since a lot of people thought my last post about this was cool i thought i would share some more photos, i actually found a few of these on this particular hike :)
The local population watching in terrified horror, the very people who were supposed to be their salvation were now all facing execution after being captured.
The horrifying sound of the first shot, coupled with the sight of the body falling to the ground caused some of the youngest 'unwilling' witnesses to scream.
The second and third shots only added to the horror of the situation.
The sound of gunfire was interrupted in several occasions by muted screams as a small glowing brand was pressed against the necks of several prisoners.
After, what felt like an eternity for the prisoners, the gunshots ceased and a hushed calm seemed to reign for a few moments before the surviving prisoners were dragged from the area.
The horrified witnesses were forced to dispose of the bodies, even the children were not spared the traumatizing task.
The two pilots who had been shot down, and subsequently captured, had no idea if each other was still alive.
Had one of the shots taken the life of their co-pilot - they could only hope that their friend had been spared
I will read it, some of the best works 'evolve' as they are being written. I'm still eagerly waiting for some of my favourite authors WIPs to be updated.
And penguins lack large terrestrial predators, so their reaction to humans tends to be, “HELLO STRANGE GIANT PENGUINS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DO YOU HAVE ANY FISH?”
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7
It was almost two hours later that someone came and told them they could go and see Scott. They made their way to the ICU on the second floor and stopped just outside of the elevators to decide who would go first.
"I think Gordon and I will go." Grandma was next to Gordon, her arm around his waist.
"No, I think I'm good." Gordon tried to back up, but his grandma wouldn't let him.
"This is something I'm going to require of you, young man." She let go of him and turned him to face her. "I know exactly what is going through your mind right now, and I know what you need. The last time you saw Scott was in the worst way. You need to see him now, alive and healing or you are not going to have a peaceful night."
"But what if—"
"He's not, and you are going to go in there and see for yourself."
"I agree with your grandmother. While you two are in there, we'll settle on the who will be next. Take your time though."
Grandma Tracy nodded and took Gordon's hand and pulled him behind her.
He stumbled a couple of steps but caught up and followed her past the nurses station—a nurse pointed them down to the third room—and to the door, but then stopped.
"Gordon." Grandma Tracy turned to face him. "You have to."
"But what if—"
"Trust me."
Gordon had his eyes closed, afraid to open them, but took a deep breath and stepped into the room. His grandma squeezed his hand and he opened his eyes.
Scott lay in his bed silently, the machines around him humming and beeping the tune of his existence. His head was about the only thing free of a bandage or contraption, but that stopped at his throat and the tube Gordon himself had put in.
Gordon shook his head, and made himself look again. Scott's cheeks were pale but not the nasty graying color Gordon had seen in the back of Four. His lips were pink and chapped and just slightly parted. Gordon watched as Grandma Tracy pulled out some chap stick from her purse and carefully applied it.
His arm and leg were bandaged up from the breaks, and he was laying in a sling that was wrapped around his torso.
His grandma seemed to understand his confusion and pulled him over next to the bed. "It's to help his ribs. As you know, binding them is bad, but with the extent of damage if they were to just let him lay they would heal on the flat side and his torso would take on an oval shape which would cause an unnecessary number of issues—continuing with IR being one of them. This will help keep the shape of his torso round and allow it to heal properly."
Gordon nodded but kept his mouth firmly shut. Sure, he looked okay, but his mom looked okay too in that casket of hers way back then. Gordon can still remember thinking it was her and went to hug her, only she was stiff and her face was ice cold.
"Gordon, touch him." His grandma was pulling on his hand, leading it to Scott's uninjured one.
"I—I can't."
"You can, and you have to."
He didn't want to say it, but his grandma kept pulling at his hand. "If he's cold like mom—"
He felt her let go of his hand, and a moment later her arms were around his shoulders. "Oh, Gordon, I had no idea you even remembered that."
"How could I forget it?" He buried his face in the nape of her neck and wrapped his arms around her small frame as tears started to once again fall.
She pulled away and held his face in her hands. "I understand your fear all too well. Some days I wish I hadn't touched your grandfather at the funeral, and some days I'm glad I did. Sometimes touch, sound, taste, smell—those memories can be so much stronger than our visual ones. And so much more potent." She had silently moved him closer to the bed but didn't move to grab his hand again. "How about this. We'll cover his hand with the sheet, and I'll show you where his pulse is."
His grandma was a Tracy and wasn't going to give up, so he agreed and let her guide his fingers to Scott's pulse. It was slow, a little groggy, but steady. Slowly she let go and he just stood there, listening to it through his fingers. The fear in his heart scurried away little by little and soon he was uncovering his brother's hand and hesitantly touching the tips of his fingers. They weren't hot by any means, but they weren't cold. There were calluses on the pads of his fingers from all the climbing he did but he could still feel the warmth through them. Finally he picked up his brother's hand and held it to his cheek letting himself feel the warmth in his hand.
"See. I wouldn't lead you wrong would I?"
"No, I know, but—"
"I know. It's hard to ignore a fear so deep." She petted at his hair as he stood there and cried, this time not in fear but in relief.
Virgil and John were the next to go in when they finally emerged, and then Jeff would stay the night.
"Aren't you going to see him?" Gordon was sitting in a chair with Alan in his wheelchair next to him. They were leaning on each other as best as possible while they waited on their elder two brothers.
"Nah, It'd be hard getting me in there with my leg sticking out like this. Tomorrow I'll have crutches and it'll be easier.
Gordon nodded at that, it made sense. He felt lighter now that the knowledge that Scott was going to be okay finally settled in him. He also felt sleepy.
"Okay, you two." Their grandma was standing in front of them, their father off to the side talking to Virgil and John. "I was able to get us three suites at a nearby hotel, you two are going to have to share a bed though, they only had two rooms with two bedrooms."
"No worries, I'll probably end up on the floor anyways." Alan gave his grandma a thumbs up.
"Just make sure you have your leg propped up."
"Yes, ma'am"
"Alright, you two, time to go." John was behind Alan now, pulling him away from Gordon. Virgil was in front offering a hand to the other blond.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just sleepy now."
"Good."
"Sleep tight, boys." Jeff waved as they made their way onto the elevator.
--------
Virgil and Gordon pulled the straw to be the first to sit with Scott and make their father go to bed. This was mainly because John and Alan were still firmly asleep.
Gordon stretched, his arms far above his head as they walked into the hospital room. Scott lay in the same position as the night before, the fear and emotions he had experience then seemed so far removed with how he felt now. The relief—even though his brother had a long road ahead—had been so heavy that now he felt as if he could fly.
"How are you feeling this morning?" Jeff was sitting in a chair near Scott—his hair was messed, his eyes red.
"Better than you look." Gordon smiled a little. "Go get some sleep, and maybe something to eat. The hotel has pretty good food."
"Might get a shower in there as well." Virgil added as he held a hand out to help his father up.
"Barely a hello, you're being rough on your old man."
"We also know how stubborn you can be as well." Virgil pulled his father into a quick hug once he was on his feet and patted his back. "How's Scott doing?"
"Same as last night. He gags a little because of the excess fluid and mucus in his throat from the tube, but the nurses have been good about coming in and cleaning his mouth out regularly."
"That's good to hear." Virgil nodded as he tapped on the digital chart near his head and looked at the monitor history.
"You sure you're okay Gordon?" His father was in front of him, his hands on his shoulders. "You're eyes look a little unfocused."
"Yeah, just sleepy. Bed was a little stiff. Might see about getting a topper for the mattress or something when the next shift gets here."
"You do that. And don't hesitate to take a nap either if you need to."
"Will do. Now, go. Get some sleep yourself."
"Alright, you two be good."
They waved their father away, and they both turned back to their brother.
"How long till they let him wake up?" Gordon was at the foot of the bed wiggling the big toe on Scott's good leg.
"It'll probably be a few days if not a week or more. He's better off being unaware of the pain he's in."
"Aren't they giving him any pain meds?"
"Yea, but they can only do so much." Virgil was still looking through Scott's chart—there was a lot of data from the past twelve hours and while he could have EOS summarize it for him, he preferred looking at the data himself.
Gordon wasn't sure how long he stood there, things were starting to fuzz a little around the edges. This wasn't just sleepiness. He looked down at Scott's foot and noticed he suddenly had two big toes, and two more legs than he should. He felt like he needed to yawn and went to take in a deep breath, only—yeah, something's not right.
"Virgil—"
"Yeah?"
"I think—something—"
Virgil blinked and looked up just as Gordon crumpled to the ground.
"Nurse!" Virgil dropped to his knees and pulled Gordon over onto his back. He placed his fingers to his neck to feel his pulse and leaned down to see if he could feel his breath on his ear and see his chest rise.
There was an attempt, the strain of the chest to pull air in, but to little effect.
"What's the—" The nurse got to the door and noticed them on the floor and slammed her hand on the button next to them. "I need a crash cart now!"
Virgil was on Gordon's chest, his hands linked and his own stomach in his chest. The nurse jumped to Gordon's head and tilted his head back.
"Allergic reaction?"
"To what though? We just had breakfast and nothing—nothing unusual."
Two more nurses ran in and when they saw the situation they shoved the cart into the hall to make room.
"Give me some epinephrine!" The nurse yelled holding her hands out. Another nurse did as they were told and handed over. The nurse injected the medicine as Virgil continued his compression.
"It's not working!" Virgil stopped what he was doing and shouldered the nurse away. "Intubation kit, now!"
The nurses hesitated. "Give it!" The first nurse yelled as she got on her knees and started compressions.
Virgil caught the package and tore it open. "I am not going to have more than one brother with a trach." He was more forceful than he should have or would have been otherwise, but he meant it. He may have damaged his brother's larynx a little, but he got the tube in and Gordon took a deep breath, but did not wake.
It was in that moment that a doctor arrived and pushed his way into the room. "What's going on?"
"Visitor collapsed, possible allergic reaction but no clue to what." The nurse scooted back to give the doctor room and Virgil took over the chest compressions.
"Did you administer some Epi?"
"Yes sir."
"Alright, stop the chest compressions."
"But."
"Stop."
Virgil did, but was still hovering over his brother. The doctor had his stethoscope out listening. It was a long second and then a flurry of movement.
"Alright, get him on a gurney and out of here, in an empty room then—"
The doctor's orders faded as everyone vanished.
---------------
Everything felt heavy. He thought he had gotten rid of the weight, why was it back? The blackness tempted him to let it take him and go back to sleep, but there was a nagging as well, a curiosity and a need to know why he was so tired.
He forced an eye open, and then the other one. The ceiling above him was white, soft white light shone down from the embedded bulbs, almost too bright after the darkness of sleep.
He blinked a few times and moved his head a little. It was sore, but why? He took in a deep breath and that too seemed to ache. He saw some movement out of the peripheral of his vision and slowly turned his head some more.
All he could see was a clipboard with some paper and a messy sketch on it. There was a hand as well—making line over line as they tried to get the shape just right.
"Why do even your sketches look pretty?" His voice was rough and it hurt to talk, but that was the only thought that had come to him. All the questions yet he could only comment on the messy sketch of an octopus.
"Morning, sunshine. Or should I say afternoon?" The sketch was put down and Virgil appeared in his vision. "How are you feeling?"
Gordon blinked slowly a few times, contemplating the question. "Like shit."
"I'm not surprised." The small smile that had been on Virgil's lips disappeared and a frown replaced it.
"Everything hurts. Why?"
Virgil stood from his chair and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at him. "It's my fault. I'm sorry." He reached out and ran his fingers through Gordon's hair. The sensation was relaxing and Gordon almost wanted to close his eyes and let sleep take him again, but a bigger question bothered him.
"What happened?"
Virgil sighed and his hand fell down to his side. "You said your back hurt, right? That you didn't sleep well cause the mattress was too hard."
Gordon searched the fuzzy memories in his head and finally nodded. "But you didn't fill the mattress with nanocrete so—"
"No, but I'm guessing that you took some Tylenol to help with the soreness. Some Tylenol that happened to be sitting on the table in your suite."
Gordon frowned and dug through the fuzzy memories again. He had stretched and taken a hot shower, but his back was still sore so when he saw the bottle labeled Paracetamol on the table he thought sure, why not. He knew better than to take meds meant for someone else—the bottle was surely there for Alan and his leg—but it was an over the counter bottle, not a prescription one so no harm done, right?
"Yeah, you left it there for Alan. Didn't think it'd be an issue."
"Except Alan was refusing to take anything stronger, and it was obvious his leg was hurting more than he'd let on." Virgil sighed again, his hands in his lap, picking at a hangnail on his thumb. "I went that morning and found some OTC stuff that had codeine in it—"
Gordon about choked. "Codeine?" It hadn't been a fun experience to find out he was allergic to the medication. After his accident he had been given the stuff to help with the pain, and almost died because of it.
"Yeah. You took the same amount you would have normally if it had just been Tylenol, but with the codeine—you had an allergic reaction and an overdose." Virgil rubbed his face hard and pulled at his hair. "I should have told you what it was and not just left it there. I knew you were allergic to it, I didn't think you'd have any reason to use it—I—"
Gordon reached up to his brother's arm and tugged on his sleeve. "It's my fault as well. I should have looked closer at the bottle, made sure it was what I thought it was."
Virgil let his hand fall and took his brother's in his. "We're lucky we were here. The nurses acted fast. I shoved a tube down your throat before it could completely close off—I imagine it hurts pretty bad, sorry—and the doctor took action when he got here."
"How long have I been out?"
"About thirty-six hours."
Gordon sighed and leaned back in the bed, giving Virgil's hand a squeeze. "You been here the entire time?"
"Yeah."
"Go. Get some sleep."
"I've slept."
"In a bed."
"I should probably tell you one more thing."
Gordon frowned.
"Alan's not talking to me at the moment."
"Because he thinks your responsible for this? I'll talk to him—"
"No, he understands it was an accident. He's mad at me for buying the medicine in the first place."
"I don't understand."
"He was there when you had your reaction to Codeine back then. It scared him, understandably." Virgil bit his lip for a moment and took in a deep breath. "Ever since then he's never taken codeine for anything. The infection he had in his molar that one time, refused. When he sprained his ankle skateboarding, even when he had that nasty bout of bronchitis—nothing more than Tylenol. Even now with his leg, he's only taken the recommended amount, not one more."
"But you all got tested, didn't you?"
"Yeah. You're the only one with the allergy. Some mutated gene. Probably the same one that made you so short."
Gordon couldn't contain the mirth that bubbled up from his chest and groaned at the pain that followed. He took his hand and batted at Virgil's arm. "Don't make me laugh."
"Sorry, had to do CPR on ya." Virgil took Gordon's hand again. "Didn't have to break any ribs thankfully."
"I appreciate it." Gordon squeezed his hand again. "Still, I'll talk to him."
"Not too much. Your voice sounds horrible. It needs rest, as do you. Sleep. I imagine he'll be in here as soon as I'm gone."
Gordon nodded and sighed, but kept his eyes open until Virgil was out of the room. Then he let them slide close and drifted back to sleep.
Michelle read through the proposal from the DA with no small amount of trepidation and dismay.
Although she felt that this was the best that her client could hope for, she was almost certain that he would reject the offered deal.
She reached for the phone, maybe her client's family could persuade him to consider the unthinkable option, the option that may be the only way to save his life.
Jeff couldn't concentrate on the TI report that he'd been trying to read for the last hour, no matter how often he read the printed words his thoughts kept returning to Scott. He knew that his son would have to appear in court soon and he still didn't know what exactly his son was going to be charged with.
He started as the phone on his desk rang, very few people had this direct number.
Two days later Jeff and his sons were meeting with Scott's lawyer, to discuss the latest update, what had happened now?
"Thank you all for coming at such short notice."
"What's the offer?"
"2 counts, 2nd degree murder, 25-30"
"If Scott rejects the offer?"
Then he'll be charged with 2 counts of 1st degree murder and the prosecution will be pushing for a capital trial.
I am not writing fanfiction but i like participating in polls
Voting ended onSep 6, 2024
I'm currently thinking about how often I write fanfiction with having a bit of a dry spell for about a year now. Do you guys have a routine that you follow or just write when you are inspired?
As Jeff looked over the island he thought about the effect that the last five years had had on the various members of the family, especially those who still called the island home.
Everything had seemed so simple then, collect Scott from the courthouse and simply bring him home.
Jeff had to admit that he'd been incredibly naive in thinking that the adjustment for Scott would be a simple matter.
It had been less than a week before everyone had to admit that Scott was unable to function without the rigid controls that had dictated every aspect of his life for the past twenty years.
As hard as it was for everyone to accept, after spending almost half of his life in prison,
Scott had become institutionalized.
The only way to proceed was to put several controls in place, a rigid timetable for Scott to follow, which most members of the family agreed to.
hey guys! last year my mom did a project with her class to discover how far a picture can travel through the internet, and i posted it on tumblr with great success. this year shes doing it again, with a new poster!
once again, I'd appreciate reblogs and maybe a note from where you're viewing the poster.
I love that this has no end point and basically is just suggesting filling your suitcase with books. Weight limits? Other necessities you might need to pack? Not part of the equation. Don't forget the books!
I know that I've read a fic about a 'scientific' study that Gordon did involving fried chicken skateboarding past various Tracy island residents and recording the results.
I can't remember the title but it was trying to show that you can't really blame the shark if you are swimming in their living room.
Only 1 person acted like a hungry shark and ate the chicken🍗🍗🍗
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