your water on the go.

UVBrite uses the same UV-C light technology found in hospitals, dental offices, and even the International Space Station to make any source of drinking water clean and safe to drink.

The water bottle contains a rechargeable battery that can purify up to 60 bottles of water on a single charge.

In addition, UVBrite’s UV-C light lasts long enough to purify up to 29,000 gallons of water – which is more than the average person will drink for the rest of their lifetime!

Made from double-walled BPA-free stainless steel, UVBrite’s high-quality construction isn’t just for looks – it helps keep water hot or cold for up to 12 hours.

Important Specs to Note Before Buying:

Have a look at some important specs of UVBrite before placing your order.

Warranty1 yearHeight10.8 inchesContainer materialStainless steelBPA freeYesLid includedNoBest forBoth cold and hot waterInsulatedYesLid includedNoInside capacity18.6AffordableYes

Features of UVBrite

It’s not like your traditional water bottle that doesn’t clean or purifies your water and might stink after some time when left open. This stainless-steel water bottle comes with a variety of amazing features that further make it an ideal product.

As mentioned above, the UV-C cap helps eliminates all the microbes by up to 99.9%

The brilliant self-cleaning technology switches on every time the purification cycle is switched on. It ensures that your water bottle is being constantly sterilized.

It features two purification modes. The normal one for standard water, as well as blitz mode for water, needs excessive purification.

Well-insulated and keep water hot for more than 6 hours as well as cold for around 12 hours

It’s completely safe, BPA-free, and has 304 stainless steel bottles

Unlike other self-cleaning bottles, its cap comprises an advanced quartz lens which is equipped with built-in LED light

It’s available with a safety lock feature which means the UV-C light won’t be activated when you remove the cap.

The bottle also contains a silicone gasket that offers a leakproof seal

Comes with USB-C charging option.

A most amazing feature is it can purify 6,250 gallons of water as the LEDs used in the bottle are last for 10,000 hours.

How does the UVBrite self-cleaning water bottle work?

UVBrite harnesses the power of UV-C light to purify water in just 3-5 minutes.

Using UVBrite to purify your water is easy:

Fill up your water bottle

Press the button

Wait 3 minutes for the UV-C light to finish destroying up to 99.99% of the bacteria, viruses, fungi, protozoa, and microbes crawling in your water

Enjoy pure water – no matter where you are in the world!

Better yet, every time you activate the purification system, UVBrite automatically cleans the stainless steel bottle – not just the water inside it.

This prevents the buildup of germs that conventional water bottles can’t handle… and it means you only have to toss the bottle in the dishwasher once every 3-6 months to keep it as good as new.

How It Works?

UVBrite emits UV light at 275nm, which effectively eliminates bacteria and viruses. It does this by destroying the germ’s DNA, inhibiting its ability to reproduce, which ultimately kills it.

By emitting the UV light for 180 seconds, UVBrite eliminates up to 99.99% of harmful germs in your water, keeping your water (and your bottle) clean – something traditional filters simply can’t do.

In short, UVBrite makes your water safe to drink at the press of a button!

Who needs UVBrite the most?

📷

UVBrite is perfect for anyone who wants regular access to clean, safe, and purified drinking water. UVBrite is built for:

Urban commuters: If you’re constantly on-the-go, you’ll need access to safe, pure drinking water throughout the day. The UVBrite prevents the use of plastic, single-use water bottles while offering access to clean water – combined with the minimal need for cleaning and its sleek look, it’s no wonder so many people are replacing their old-school water bottles with UVBrite!

Travelers: Whether you’re jet-setting off to Mexico or enjoying a weekend getaway to the mountains, you always have peace of mind knowing you’re drinking safe water.

Athletes: Whether you’re hitting the gym, running around the track, or playing a round of golf, the UVBrite will purify your water even when you’re getting a sweat sesh in.

Parents: Whether you’re dropping the kids off at soccer practice, running errands, or squeezing a workout in over your lunch break, UVBrite ensures you and your kids have continuous access to safe drinking water. (It makes those nasty drinking fountains a lot more pleasant to drink from!)

Hikers, bikers, and travelers: Spending the day outside? UVBrite ensures you have access to clean drinking water, even without a water fountain in sight.

The environmentally-conscious: UVBrite is helping to eliminate the more than 8 million tons of plastic bottles that end up in our oceans each year by giving people a reusable bottle they’ll actually feel great about using.

Bottom line: UVBrite helps you enjoy clean drinking water – and a clean water bottle – no matter where you are

Think you’re already drinking clean water? Think again.

Not only are most water supplies infested with germs, they treat your water bottle like a breeding ground… leading to nasty odors that could have serious consequences to your health.

But now, thanks to UVBrite, there’s finally an easy way to ensure your water bottle (and the water in it) stays clean, odor-free, and safe to drink from no matter where you are.

If you want to guarantee you’re always drinking pure water, you have to try UVBrite – it’s the last water bottle you’ll ever need to buy!

UPDATE: UVBRITE IS OFFERING A LIMITED-TIME SPECIAL OFFER TO OUR READERS!

Thanks to the overwhelmingly positive feedback on this article, the creators of UVBrite are offering an exclusive, one-time offer to anyone reading this post.

For a limited time, you can get 2 FREE UVBrite bottles when you buy three – or a FREE UVBrite when you buy two!

We can’t guarantee this promotion will last long, so if you’re interested in ensuring you (and your family) always have access to clean water, now is the time to claim your free UVBrite!

Frequently Asked Question

How do I know it’s working?

Although you can’t “watch it work” because the UV-C light is too powerful for the human eye, the technology in UVBrite is proven and widely used in hospitals, dentist offices, and even on the International Space Station.

UVBrite has also been independently tested and confirmed effective at killing up to 99.99% of viruses, bacteria, and microbes.

That means you can trust UVBrite to be working as long as the system is operating normally. To ensure that you always know that the system is operating normally, we have designed the circuit to tell you when it’s not working. If the UV-C LED does not work, the cycle will not start. The LEDs will flash and turn off.

That said, this is unlikely to ever occur for you. The UV-C LED that is used is of very high quality with a rated life of over 10,000 hours of continuous use. Additionally, UVBrite includes a built-in safety lock to prevent accidental exposure to UV-C light.

How long do the batteries last?

UVBrite can purify up to 60 bottles of water on a single charge, which means it typically lasts several weeks between charges. Charging is quick (it fully charges in just 2.5 hours) and easy with the included USB-C charging cable.

Will it make my water taste better?

Although it will not affect the taste of your water, knowing it’s truly pure and safe to drink makes it more enjoyable!

How long will it keep my water hot or cold?

UVBrite’s Dual Wall 304 Stainless Steel will keep water hot or cold for up to 12 hours.

What types of water can I purify with the bottle?

UVBrite is designed to purify “potable“ or clear water to ensure that it is free from microbes. This does not work with murky water or water that is not clear as it prevents the UV-C light from fully penetrating the water. You can use it to purify tap water, hose water, and even water from streams or rivers.

[renwritesstuff]

Samantha Traynor Appreciation Day 1

Day 1- Colonist Upbringing:  I chose the Skyllian Blitz as a focus on Samantha Traynor’s colonist upbringing. With a 26-year-old Sam, the Blitz would have occurred when she was around 16. I imagine the Skyllian Blitz as a September 11-type of event, especially for other human colonies: something to watch unfold while hugging your family tight.

Shouting, Samantha Traynor burst through the front door. “Mum! Dad! Are you watching?!”

A 16-year-old Sam was clad in a burnt orange school uniform, a shield embroidered on the front left pocket. The black slacks were dusty around the ankle cuffs from her abrupt exit out her friend Nicole’s skycar at the end of the cul-de-sac. Her short—normally neat—bob of black hair was tousled from the impromptu run.

Running was highly out of the ordinary for Sam (and not just because she was an asthmatic). As was Sam home at noon on a school day (she wasn’t known to bunk off school. Ever.)

Sam’s schoolbag was already half-slung over her shoulder before she abandoned it by the coat rack. Black (dusty) shoes were kicked off next to the door as the girl tore down the hallway of the prefab.

“No running in the house!” Priya Suresh-Traynor barked back, more strain in her voice than usual.

Then again, it also wasn’t usual for Sam’s mother to be home this early in the day.

Nothing about today was usual.

Geoffrey Traynor called over from the wide living room at the end of the hall. “In here, sprog!”

Sam came skidding to a halt, already breathless from running up the stairs of the unit of prefabs. Wheezing in ragged breaths, she fumbled around in her pockets for her inhaler. A few deep puffs soothed the burn in her chest as she fell into the open spot on the sofa next to her dad.

On the screen covering the wall, a news program was already in progress. The Alliance News Network reporter on the screen was an older gentleman in a crisp black suit. His handsome face was lined with seriousness as he continued his broadcast.

[“—ports are still scattered at the moment, but the Human Systems Alliance has confirmed an attack was repelled from Elysium early this morning, around 05:21 GST. Again: the human colony in the Skyllian Verge, Elysium, has been under communications blackout for the past seven hours after a large-scale attack. Estimates of the dead are upwards of 10,000 and may be as high as a tenth of the colony, humanity’s oldest in the system.”]

“Oh shit fucking hell. It’s true.” Sam sighed as she tucked her knees up under her chin. She coughed slightly as the burning in her chest cleared.

I was hoping—hoping—the other kids had just gotten it wrong. Some fake news chaining its way around the colonies like some sick, shitty joke.

And knocking off school early? Was the entire school, or all of Horizon, in on it?

Just—uhhh—shut up. Let me have my denial.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder gently shook Sam as Geoffrey admonished, “Don’t swear. Especially like that. …Good lord, what are they teaching you in that high school?”

“All the essentials, clearly,” Sam quipped back, her eyes still trained on the screen.

A small crawl feed trailed in the corner of the screen. [“Targeted bombings reported at key locations around Illyria. Wall breaches in five sectors. Coordinated attack leaves colony in chaos and stock futures for Baria Frontiers and ExoGeni Corporation remain in freefall.”]

Thousands of people are dead, probably by pirates, and these arseholes are worried about their bloody stocks? Samantha scowled into her knees. God, I hate arseholes. I hope I never become one.

Gotta get rich first. Then become an arsehole.

Priya’s voice was faint in the other room, clearly on a call with the hospital. “—re we taking in any of the survivors? …then what about volunteers? …when we will know when it’s clear to offer assistance? …Look, Mark, I know we’re all overworked as it is… But this could have been us… I disagree, who are we to know if they’d ‘do the same for us?’ …This isn’t about what-if, this is about—“

A feeling of pride swelled in Samantha’s chest as she listened to the ferocity in her mum’s voice.

“I see the uni got dismissed before the high school,” Sam observed to her father out of the corner of her mouth, eyes still glued to the screen.

“I was still in office hours before the announcement went out. Didn’t even make it to my first class,” Geoffrey returned with a sip of his tea before placing it back on the side table.

“That’s such bollocks.” Sam scowled. “Everyone knew by first period and they didn’t dismiss finally til third. …what’s the time differential?”

A smile curled under Geoffrey’s beard. “Don’t be lazy. You know the time dilation formula. Three relay jumps. Galactic standard time adjustment. Horizon operates on a 37-hour day, Elysium on a 27-hour day. What is the time differential? Tell me my tax dollars haven’t been an utter waste.” The professor’s eyes sparkled in challenge.

Closing her eyes, a series of math formulas popped into Sam’s head. Her fingers drummed on her shin as she worked through the equation. “Ugh, this is such bollocks. Time is utterly absurd on a galactic scale… Because technically they’re like seven months in the future. But—carry the four—the attack occurred around like… lunchtime? Noonish?”

Geoffrey checked his Omni-tool. “Correct.” A hand stroked his chin in pride while his other arm squeezed Sam’s shoulders. “Batarians are already taking credit for it.”

An irrational stab of hatred flashed in Sam’s eyes, her nostrils flaring. “What do those nasty four-eyed buggers have against us?? Bloody slavers who wouldn’t—“

That arm rocked Sam’s shoulders again. “You forget we weren’t here first, Sam. And you forget your human history. Israel and Palestine ring any bells? Land promised to one civilization then given to another? Years of conflict as a result?”

Ughhhh…

This is what happens when your dad is a professor. Everything is a bloody learning experience.

…Can’t I just be upset?

“…can’t I just be upset, dad? This could have been us.”

“You’re right. It could have been. And this was symbolic and they knew it.” There was a hardness to her father’s words, an edge he was trying to keep dulled.

The reporter on the news chimed back in after a few stock videos of past Alliance skirmishes.

[“The Alliance has just confirmed one initial rumor: the communication blackout was broken by a team of heroic off-duty soldiers led by an N7 marine. This team stormed a bunker and managed to activate the emergency beacon system. The SSV Agincourt war frigate is already credited with an unconfirmed 42 ships brought down around Illyria of pirate bands attempting to hold the colony. That number is still climbing as other Alliance Navy ships have arrived.”]

“This is like a movie. I didn’t think this happened in real life,” Samantha remarked. Since she’d heard the news this morning, there had been this heaviness in her chest. A sense of smallness and disbelief.

It seemed so absurd. An entire colony going dark? All communications offline?

Communication is all we bloody have out here. Without it, we’re not the Human Systems Alliance. We’re just Another Backwoods Colony Trying to Make It On Our Own.

And lambs to the slaughter, apparently.

The rumor mill at school had been unstoppable for hours. A few upset parents had swooped in to pick up their kids before any formal announcement had been made. Sam had been hunkered down in the hallway with a pair of friends, Omni-tools out and combing through reports. A few clever custom filters had screened out some of the more ludicrous claims (“Third Contact War with turians nigh (Citadel Council does nothing)!” or “Geth returned from quarian space to conquer galaxy!” or, Sam’s personal favorite, “Civil War breaks out in Elysium over Illyria’s loss in the bioti-ball play-offs!”) all seemed to agree on one thing: a human colony had been attacked.

Nicole had chewed her lip, a number of relatives from (or stationed on) Illyria.

Victoria next to Nicole had tried to be reassuring. The brunette had put a hand on her girlfriend’s wrist. “It’s probably some training exercise gone awry.”

Nodding, Sam tried to feel optimistic. “Or they’re blowing it out of proportion. You know how those gits love their ratings.” She’d snapped her mouth shut at Victoria’s withering glare.

Only when Ms. Steinhold had released them from Applied Statistics had the news started to feel real to Samantha. But the epiphany wasn’t immediate. It was deadened by numb disbelief even as she hitched a ride home from Nicole and Victoria. Even as the car radio repeated the claims back. Even as Sam gasped for breath across the brown dirt of her street and saw other families home, their own wall screens tuned to the news in rapt attention.

Everyone on Horizon—maybe even every human on every colony—had gone home to hold their breath.

It was some analyst who came on later who coined it the “Skyllian Blitz.”

A blitzkrieg. “Lightning war.”

Geoffrey Traynor had nodded at the aptness of the phrasing. “Not a movie, sprog. History repeating itself.”

“I don’t see turians or asari dealing with this sort of ‘history,’” Sam retorted, indignant. It was all she could to keep the smallness at bay, the hopeless misery of feeling hated by the entire galaxy.

Are they really that much more advanced than the lowly humans? No one picks on them? No one tries to wipe out their colonies?

“Maybe it will bring the galactic community closer together,” Geoffrey suggested, his tone neutral.

It took all of Sam’s energy not to scoff. She was filled with childish indignation at this point, an impotent rage that mirrored the latest fire-and-brimstone retired Admiral calling for swift and immediate action against the batarian hegemony. Definitely a better feeling than despair, but without any outlet: what could Sam do?

Mum is organizing off-world volunteers to take care of the wounded. Dad will probably counsel his students and fellow faculty.

And I’m 16 and all I do is go to school and play chess. I can’t enlist for two years, and even then I’d be too bloody terrified to pick up a weapon. Does the galaxy really need someone like me on the front lines?

God, I hope not. Because humanity is fucked.

A fresh face interrupted the latest speculation, much to Sam’s relief. She felt herself getting wound up by all the aimless rage. Some calm heads and facts would be a welcome respite.

[“This is Artermis Kingston, reporting live from Arcturus Station. We have acquired ground footage from Elysium in this firsthand report from a survivor in Illyria. This footage made be disturbing to some viewers due to its violent subject matter. Discretion is advised.”]

A jerky Omni-tool video proceeded to play. It followed a heavily breathing camera operant, a young Black man with terrified eyes. His uniform bore the logo of the monorail corporation of Illyria.

The view swung dizzily back below him, his frantic breathing a constant background sound. A smoldering train could be seen down the line as the man crawled around the raised platform. Occasionally, his frantic breathing formed words of prayer under his breath.

Popping gunfire could be heard in the distance along with the crackle of fires. The noonday sun was oddly cheery in the background as dozens of smoke lines drifted lazily to the sky.

Just below the man, an explosion drew his attention and the camera jerked. The sound decayed to static from just sheer overwhelming noise. It died down though the crackling persisted. The camera ducked for cover for a moment before peeking back up to look.

The central ring of the inner wall of Illyria had just caved in as a swarm of pirates fired into the colony. A dozen Alliance soldiers crouched behind blockade walls below the camera and attempted to repel the invaders. One by one they were picked off.

It sickened Samantha to see their bodies fall limp. She leaned into her father’s side, occasionally burying her face into his sleeve when the camera lurched forward for a close-up of a soldier’s lifeless face.

Zooming back out, one lone soldier with a red stripe on the arm shouted for backup. But when they realized the man next to them was dead, the person clenched their fists in anguish. Pinned down by at least 15 pirates, the last soldier standing should have been dead.

Sam felt fear catch in her throat. This wasn’t a movie. This was really happening. She was watching people die.

Oh God, please be okay. Why would the ANN show this??

…I can’t watch.

Suddenly there was a flash of blue and the soldier wasn’t there anymore. The camera was just as confused as Sam was, the screen panning around trying to find the subject again. Another flash of blue as the camera found and zoomed in on the fray of pirates being torn to shreds by a flashing Omni-blade and surging biotics.

What should have been a massacre was quickly turned against the advancing pirates. They were torn to pieces by a lone combatant who was faster, fiercer and better trained than them. Every moment of hesitation from a pirate or a missed shot was an open opportunity for the soldier to strike and move on.

Sam squinted at the footage.

Is that… red hair? Is that… a woman?

A total badass woman, that’s for bloody sure.

The camera/man sighed with relief as the soldier rummaged through the bodies and found whatever they were looking forward. A moment later, charges were set and a large billboard jutting up next to the hole collapsed into the space, blocking at further incursion.

The video paused as the soldier stood overlooking the rubble, a shotgun primed over one shoulder. Just like at the end of a movie.

Except real life. This woman, this soldier: she was real.

[“The Alliance confirmed the hero in this footage was off-duty N7 marine Lieutenant Annelise Shepard, 22. The Alliance has also confirmed the team that activated the emergency beacon system was also led by Lieutenant Shepard.”]

22… 22??

I’ll be 22 if—when I graduate university… and she—she fought off an army of pirates??

Bloody hell.

How—what could I ever do that would even come close to that? Win the Kepesh-Yakshi Grand Tourney on Illium?

Ms. Kingston winked at the camera before quickly regaining her serious composure. [“The ANN will have an exclusive interview with Lieutenant Shepard—and the other heroes of the Skyllian Blitz—as this story unfolds.”]

The male newscaster returned to the screen with a sober smile. [“Thank you, Artemis. The Citadel Council has condemned this horrific attack on human soil and has dispatched goodwill ambassadors—along with aid ships—to the Skyllian Verge to assist in the recovery effort. The Human Systems Alliance has opened up comm lines for charity and volunteer organizations as well. There is a—“]

Geoffrey patted his daughter’s head, ruffling her hair affectionately, before joining his wife in the kitchen. The Traynor parents quietly discussed the Elysium attack.

Sam feigned interest in the news while also attempting to eavesdrop. Her father was muted with worry, fearing for Horizon in the wake of the attack. Priya was more fiery in her resentment. They’d been through hell to move out to this colony and no one was going to take their home from them.

Something nagged at Samantha that started her down a rabbit hole of extranet articles. It kindled something within Sam that was different from outrage or despair.

It was curiosity.

How could a coordinated attack bring down an entire colony’s communications network?

What sort of comms don’t need a buoy network to function? A buoy network that can be assaulted and brought down so easily?

Sam came across a stub of an article in the research section of the Alliance R&D tab.

“Quantum Entanglement Communication: Practical Applications.”

And started to read.

[toolatetofall]

Before

Okay, I am so fucking excited. I’ve finished the first draft of part 1 of 6 of my mass effect fanfic. Going long-term, it’s going to be a ShepShep fic, but I think I’m going to characterize their relationship more as queerplatonic than sexual. It’s a 2 Shep AU (obviously) where male Shep is the “main Shepard”, but it’s told from femshep’s POV.

Anyway! It’s in second POV for femshep, and the events in the prologue are prior to joining the Normandy. She has the Earthborn/Sole Survivor background. This is a rough draft, so I haven’t posted it on AO3. To that end, I’d really appreciate hearing thoughts on characterization, writing, any minor mistakes, etc. Please feel free to message me!

I’ve never done a TW before, so if I miss something, please tell me and I will add it! I think the things that need a TW have to do with the backgrounds, so death, physical violence, gang activity. Again, if I miss something, PLEASE tell me. 

Before

The memory of your mother is a hazy one. You know you loved her- her face is harder to conjure. You have the vague memory of citrus perfume, too-blonde hair, shoulders shaking with laughter. You have a holo from her case file, and you suppose you look enough alike, mostly around the nose, but you just... you can’t place her in your childhood. 

It was a Tuesday evening when you found out she was missing. You’d been staying with your neighbor while your mother was at work, parked in front of the TV munching crackers as the characters on screen sang a song about friendship.You can remember every stupid word. 

Amanda, your neighbor, had been getting testy; your mom was late. It was almost three hours past when she got off work when Amanda got a call and chaos broke.

The rest of the evening comes only in flashes now.  The itchy, pink and yellow jumper you’d been wearing with snot-drenched sleeves. The worn, leather seats in the back of your caseworker’s car. An unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place. 

It’s a blur; you didn’t understand completely what was happening. You were six. You knew that mom was gone, but you didn’t understand where or why. You asked when she was coming back. 

They didn’t have an answer.

----

Your mother was never found. Maybe she died, either back then or since, maybe she’s still alive somewhere, a survivor of the Reaper war. You have no idea, and frankly you aren’t sure that it matters. At least now. It mattered then. 

Because your mother wasn’t declared legally dead, at least until you were fourteen, you couldn’t be adopted. You didn’t have any family to take you in either- not your mom’s family, she’d never talked about them, and certainly not your father whose name wasn’t even on your birth certificate. Instead, you floated from home to home every few weeks, months, years, hauling all your worldly possessions in trash bags along with you. Some placements were better than others. There was one where you’d only lasted two and a half weeks, but there was another that was almost 18 months. 

The Shepards. You’d liked them; Nick and Silas. They were an eldery couple that you’d moved in with after your 9th birthday. They moved off-planet when you were ten. They’d petitioned to adopt you and take you with them, but your mom was still legally alive, and you were moved. 

You found it hard to settle after that; nothing was comfortable. It couldn’t be. The moment you got comfortable was the moment you’d be moved again. 

The Reds were different. You don’t remember how you fell in with them, not specifically, but you do remember having that aching need to belong somewhere, and that they fulfilled that need.

You were useful to them. You could crawl into places that the others were too big to get into. You could get into a building and squirrel away cargo, or let others in. You weren’t a bad pickpocket either. You were a child; if (when) you got caught, you could play innocent, not like the others. You could claim ignorance, youth. The Reds protected you. You were indispensable. 

Until you weren’t.

----

Your biotics announced themselves with an explosion of blue light. You’d been in the middle of a job with Miller, trying to sneak some cargo out of a warehouse outside of Vancouver. He’d said something (you can’t remember what now, but it had pissed you off), and suddenly there was a flash of blue, he’d been thrown into the shelves a few meters away, and the bones in your arm had wrenched themselves apart. You’re sure you screamed, that both of you did, but you don’t remember. The pain had been so blinding that you’d passed out in seconds. 

When you woke up in the hospital, you weren’t alone. Your caseworker, Cecil, was there, accompanied by a dour faced person in navy blue. Sargent Blake, Cecil had told you. Sargent Blake was there to invite you to the Alliance. 

The System’s Alliance needed biotics; they’ve always needed biotics, and the state wasn’t really equipped to handle them. The Alliance had a program for biotic children. They’d taken care of the criminal charges you’d faced, and they would provide food, lodging, and education. You were a ward of the state, and the state transferred your custody while you’d slept. Invite. Feh. Like hell. The decision had already been made. 

Still, you were luckier than Miller. You found out later that he was comatose for almost eight months, and arrested after he awoke. To say the Reds would no longer welcome you would be an understatement. They would’ve loved to get their hands on you. 

Didn’t matter. The Alliance had you.

----

“Jane Shepard? The doctor will see you now.” You’d hesitated before following the nurse out of the waiting room. Shepard. It felt so odd. You hoped the change would keep the Reds from finding you, and you knew Nick and Silas wouldn’t mind. 

Still, there were a lot of changes in a short amount of time. New ability, new name, and now new place and new species. Well, new to you anyway. As your salarian nurse took you to your exam room, you’d tried hard not to stare as they ran you through a standard medical battery.  The alliance had brought you and all of their other new trainees to the citadel to get your physicals and your implants. It was surreal. You’d never seen an alien before, at least in person. Everything was so new, you’d never felt so... off balance before. But this was your new normal, and you had to adjust eventually.

----

You officially enlisted in the Alliance on your eighteenth birthday, to the surprise of no one. You’d already been engaged in their biotic training program for almost two years, and you were close to completing your secondary education under the program. 

Every single teenager in that program ended up enlisted. Sometimes you guys liked to think of what you guys could do outside the Alliance; teachers, writers, cops, scientists, everything, but for the life of you, you’d never been able to imagine anything else. The Alliance felt inevitable; biotics weren’t exactly welcome in civilian life, and you didn’t have the money or support system to try to strike out on your own.

Basic was split, biotics separate from the others. It was weird. In this place of training and strength, there was an underlying understanding. The biotics were more dangerous. They had had training before. They didn’t need a weapon; they were weapons. But at that point you weren’t sure how to be anything else.

----

Nomination for ICT wasn’t a surprise. You’d worked your ass off for the Alliance and anyway, if there was a push for biotics to join the military, there was a shove to get them into special forces. You’d been a good little biotic; kept your head down, temper in check, taking and conquering even the most basic assignments without problem or complaint. 

Despite the competitive atmosphere of Vila Militar, you’d ended up making friends for the first time in years. Or maybe they made you. Shaw, a too-energetic, puppyish engineer, was never going to let you shrug off his friendship, he was too damn persistent. John Shepard had also been pulled into his orbit, and the two of you had bonded over your exasperation with Shaw, mutual love of shit beer and competition, and frustration at sharing a name.

The three of you were an odd group, but it worked. Shaw was excitable and personable, keeping you together with sheer will. John (not Shepard, you’re Shepard) was responsible, a group mom through and through, trying in vain to keep you out of trouble. And you? Well, you’ve always been a bit... brusque, but they balanced it well. 

They were family, or the closest you’d had in a long time. The rest didn’t matter.

----  

John-fucking-Shepard, the big-fucking-hero. Of course he was on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz, and of course he kicked ass to the point he was getting the Star of Terra, not to mention his damn N7 commendation. 

“Just in the right place at the right time,” he’d said sheepishly when you and Shaw had caught up with him after the ceremony. You’d never rolled your eyes so hard. John always had a lucky streak a mile wide and it wouldn’t end anytime soon. 

“That’s okay,” Shaw had replied with a grin as you pulled John into a headlock and messed his hair. “We’ll get you next time.”

He’d laughed because of course he did. “I look forward to it.”

----

When you had landed on Akuze with your unit, you’d expected pirates. Slavers. A straightforward explanation to the missing colonists. Instead, the only thing to greet you were empty, undisturbed buildings. It was like everyone just got up and left. 

Your platoon, all 49 of them plus you and Shaw, searched the colony on your commander’s orders, but there was nothing. The terminals were all wiped clean, the data pads were gone, there weren't any tracks. Hell, there wasn’t even dust. 

You all made camp nearby as the sun sunk below the horizon. None of you would say so but there was something eerie about the lost colony. Haunted. Like the planet was holding its breath.

The first maw came near midnight, announcing itself with a roar and with trembling ground that shook you out of sleep. They caught you by surprise. You may have had guards and scouts, but there was no warning. 

You don’t remember much of the attack, dammit, you don’t remember. There are flashes of chaos- gunfire, screams, thresher maws pulling whole ground transports full of soldiers beneath the Earth. You remember running so hard your breath was just quick gasps, the cobalt corona of your biotics expanding around you, flashes of Shaw’s face contorted with resolution, the red of viscera everywhere you look. 

You’re not even sure if those are real memories, or just echoes from your nightmares. Maybe it’s your brain filling in the gaps from what you’ve been told. 

You were found 11 clicks away from camp, splattered with blood and armor corroded from acid, and passed out from pain (or so you were told. You don’t remember). Both of your arms had broken during the ordeal, likely from over-extending your biotics. You were alone. No platoon, no Shaw, not even a single body. The team that found you said that the colony was in a maw nest, that six thresher maws had attacked the camp. They destroyed the colony, the camp, and your platoon. In return, the unit only managed to kill two of them, but the bastards had the element of surprise. 

You didn’t put it together until you were in a hospital, but something was wrong. More wrong than losing your whole platoon, losing Shaw, to fucking worms. They’d said the colony must have been destroyed by the maws, that they must have killed the colonists, but that’s not right. Those buildings were spotless. There were no bodies. There was no anything. The maws didn’t kill the colonists. They’re not that clean. 

You tried to tell the brass. They’d given you your N7 commendation for surviving that hell; you thought that meant they’d trust you. They didn’t. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” they’d told you at the memorial. “Maybe you need to take some time.” Maybe they were right, but you still knew what you saw. If you wanted answers, you’d have to find them on your own time. 

----

You hit a lot of dead ends fast, and used up most of your leave following up leads that took you nowhere. It’d barely been a year before you only had one path left.  The Shadow Broker.

It took every last credit you had, but they agreed to send an agent to meet you. 

John agreed to go with you to the meet up point on the Citadel, in some hole in the wall cafe. It felt like time was slowing down as the agent approached. You were finally going to get answers. Then time stopped with a loud CRACK, and the contact fell dead, a hole left in the middle of their head. 

You were paranoid; you’d always been paranoid. That day, it’d saved your ass. You’d been trying to get the fuck out of there when another bullet ripped through your barrier, bruising your back but, mercifully, nothing more.

You’d been far from the door. There had been two shooters, above, out of sight. 

You and John didn’t say so after you’d escaped, but it had been a warning shot. Any snipers worth their salt could have killed you. 

Stupid, you were so stupid.

You’d returned to your apartment, head pounding. Before you said a word, John had pulled you against his chest, squeezing hard. You remember looking him in the eyes, seeing the naked fear there.

“Stop looking.”

You’d promised you would.

You didn’t.

----

Well, at least not intentionally. When you contacted the Shadow Broker again (or their intermediary anyway), you were informed the price for the information had doubled. You were already broke, you couldn’t afford the information. You tried to double back and get your hands on the report from that day in the cafe, but there was nothing solid to follow, no leads. 

What you got instead was a new assignment. 

Operation Adrestia. The words tasted odd in your mouth. It’s internal affairs, sort of. Monitoring and chasing leads on operations led by humans that would wreck Alliance credibility with the Citadel. Monitoring and thwarting fringe scientists, extremists groups, keeping tabs on category sixes... 

You didn’t do the investigation, just acted on information the brains gave you. If you were honest, you actually liked it. At least it was more interesting than your service had been. Lead to some good stories at least. 

Disrupting a Terra Firma attack on a predominantly salarian transport. 

Stopping colonial governments in the Traverse from antagonizing batarians to trigger Alliance/Hegemony conflicts. 

Even the less ostentatious operations like quietly discharging an Alliance attache who’d looked a little farther than legal into AI.

It kept you busy, but it was work you loved.

----

It was 2183 when you were contacted by Admiral Kahoku. He had found out his squad was lured to their deaths with a false distress signal in the middle of a maw nest and correctly assumed you’d be interested in following the thread. Akuze was common knowledge, and Kahoku was the first member of the brass to even humor your idea that it was anything other than a tragic accident. 

He’d gotten in touch with the Shadow Broker. They’d given him a name and a location. 

Cerberus. 

Binthu in the Voyager Cluster. 

Finally, a chance for answers. 

He was planning to go and wanted back up. Probably smart, considering how Cerberus disrupted your previous contact with the Broker. 

It was quick and quiet, like everything you did for the Alliance. Scans of the planet reveal three active Cerberus strongholds. 

The two of you decide that time was of the essence, that you needed to be quick to get information before they noticed you. 

You decided to split up. 

That was a mistake.

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Book Blitz: There Be Demons by M.K. Theodoratus (Excerpt + Giveaway)

There Be Demons M.K. Theodoratus Publication date: September 26th 2017 Genres: Paranormal, Suspense, Young Adult

After her father remarries, Britt Kelly’s life becomes a cesspit. She lives in her sister’s two-bedroom tenement apartment with her mother, two brothers, and two young nephews. She starts a new high school where she knows no one. And, even when Britt thinks she’s making friends, the church where she studies in is torn down. Then, the field commanders of The Demon Wars draft her and her friends to aid the four Gargoyle Guardians who fight the demons invading the city of Trebridge. The fate of the city hangs on Britt’s ability to lead and learn enough self-control to manipulate the natural magic of Grace. Meanwhile, she also needs to decide what to do about Cahal, her chemistry lab partner who is as strong as her and may have interests more than just protecting Trebridge. “There Be Demons” is a continuation of M. K. Theodoratus’ urban fantasy, “Night for the Gargoyles”. It tells the tale of Gillen and his team of Gargoyle Guardians as they defend Trebridge while teaching Britt and her friends – the untrained “reinforcements. Along the way, Gillen and Britt learn things about each other to make them stronger both together and alone.

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—

EXCERPT:

Britt Kelly leaned against the jamb between the cramped kitchen and living room of her new home in the projects. I feel like a sardine stuffed in a can. Her anger churned. If her father hadn’t abandoned his family for his bimbo boss, she’d be back home in her own bedroom, chatting with friends about the new school year. Instead, she was stuck in her older half-sister’s apartment. Many prized the apartments in St. Edmund’s Towers for their size, but Britt refused to see it. She looked at the walls they had painted as a trap. Her mother and sister were sleeping in each family’s respective bedroom. Her two small nephews smeared jam on their faces in the living room as they waited for the cartoons to start. Her two younger brothers, Carlos and Darin, whispered in the bathroom, forgetting their argument over who got the sink first might wake their sleeping mother. Welcome to another merry day in the projects. The teen huffed as she waited for her brothers to get ready to sneak away to go see their father uptown. Her thoughts switched to getting revenge on her absentee father. He’d missed his last two court-ordered visits, but she’d get him today, even if her mother forbade them to annoy him. The court said he could see his kids every third Sunday of the month. See them he would. Her brothers had a right to visit him even if his new wife hated them like cooties. Britt was going to make sure they did. Wish I could make him suffer for the visits he’s missed. A vision of Britt sticking him with a knitting needle in each hand like his Granny Nan made her smile. No. That’s not vicious enough. A vision of a steamroller with thousands of pins on its roller popped into Britt’s mind. In seconds, the machine squashed her father into the ground. When he emerged from underneath, he was a bleeding mess. A low volume fanfare announced the TV news. Just as she was about to yank her brothers out of the bathroom, her favorite reporter came on. Jessica Hawthorne of the The Trebridge Channel wore a stunning form-fitting green outfit that Britt coveted. The color would go as well with her dark hair as the reporter’s blond, blue-eyed looks. Hawthorne took a deep breath, ready to deliver her morning spiel. Britt swallowed hard. Before the Divorce, Britt had worn expensive clothes like Hawthorne’s, not thrift shop junk like she wore now. When they lost their uptown apartment after her mom got sick, the county sheriff had dumped all their belongings on the sidewalk. Most of their stuff got stolen. Dad could’ve helped us. At least buy us some new clothes for school. He’s still got plenty of money. Mom couldn’t help getting sick. The small living room swallowed Jessica Hawthorne’s breathy voice. Britt strained to hear her over the bratbies’ sporadic giggles as they shoved pieces of toast in each other’s faces. “Enough about the underage Crown Prince of Andor getting caught in a strip joint when he should have been at school. Closer to home and our thought for the day. The Guarda assures the citizens of Trebridge the new curfew will end the vandalism and muggings. Stronger measures are needed, I tell you. Scores of people appear at hospitals with the most dreadful wounds and can’t remember how they got them.” The reporter blathered on, an earnest expression knitting her brows. “We need more guarda on the streets, especially in the river districts. These hoodlums need to be stopped.” Britt concentrated harder, not daring to turn up the volume while her mother slept. She worked the swing shift now and didn’t get home until four in the morning. Someday I’ll look that polished again, I swear. Granny Nan would bawl Dad out for how we live now if she were still alive. Britt shut her complaints down, feeling embarrassed at how proud she had once been to be called her daddy’s ‘little princess’. “While the guarda say their investigations are ongoing, I don’t see any results. Why have so many people disappeared? The police haven’t a clue.” Her lip curled. “You’d almost think we’re being invaded by demons and our fine protectors are too scared to investigate.” Her contempt poured from the screen. Britt tapped her foot, wishing her brothers would stop giggling. She wished she lived uptown where she still had a room of her own. Granted, they didn’t live on the streets, but four people stuffed in one bedroom in her half-sister’s apartment was torture. Her father deserved to be kicked in the ass. Britt wanted revenge. Her father needed to pay for abandoning his family and her. The noise in the bathroom grew louder. Those buttheads better not wake Mom up. Britt twitched the draped folds of her new V-neck blouse wishing she had the boobs to fill it out. It did have a designer label, just the thing she needed to sneak into the posh condos where her father now lived. Just like the boys can’t wear their grubs today. “I want to wear a T-shirt to Dad’s, Britt.” Quarrelsome Darin whined behind her, making her jump. He had become a total pain since their parents’ divorce. Britt hoped seeing their dad would stop his constant bitching. Britt didn’t feel any guilt for disobeying their mother’s orders. The boys deserved to see their cockroach of a father. His ice-blooded new wife could just tough out their visit. Britt’s muscles tightened in the cold, funny way they did when something bad was going to happen. She shook her head, forcing herself to ignore the bothersome feeling that was happening too often for comfort. Glancing at the closed bedroom doors, she put a finger to her lips. Mom’s going to blister our ears if we wake her. Darin opened his mouth. Lifting her hand to smack him, she brushed back the thick fall of hair across her eyes instead. If she hit him, Darin’s screams would wake their mom and Pietra, their half-sister. Keeping her voice low, she said, “Get your butt in gear. You’re wearing what you’re wearing. End of questions, comments, and complaining.” Darin did not give up. “My tees are clean. Dad don’t like fancy either. He sat in front of the TV with his shirt and shoes off all the time. In summer, he only wore his boxers. Remember? Mom always got mad at him for leaving beer cans on the coffee table. Always.” “Shh. Don’t wake Mom or Pietra.” Britt held a finger to her lips. “Get your shoes on, and we can talk in the hall.” “I don’t like dress shirts either.” Carlos, her older, calmer brother, carefully left the bathroom door partly ajar. “It’s not fair to make us wear them. You’re just a kid like us even if you’re taller. Being a high school freshmen ain’t no bigger deal than being in fifth grade.” “Stop being buttheads, both of you.” Britt jerked the apartment door open. “You begged to visit Dad. I’m doing the best I can to see you do, so shut up and move your ass before Mom wakes up.” Her mother did her best to push their father out of their lives. Britt refused to let her have her wish. Since the messy divorce and his marriage to the Ice-Bitch, Timothy Kelly had seldom spent more than an hour with them. Their dad mostly offered excuses when his visitation weekend came.When he did see them, they barely ate a fast lunch before he sent them off to a movie on their own. The last time was three months ago. Britt missed him and his compliments terribly. He’s not going to escape today. Britt remembered their one visit to the posh high-rise, so different from both their suburban and project homes. The pristine rooms, sprinkled with figurines and trinkets, made her nervous enough to get the cold crawls down her back every time she moved. The Ice-Bitch’s rat-dog had barked and snapped at them the whole time. Carlos didn’t mean to break the stupid shepherd figurine when he jumped. The damn dog would’ve bit him if I hadn’t kicked the yapping rat in the head. I don’t care if the cabrona told us never to come back again. It’s our right to see him. Outside the apartment, the hallway reeked from years of cooking in the eight apartments of the fifth floor, B-wing. In spite of the blinking light of the security camera in its wire cage, someone had tagged both sides of the hall. Thankfully, they left the picture Britt called the “Tree of Life” undamaged. Someone had painted a huge tree with birds flittering through the leaves. No one told the artist that real trees didn’t grow alone, especially the big ones. Britt missed the trees lining the streets of their lost home, and the painting’s survival gave Britt hope she might survive living in the slums, too. Be glad you don’t down near the docks. The thought of trees made Britt smile as memories of her summers at Granny Nan’s flitted through her mind, the pines sighing in the breeze while the oaks rustled with a brisker note. Her huge white dogs slipping out of the house to silently disappear into the tree-covered hillsides. Granny Nan standing lost in thought, rubbing her hidden necklace with the tips of her fingers until the gems glowed, when she thought she was alone. The three guard dogs, Nan called her guardians, licking Britt’s face. Britt’s heart clutched when she recalled their goodbye last summer. Granny Nan had bustled about the kitchen, packing a lunch with extra snickerdoodles for the drive back to Trebridge. Just before she shoved the paper bag into her hands, she rose to her tiptoes to kiss Britt on the forehead. “Cheer up, my girl. Next summer will be loads of fun. You’re going to learn all sorts of new stuff. Our secret now. Remember.” The last word had held force as she tapped Britt’s forehead. She’d loved Granny Nan. Staying with her was always fun, except when she trained Britt in self-control. Britt had looked forward to her coming summer, not ever imagining the old woman would die. Britt shoved the memory away because it hurt too much to remember. Won’t learn anything now since she’s dead. A shuffling noise on the stairs put Britt on alert, living in the projects wasn’t as safe as Uptown. The head of the girl from across the hall appeared, followed by some older guy with broad shoulders carrying a sack. The girl took one look at Britt and dropped her gaze before scurrying toward her door. On her way, the girl said, “Hi, tree.” “Why do you always talk to that silly tree, Sara?” asked the guy following her. His gaze rested on where Britt’s boobs should be and sank to her crouch area. When he smirked, Britt was glad her skirt was loose, happy she did not share Pietra and her mom’s busty figures. The dark-haired Tejano girl pushed the door open after unlocking it. “Gerome, Hurry up. Mama wants that milk yesterday.” He scooted into the door, throwing a backward glance at Britt. “Okay, Sara. Okay.” Carlos slipped into the hallway, pulling their door shut without closing it. “Okay, Britt. Now tell me why I gotta do the dress-shirt shit before school starts.” He stopped and folded his arms across his chest. His expression mirrored his father’s when the old man was ready to start a tantrum and throw things when something didn’t go his way. “I’m not going to move an inch until you let me go back and get a t-shirt.” “Yeah,” said Darin, joining them. “We gotta sneak by the co-op’s security, buttheads. If you don’t blend in, they’ll check their list of undesirables and bounce you out the door faster than you can spit. So, you’re wear prissy clothes. Comprendes? Or are you guys totally too stupid to understand?” “Dad don’t like you speaking Spanish,” said Carlos. Darin parroted in the high-pitched voice that grated her patience raw. “Yeah, we’re Andorians. Have been forever. You can even join the Daughters of the Kingscourt.” “Shut up, or go watch TV with the bratbies.” Britt gave him a cold stare. Her fifth-grade brothers hated being lumped with Pietra’s pre-school sons. “Carlos and I’ll visit Dad by ourselves and get bigger ice creams afterward.” Carlos gasped. “You won’t really leave Darin behind?” Britt’s glare heated. “Damn sure I would, if he don’t stop whining like a baby.” “Okay, but I still don’t like dress shirts,” said Darin. “All the guys around here wear tees.” “Duh. Wear a tee to school tomorrow. Now move your ass. We gotta catch the tram.” Once on the street, the boys forgot the argument in a game of shoving and giggling. Was I ever so young? Maybe before Pietra fell down the stairs and everyone blamed me for pushing her. Memories of her father’s great-grandmother who lived back in the hills flooded through her mind. Longing pulsed through Britt as she thought of the summers when she lived with her. Britt should’ve hated the old woman, but she loved her. When she was nine, Britt had been sent away because everyone thought she shoved Pietra down the stairs, breaking her leg. Pietra had been teasing her by lifting her Mr. Pongo over her head, and she had been jumping trying to grab him away. But she slipped. Pietra had fallen down the stairs when Britt had grabbed her for balance. No one believed her when Britt said it was an accident. The summer after, Granny Nan had invited her back. She did teach her to “control” her temper. She taught her imagination games. Made her use her use all her senses to examine the world around her. Taught her to sing in descant during the long evenings with the mages who came to visit her. Granny Nan was a Dissenter who disliked the Kingscourt and all it stood for. Still, Britt had loved Granny Nan’s mountain valley. The summers had been the most wonderful of Britt’s life. Author Bio: A Northern California gal, M. K. Theodoratus has been intrigued by fantasy since she started reading comic books. She has traveled through many fantasy worlds since then. When she's not disappearing into other writer's worlds, she's creating her own alternative worlds--that of Andor where demons prey on humans and the Far Isle Half-Elven where she explores the social and political implications of genetic drift on a hybrid elf/human people.

A sixth grade English assignment introduced Theodoratus to story writing. The teacher asked for a short story and gave a "C" for an incomplete, 25-page Nancy Drew pastiche which turned into a novel the next summer. Theodoratus has been addicted to writing stories happily ever after. Currently, Theodoratus lives with her old man and two lap-cats in Colorado.

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