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mndalorians · 3 years

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The parting of ways

The Mandalorian & the Child

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Spoilers for Chapter 13, please do not read if you don’t want to be spoiled, angst but with a semi-happy ending (it’s the end of the episode, you know what to expect)

A/n: So I watched the episode and had to write this down. This is the largest thing I’ve written in such a short space of time so any feedback would be really appreciated!

The inevitable weighed heavy on Din’s shoulders as he walked through the dead forest of Corvus; heavier than his armour had been the first time he donned it. He remembered the pauldrons that eclipsed his shoulders, the chestplate that dug into his underarms, and his helmet, big enough that a shake of his head could leave the visor off-kilter and him staring at the side of his helmet.

You’ll grow into it, Dekka said with a clap of his hand against Din’s back as he straightened it, the slight clang of beskar against leather an unfamiliar sound with the gesture, you’d need to be refitted next month otherwise.

Din had grown into a lot of things over the course of his life: his armour, his role as provider, his grief. It had consumed him as a child, crashed over him every time he was reminded of his parents and the day his entire world was upended, but he grew and the grief shrunk (or stayed the same size, it was hard to tell sometimes) until it could fit inside him, settle around his heart and only occasionally squeeze it to the point of aching.

But he was older now, didn’t exactly have any more growing to do, none that would consume and internalise the new bout of grief rising up ahead of him.

Every step seemed more reluctant than the last, his boots scuffing the dry earth as he moved closer to said grief and the loneliness he had once been so accustomed to. It was not a friend, but loneliness knew Din as well as he knew it, and he supposed that was the best he could ask for, to be known in some small part by something, through the sighs and quips he let out when no one else was around. The time they had spent apart left him fearing the lonesomeness would feel like isolation this time around, like something forced upon him rather than a supposed choice.

The sight of the Crest, something that had always brought relief before, left Din’s stomach hollow in that moment, emotion catching in his throat. His step stuttered as the ramp lowered and he stopped at its edge, closed his eyes against the sting of oncoming tears and let out a long exhale, tried to ready himself so that he might stand a chance of choking out a goodbye.

The jetpack detached easily enough as Din ascended the ramp and he pulled it round to his front, set it down on top of the crates sitting at the side of the hull. His eyes remained on the floor momentarily when he turned back towards his cot, the short distance separating him from it disappearing far too quickly. Din stopped, again, when his eyes lifted from the floor to his cot to the hammock and the kid – Grogu, he reminded himself, the name not yet so readily formed on his tongue as kid, though he supposed that wouldn’t matter soon enough. Nestled in the hammock, Grogu napped peacefully, unaware of Din’s turmoil.

Din started up again. He was caught between delaying as much as possible, stretching out their remaining time together, and getting it all over with as soon as he could, rip the blade out now, then tend to the wound later once he was back in hyperspace, no destination in mind.

Alone.

Din swallowed as he reached for the hammock and rocked it slightly. Grogu only sniffed in response.

‘Wake up, buddy,’ Din murmured, voice thick, ‘it’s— time to say goodbye.’

A few more rocks and Grogu’s eyes began to open, bleary and sleep ridden. He closed them again as the hammock continued to sway beneath Din’s hand, and it pained him to reach up and pull Grogu more thoroughly from his slumber.

Grogu blinked up at him with a slight wrinkling of his forehead, mouth parted. A small smile, laced with sadness, quirked the corners of Din’s lips up. Grogu always looked a little dazed when he woke up, and the smile was quick to slip from Din’s features when he realised that would be the last time he would see him somewhat dazed from a deep sleep.

It felt too soon to say goodbye, like they should have had more time together, even if Din had been the one to bring them to Corvus, their time together was too short.

They could have a few more minutes together, right?

There was no one to say otherwise, so Din lowered himself down to the edge of the cot and settled Grogu on his thigh. His eyes remained half closed as he shimmied into a more comfortable position against the thigh plate.

The wind howled outside, the only noise to be heard while they sat together – for much longer than a few minutes, though Din tried not to think about that or their eventual separation – and ran soothing circles over his side, watching Grogu come around, appreciating one last, small moment.

Slowly, as sleep cleared like a morning fog from Grogu’s mind, he became aware of the melancholy that dripped from Din, thick and blue. He cooed and placed a hand on top of Din’s wrist, looked up with searching eyes, as if he might find the reason for such strong emotion to be radiating from him in the visor that had offered up nothing before.

Din sighed. He knew they would need to move soon, but still he found himself clinging to the seconds slipping by and whatever allowed them to stay in that moment for just a little longer.

‘You’ll need to be good, okay?’ He reached for Grogu’s hand and rubbed it between two fingers. ‘Ahsoka will take care of you—’

Take care of this little one.

Or maybe, it’ll take care of you.

Din gasped and released a shuddering breath, fat tears welling up and blurring his vision. His gaze turned upwards as he tried to control his breathing, steady it so that he might contain the tears that threatened to spill over, but he blinked and they escaped, raced down his face in two tracks and became lost in the scruff covering his chin.

When he looked down, Grogu’s head was tilted in concern, ears high. Din gripped his sides and lifted him up to press his head against the forehead of his helmet, closed his eyes when he heard the clack of Grogu’s claws against its sides.

‘I could have done better, I’m sorry.’

Grogu’s ears lowered as Din pulled away, big eyes earnest even as he frowned. Maybe it was wishful thinking on Din’s part to believe he was disagreeing with him, or maybe Grogu had truly felt cared for with Din, for the first time in decades. Perhaps Din had not been perfect, but they had survived together, two beings so starved of affection, so accustomed to violence, that they had had to rediscover it all over again with each other. And Grogu had been safe with Din, knew he was protected whenever he was near. The anxiety that had thrummed through him ever since leaving the Jedi temple had quietened when he reached out to Din that first time, Din wiggling his finger to coax him from his pod, bounty droid still smoking at his feet. Din’s affection may have been tentative, but he offered him protection so readily that Grogu could not find fault in him.

Grogu whined and grabbed at air as he reached for Din again, still not fully cognizant of the reason behind the sadness that rolled off Din, but knowing that he had to be near him, to hold as much of him as he could with his small hands. Din obliged and brought him to his chest, tucking him beneath the ridge of his helmet and settling a hand over his back. Grogu cooed and nuzzled his face against the fabric covering Din’s neck, ears high, contented. Din watched him from the small sliver afforded by the visor, tears wetting his lashes as he blinked them back.

‘This is the way,’ he told himself.

It had never felt more hollow.

It was with a heavy heart that Din readied Grogu, feeding him some leftovers from their meal the previous night and cleaning his face (sure to be careful around his eyes). He tried not to think about how he did it all for the last time as he straightened out his robe, pulled the sleeves down to protect him from wind that continued to whistle around the Crest. When Din lifted him, Grogu finally seemed to understand the finality of his gestures and began to cry, all of a sudden worried. Din’s eyes remained on Grogu as he made his way towards the back of the ship, settling him into the crook of his arm and squeezing a little in an attempt to calm him. They still had some time before they would reach Calodan, they could—

‘You’re like a father to him.’

Din paused at those words, lifted his head to see Ahsoka standing at the bottom of the ramp, looking up at them.

You are as its father.

Din did not respond. Even if it were true, if he allowed himself to think that, what use was the acceptance of such a title when he was so close to giving Grogu away? He did not believe he deserved it. He stood for another moment before he continued down the ramp. The inevitable stood in front of him – he had already stretched time out to the point of breaking and he could hold it off no longer.

‘I cannot train him,’ Ahsoka said.

Din regarded her, a few paces away. ‘You made me a promise, and I held up my end.’

Ashoka closed the distance between them. Grogu cooed as his attention shifted towards her and she took his hand in hers, not unlike Din had done.

‘There is one possibility.’ Ahsoka lifted her gaze, though not so far as to meet the horizontal bar of Din’s visor. ‘Go to the planet Tython, there you will find the ancient ruins of a temple that has a strong connection to the Force. Place Grogu on the seeing stone at the top of the mountain.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then Grogu may choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there’s a chance a Jedi may sense his presence and come searching for him. Then again,’ Asoka let go of Grogu’s hand, crossed her arms as if to guard herself from her next words: ‘there aren’t many Jedi left.’

Sorrow pricked Din, Ahsoka’s tone hinted at tragedy, though he did not know enough to even begin an attempt at consolation. ‘Thank you’ was all he could manage.

Ahsoka uncrossed her arms, allowed for the sincerity of her words to be fully felt. ‘May the Force be with you.’

Din nodded in thanks and turned, retreating back up the ramp and into the hull. Relief overwhelmed him and he brought Grogu up to his shoulder as he had done so many times before. The dread and anticipation that had gripped his heart since he woke Grogu up eased off, and Din felt near weightless, if only for a singular, fleeting moment where the future did not exist beyond the few seconds ahead of him. He did not need to say goodbye to Grogu just yet – had escaped the event horizon this time – but he knew that one day a farewell would be impossible to avoid.

He only hoped he would be more prepared to face his grief when that day finally came.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian spoilers

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rydiin · 5 years

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'Why Meadow Died: The People and Policies that Created the Prkland Sh**ter and Endanger America's Students' By Andrew Pollack & Max Eden

(This info is in addition to a previous post that emphasizes a specific chapter from the book).

Information about NC:

One female student was so afraid of him that she often wanted to stay home.

- One day a rumour spread like wildfire: Cr*z had killed his cat. This student worked up the nerve to ask him, "What happened to your cat?". He replied, "I took it in the backyard. I have a lake. I put it in its cage and I drowned it.” "What do you mean?" "I killed my cat."

- NC showed them a series of pictures on his phone. His cat. His cat in the cage. The cage going into the water. The cage coming out of the water. The cat, wet and dead. This student was horrified. NC was transfixed, both by the pictures and by her horror.

As seen in his educational record, he was diagnosed at age 3 with developmental delays and later with a speech impairment, a language-processing deficiency, and attention deficit disorder.

After February of 2013, he was suspended for nearly half of the next calendar year.

"I never had him as a student. But everyone knew who he was because he wreaked havoc." -Teacher at Westglades

In September 2013 he banged on a classroom door so violently that the glass shattered, striking students inside. This was characterized as vandalism but never formally recorded on his disciplinary record.

On October 21st, his teacher (Carrie Yon) emailed assistant principle Atonio Lindsay, "I wanted to let you know about Nick's behavior today. He seems to be getting worse with each day. Following is what took place in the first 10 minutes of class". She explained that when he wouldn't stop screaming, she told him she'd have to ask him to leave if he kept up the disruption. When he stuck up his middle finger, she went over to the phone. Cr*z ran over, took the phone from her, tried to dial 911, banged the phone on the receiver when that didn't work, and then ran out of the classroom.

Several teachers, in exhasperation and perhaps fear, tried to refuse to let him into their classroom. But they were informed by the school administrators that this was not permitted.

In November he was referred to the PROMISE program for vandalizing a bathroom faucet, but did not attend for reasons the school district refuses to explain. If a student skips PROMISE, district policy requires that he be referred to the juvenile justice system, but he was not for reasons the school district refuses to explain.

On November 20th, 2013, he ran into the middle of a busy road during a fire drill. Students were terrified as he could have died if an oncoming car had not stopped in time. Teachers assured students, "Don't worry, he's going to go somwhere he can get the help he needs now". But this was merely optimism. Another teacher wrote a disciplinary referral categorizing his suicide attempt as "Gross Insubordination" and "Aggresive and Dangerous Behavior." But school administrators rejected that categorization and categorized it instead as a minor act of disruptuption."

"If Cr*z had been involuntarily committed for psychiatric observation under Florida's Baker Act in response to his suicide attempt, it could have accelerated the process of sending him to Cross Creek. But he was not. It took until February 2014, five months after Westglades began the evaluation process and one year after his misbehavior became so severe that he was suspended essentially every other day, to send Cr*z to Cross Creek."

When teachers of Cr*z were asked what he was interested in or enjoyed, almost every single one of his teachers mentioned guns, the military, or war.

This excerpt speaks to the insanity of mainstreaming a student like Cr*z back into a traditional school like MSD. These things did not happen before Runcie became superintendant and brought more social justice ideology into the mix:

"According to Ms. Campbell, before Robert Runcie became superintendent, she had never seen a student mainstreamed from a school like Cross Creek in less than three years. The process typically took several semesters, with the student’s IEP team *gradually* adding class periods at the traditional school and carefully monitoring any changes in the student’s behavior. Cr*z spent his first semester at MSD taking two classes, largely unsupervised, and then began attending MSD full time the following semester. Ms. Campbell said that she had never heard of anything like it. This all bears reiterating to emphasize the insanity of it: Cross Creek staff were well aware of Cr*z’s profoundly disturbing behavior at Westglades. They knew about his obsession with guns and dreams about killing people. They were so frightened that they took the extremely rare step of contacting his private psychiatrist. Yet not only did they return him to a traditional high school at an unprecedented speed, they also enrolled him in JROTC, a course in which he would learn to shoot using an air gun that resembled an AR-15."

On December 14th, 2015, Cr*z's IEP team decided to allow him to attend MSD full time. He had made progress in the intensive therapuetic setting of Cross Creek, where well trained professionals could watch him like a hawk. But when he transitioned to MSD, his old "beheavior management" plan was discontinued and no new plan was created. Teachers were left uninformed about who the student was, what to watch for, and how to support him.

Looking back on the transition, a staff member lamented, "They just threw him to the wolves."

Cr*z bragged about getting a gun to sh**t up the school in Feburary 2016. The officer who recieved this alert told the concerned woman that Cr*z's instagram post was "Protected by the first amendment right of free speech". The woman asked if there was *any way* to prevent Cr*z from getting a gun when he turned 18, and the officer said that Cr*z’s right to purchase a firearm was protected by the 2nd amendment and *nothing* could be done.This officer was WRONG. Threatening to shoot up a school is a felony that could have prohibited him from buying a gun. (And even IF he wasn't convicted, an arrest could have gone a long way toward LE taking future reports about NC seriously.) This officer didn't even write a police report about the call.

NC often came to school dressed in full camoflauge gear, mask included, and jumped from behind poles to scare other students.

He would bring dead animals in his lunch box and give it to another student, telling her there was a treat inside.

Dana Craig submitted statements about Cr*z's threats to her and her friends but administrators did nothing. One day she was sitting in class when NC came in and walked straight toward her, and stood over her, staring and breathing loudly, as a hush fell across the classroom. After what seemed to be like a long time, security monitor Anna Ramos entered and said, "Someone here isn't where he's supposed to be" and took him out of the classroom. Records don't show him being taken to the office for this.

When MSD math teacher Suzanne Giorgione found out she was teaching Cr*z, she went to school administrators and told them she refused to set foot in the same classroom as a student who had previously threatened to kill her. As a result, Admin rearranged his schedule.

Several students reported having friends whose parents had complained about having Cruz in their child's classroom, and the school responded by changing *their* schedules.

At the beginning of the school year (a month before his fight with Enea), he approached Enea to shake his hand and call a "truce", telling him that "he could have her".

However, on September 20, 2016 Cr*z threw a water bottle at Enea and then jumped on top of him, punching him. Enea stood up to try to throw Cruz to the ground but NC held on tenaciously, *attempting to bite Enea's face*, only to catch Enea's hair in his teeth and hold on that way. The infamous fight video only catches the end of it when students jump in to break it up.

After the fight, administrators searched his backpack and found bullet casings. He explained he used his backpack to go hunting. According to MSD documentation, when asked why he liked to hunt, he replied that he liked to get food, then asked, "Isn't that what normal people would say?"

Before he attacked Enea, he told students at his table what he was about to do and they recorded it from the beginning. Students who took these videos were called down to the office and told to delete them. These videos would have provided clear evidence of a hate crime (NC repeatedly threatened him, called him a n*gger and other racial slurs, and had now attacked him). But MSD wanted to be seen as a school without crime and chaos, so they demanded evidence of fights be deleted.

Enea received an out-of-school suspension, while NC only received a two day ISS.

At this point, NC's safety plan included banning him from having a backpack at school: "The obvious rationale: if he has a backpack, he could bring a deadly weapon to school and kill people. They decided that Nikolas Cruz was too dangerous to be allowed on campus with a backpack but he should *not* be arrested. This may seem astonishing, but it is actually entirely faithful to philosophy of the Broward school district, as expressed by Superintendent Runcie: “We are not going to continue to arrest our kids” and give them a criminal record.

He brought binocluars to school and stared at people through them.

One student had nightmares about NC, "shooting me or stabbing me...every single night. I couldn't go to school because I was afraid." These concerns along with many others were brought before administrators but nothing was done.

When he decided to revoke his ESE protections, he appeared incapable of providing written notice "perhaps due to his language-processing impairment".

When being confronted about destroying other students model bridges, NC stated, "I am not mentally stable! I am fucking crazy, yo! I love to see people in pain and I have two shotguns at my house." (As previously reported)

He'd often walk around the courtyard at lunch making "bang" motions with his fingers as though he were shooting at birds.

He called Cross Creek after his mother Lynda died and told them, "Before my mom died, I promised her I would graduate high school. I get that Cross Creek is the only place where I can do that. How do I get back in?". They didn't help him get back in.

Lynda's responses to Westglades social worker:

What is the child's problem behavior? He can't control his temper, especially when faced with frustration. He has frequent anger outburts.

How would you describe these behaviors? He starts screaming, kicking, throwing things, and punching holes in the walls.

What are the most problematic for you? "Destruction" when he throws a tantrum, things get broken, nothing is safe. I have polka dotted walls from all the Spackle I have to use to fill the holes in the walls.

How often do these behaviors occur? Every day, especially while playing Xbox.

Are there situations in which the behaviors never or rarely occur? No, if he is losing at Xbox there are no two ways about it.

What do you think needs to be done to help this child? He needs to be properly diagnosed before he can be treated. I know ADD is not the cause of all his problems. We need to know what is wrong with him.

Victims:

Anthony Borges survived after being shot 5 times by taking his shirt off, ripping it into two pieces, and using the pieces as tourniquets for his legs. Anthony had been a boy scout in Venezuela and had taken his survival training very seriously.

Aaron Feis was found deceased with burns on his hands, indicating that he managed to get a grip on the shooter's AR-15 before being fatally shot.

Cara Loughran had been shot prior to Meadow shielding her. This is why she did not flee with the other students. "Meadow had been right next to Joaquin in front of the woman's bathroom. She tried to cross the hallway, but was shot four times. She crawled to a classroom, but the door was locked (as it was supposed to be). Next to her was freshman Cara Loughran, who had also been shot. Meadow draped her body over Cara's to protect her. Five more shots went through both of their bodies."

During the shooting one of the MSD staff members stated over the radio, "It sounds like fireworks.". Aaron Feis replied, "That's not fucking fireworks".

Aaron Feis's brother Ray recalled that Feis "wasn't scared of anyone, but he would talk about that 'crazy motherfucker who threatens everyone' and shouldn't be at this school".

A survivor recalled, "But then you also heard, like, moaning from the shots. I don't know if it was, like, the shooter making that noise or if it was someone who got shot. And, but, then, that's also, you also heard...heard, like, laughing. And we all look at each other in the classroom we're just like, "Oh my God, is someone seriously laughing?" (Previously seen in witness statements)

Notable Quotes:

Royer Borges (Anthony's father) on activists blaming the NRA: "This makes no sense. You're telling me that all these groups will pour money in to a national political battle against a powerful organization over things that had no connection to what happened? And then what? Maybe the gun control people will win some changes, but what about what actually happened? What about the people responsible in Broward? What about justice?"

In the middle of his 5th grade year, Cruz's teachers had to make a choice that would define the future of his education...

“In an earlier era, a student like Cruz could continue to receive specialized attention in a self-contained classroom for students with similar disabilities for at least part of each day in Middle School. However, between the pressure on schools to assess students using standardized tests under the federal No Child Left Behind Act and the pressure on schools to put students in the "least restrictive environment" possible under the federal Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, spending part of the day in a specialized classroom was no longer an option for a student like Cruz in a Broward middle school. It was either full "inclusion" at Westglades Middle School or full "exclusion" at a specialized school for students with emotional and behavioral disabilities: Cross Creek."

"...social justice activist groups frame this issue as a black and white question of "civil rights". Putting students like Cruz in schools like Cross Creek is alleged to be "ableist" (discrimination against the disabled) and keeping them in schools like Westglades is the self-evidently virtuous practice of "inclusion".

When Westglades staff heard that Cruz had committed the massacre at MSD, some couldn't believe it. The fact that he became a mass murderer wasn't what surprised them. They were surprised that he attacked MSD. "How is that possible?" one Westglades educator recalled thinking....

"We did our jobs. It took forever, but we got him where he needed to go. We couldn't believe they ever let him into MSD."

"Cross Creek is one of 3 specialized schools in Broward for students with extreme behavioral disabilities. It serves about 150 students in grades k-12, most of whom have been diagnosed with mental illnesses and take psychotropic medications. It has a two-to-one student-to-adult ratio, including eleven counselors, fifteen behavior technicians, and three therapists. There was NO question this was where Nikolas Cruz needed to be. The question must be answered. How was he sent back to a normal school?"

"Officers from other departments told us that, if they received this many calls about the same juvenile, they would watch him like a hawk and not be shy about making an arrest. But if Sheriff Israel judged his success by how well he kept juveniles out of jail, then up until February 14th, 2018, Nikolas Cruz was perhaps the most striking success."

"Martinez respected the March For Our Lives gun control students, but he had mixed feelings about the course of public debate after the shooting. Reflecting on how Sheriff Israel and Superintendent Runcie blamed the NRA, Martinez lamented, “What the students don’t know is that the people who are telling them to go out and protest are the ones that are endangering them.… They’re the ones who failed. These failed policies failed students miserably. Then they deflect the whole event and try to build their political careers on top of it. The students are being misled.”

“I’ve been over every inch of what happened. The NRA had nothing to do with it...

This happened in a Democrat county with a Democrat sheriff, a Democrat superintendent, and a Democrat school board, implementing Democrat ideas on criminal justice, Democrat ideas on special education, and Democrat ideas on school discipline. And after Democrat voters gave all these Democrats a resounding vote of confidence in the school board election, the Democrat teachers union president, Anna Fusco, wrote in a Facebook group about our campaign for accountability: “Now you can all shut up!”....Meanwhile, at the national level, Democrat organizers swooped in and weaponized my daughter’s murder for their Democrat agenda and to fund-raise to elect more Democrats.”

"It is astonishing that 18-1958 only took seventeen lives that day. The death toll could easily have been 170. He had ten minutes alone with eight hundred children. The only one who stopped him was himself."

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holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight · 4 years

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The Bodyguard - Chapter 9

Summary: Magnus is a dancing popstar sensation whose popularity continues to climb. Alec, an ex-Secret Service agent, is hired on as a professional bodyguard in charge of Mr. Bane’s personal security by insistence of Magnus’ manager. Despite their initial differences, Magnus finds himself falling for Alec the more time they spend getting to know each other and relies on him for more than physical security as his safety gets threatened. Loosely based on the 1992 film The Bodyguard.

Rating: M+

Genre: AU, Everyone is Human AU, Celebrity!Magnus, Bodyguard!Alec, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining

Author: holdyourbreathuntilyouseelight

A/N: Sorry for the extreme delay, my lovelies! I wanted to make sure I had the rest of the fic set up and ready to go so I could post each quickly. I'll try to post one every day until it's done! (Try not to die of shock). One more chapter after this and then an epilogue. Thanks for sticking with me and this story!!

Click here to read on AO3.

Previous chapters on tumblr: Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8

* * * * *

Back at the hotel, Alec left Magnus at the front door as he did his usual sweep.

They hadn't spoken a word the entire walk back, and Alec felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. His cells were humming with energy, anxious for his body to finally act on what he had been denying it for months.

"All clear." Alec said quietly when he was finally done, and he peeked at Magnus' face to try to read where his head was.

Magnus nodded, licking his lips, and Alec couldn't hold back any longer.

He grabbed the front of Magnus' shirt to yank him forward and their lips crashed together.

Magnus kissed him back hungrily, twisting his fingers in Alec's hair as they stumbled into each other. Alec's mouth opened to him like butter, tongue gliding to meet his as they tangled together. The only sounds in the room were the short, hot breaths between them and the desperate pressing of lips.

Magnus immediately moved to rid Alec of his belt, tugging it out of the loops and the force causing their hips to press together even further. He didn't hesitate to rub up into his personal space so he could feel how aroused he was at where things were heading.

Alec's head was spinning. He knew he was breaking some major rules engaging in this with a client, but he didn't care. He always did the 'right' thing – he wanted to do what he wanted for once. And he very much wanted Magnus.

Magnus seemed to share the sentiment. He dug at the rest of Alec's clothes in a desperate attempt to get them out of the way. Alec returned the gesture, letting the articles fall whenever they managed to remove one, and they both nearly lost their balance on more than one occasion.

"You know, for a dancer, your balance needs some work." Alec teased as he held Magnus steady while he stepped out of his slacks.

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Being a dancer may involve poise, but it also means I am quite flexible. A fact you will soon be very grateful for." he promised before latching his mouth onto Alec's neck.

Alec let them fall back against the nearest wall, hand slipping into Magnus' hair as his head tipped to welcome more of Magnus' lips against his sensitive skin.

Magnus didn't seem to care that he was sucking bruises into very obvious spots that would be impossible to hide the next day. A part of Alec cared, but it was drowned out by the spike of arousal that hit him when Magnus finally stood naked before him and finished undressing Alec a moment later.

God, it had been a while, but Alec knew he had never been so eager to be with someone like this before.

Alec ran his hands down Magnus' bare chest, stroking the hard muscle below his belly button and trying not to flush at how close Magnus' hard cock was to his hand.

"Bedroom." Magnus demanded, leading him to a much softer surface to continue on.

Alec tried to keep the grin off his face as they near-toppled to the bed, fallen clothes tangling around their feet as they moved through the room.

Magnus was burying his laughs in Alec's chest as Alec tumbled on top of him.

"Hmm, you certainly are graceful yourself." Magnus teased.

Alec kissed him to shut him up, pressing his body down into his partner's so he could feel every line of him.

Magnus groaned at that, rutting his hips up against him. "God, I can't wait for you to get inside me."

Alec froze for a moment, stunned by the comment, and Magnus immediately tensed underneath him.

"I mean, not that we have to do that. Or that way. I didn't mean to assume—"

"No, no. It's not that." Alec told him, holding himself above Magus so he could look him in the eyes properly. "I just… That sounds amazing. Truly. I've just only ever… been on the receiving end."

Magnus smiled wickedly. "Oh, well then, if you think you're up for trying something new…."

Alec licked his lips, unable to help return the smile, and pink crossed his cheeks. "I am. God, I definitely am. I've always wanted to try it. My ex was sort of… well, he struggled with being gay, and I guess a part of him felt it was less gay to be on top, so I always bottomed."

Magnus sighed. "Internalized homophobia can certainly warp someone's thinking. Somehow, having sex with a man wasn't gay enough, but anyways…"

"Yes, yes, he was an idiot." Alec mused, dipping down to capture Magnus' mouth in his again, hands tracing the curves of his waist and hips. He was eager to get back to what they were doing.

He reached around to cup Magnus' ass, pulling so they could both get a little friction to release some of the building tension. He still was having trouble believing this was really happening, but his body certainly was going to ruin it all if he didn't take back some control.

Magnus slipped out from beneath him, Alec grumbling when he dodged his kiss, and he rummaged around in his nighttable drawer.

"You know, I've kept this in here at every hotel for the last dozen in the hopes this would happen. My hand was getting awful lonely being the sole user." Magnus teased as he dropped the bottle of lube next to them.

"Magnus. I'm trying to last here." Alec muttered, not able to ignore the flare of desire that sparked at the image of Magnus slickly stroking himself one room over from Alec during the tour.

Magnus simply grinned wickedly in response, shuffling in time with him as they got into a better position.

Alec poured an overly generous amount of lubricant on his fingers and held his breath as he let his damp fingers slip behind Magnus to touch him intimately.

Magnus' back arched as he finally made contact and he pulled his legs towards his chest to give Alec better access.

There was that flexibility he promised. Alec tried not to think about it as he began to breach him, nearly losing his mind with how quickly his body welcomed more.

Magnus was groaning, hips following his movement like he was chasing the burn, and Alec had to grip himself at the base to stem off his oncoming climax. Magnus looked utterly wrecked like this, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, his skin flushed and slightly glistening, his lips red from their kissing and biting his lip to control his noises. God, Alec was absolutely enraptured with this man.

"Please, Alexander. I can't wait anymore. I need you."

Magnus' voice was just as wrecked, and Alec breathed heavily through his nose to suck back in some semblance of control.

Finally ready, he licked his lips, swallowing and moving forward to position himself. It was strange being on the other side of things, but he had imagined it so many times. He never would have predicted his first foray would be with Magnus Bane of all people, but no part of him was disappointed.

He near-gasped when the tip of him slipped inside and was immediately enveloped with tight, delicious heat. It was nothing like getting off with a tightened fist or even a well-trained mouth.

"Nngh, fuck."

"Mm, you feel so good. Keep going." Magnus encouraged, voice like honey and silk.

Alec was near-shaking in the effort to not finish things right then, but he managed to push his hips forward to have Magnus take more of him.

He started slow, wanting Magnus to get used to the intrusion, but Magnus was wrapping his legs around him before long.

"I won't break, Alec." he told him, stroking his cheek before pulling him into a soft kiss.

Alec deepened the kiss before pushing his pelvis forward. The appreciative moan from Magnus only spurred him on. He wanted to give him so much pleasure, wanted to utterly ruin him the way he was ruining Alec.

His thrusts picked up speed and power, his hands tugging Magnus' thighs to better position the pair of them, and Magnus cried out at one particularly deep hit. He knew he had finally located his prostate, the spot that no doubt made him see stars any time it was brushed.

Alec couldn't keep up with coordinated kissing while they were moving together so desperately, so he settled for placing his lips against his neck and breathing hotly against the skin there as he snapped his hips over and over again, ensuring he hit that spot dead-on every time.

Magnus was crying out beneath him, nails digging into Alec's back and raking across the tensed muscles there as he met his thrusts with all the power and eagerness one would expect.

"A-Alec. Alexander." he cried, hand slipping to his own neglected cock to stroke himself off in time with their lovemaking.

"Magnus." Alec breathed out, unable to stop his body this time as his pleasure crested and he stuttered his release inside Magnus.

Magnus followed not long after, trembling as he painted Alec's chest and stomach with his climax.

They stayed intertwined for a few minutes, just catching their breath and letting the aftershocks of pleasure settle into their bones.

Alec's arms felt like jelly as he maneuvered himself backwards and off the bed, ignoring the disappointment that crossed his skin from separating himself from Magnus.

He padded into the adjacent bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth to clean them both up.

Magnus hummed delightedly in response as Alec wiped between his legs to rid him of the remnants of Alec's release and residual lube.

Alec finally tossed the towel somewhere to their left and climbed up the bed to collapse into the pillows.

Magnus reached out for him and nestled into his side, head moving to rest on his chest.

Alec let his fingers play with his damp hair, stroking gentle patterns along his scalp.

"God, Alec. I fear for my ability to control myself now that I know sex with you is like that."

Alec couldn't help but glow with pride from the inside out. "Well we still have the last of the tour to get through and then the Grammys. Outside of public appearances, there's nothing to stop us from spending all of our time in our shared room."

Magnus chuckled. "Always the professional first, sexy boyfriend second."

"Hmm you'll get used to it." Alec teased, trying not to beam at the term boyfriend falling so casually from Magnus' mouth. He thought he had interpreted Magnus' feelings as more than just attraction and desire for sex, but it was nice to have it confirmed so quickly.

"I hope so." Magnus mumbled, nuzzling into him further as the beginnings of sleep began to steal his consciousness.

Alec settled down more comfortably and let the exhaustion take hold.

* * * * *

Waking in the morning, Magnus was warm and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. He had no desire to get up or move, so tempted to let the heavy tug of drowsiness allow him to slip back into sleep.

His limbs were tangled with Alec's, and, as he shifted to a more comfortable position, he felt Alec began to stir next to him.

"Good morning." Magnus murmured.

"Morning." Alec replied, voice still thick with sleep.

Magnus reached out to brush the wavy hair off of Alec's forehead.

The action caused Alec to smile softly at him, until his expression changed to mild panic. "Oh damn. I've got to go run training drills with the team."

Magnus shuffled backwards to put some space between them. "Oh."

Alec's face twisted into a pleased smirk. "I'm kidding. Just kidding. Did you really think I was going to go?"

"No, of course not." Magnus lied, scratching at his ear in a hopefully disarming gesture.

Alec chuckled, clearly not buying it, and Magnus tried not to get defensive on reflex.

"I'm not going anywhere." Alec promised, reaching out to intertwine their hands.

Magnus smiled at that. "Honestly, I expected you to have a freakout this morning about the whole crossing-the-professional-line thing and go running off."

Alec lay on his back, pulling Magnus into his side so he could rest his head on his chest. "Mmm. Maybe if you hadn't exhausted me so much."

"You better not be too tired. I plan on repeating last night this morning, and maybe even trying some new things too."

"Magnus, it's your final tour date tonight. Don't you want to conserve your energy to give it your all?"

"Hmm… nah. I'd much rather ravish you."

Alec laughed, pulling him up to kiss him and make good on Magnus' promise, morning breath be damned.

* * * * *

Alec sensed it as soon as he walked into the dark hotel room. He didn't know what it was that set him off – maybe a lingering scent of perfume – but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up instantly.

Magnus had finished his final tour date with a bang, and Alec was relieved when they had finally finished with the endless fans outside and had taken the limo back to the hotel.

If only they had been free of danger once away from the venue, but Alec knew now that they weren't that lucky. He put a hand out to halt Magnus' walking.

Magnus picked up on his tense posture. "Alexander…?"

Alec hushed him with a flick of his hand. He slipped his glock out of his thigh holster and pulled back the safety.

"Stay here." he murmured to Magnus, stalking forward into the room.

Should he call Luke or Andrew to take him to a safe place?

He supposed it was possible he was just being paranoid. His instincts were screaming at him that something was not right and he had always trusted his gut. He wasn't about to question it now.

Sure enough, when he cleared the main areas and pushed the door of the bedroom open, there was a figure sitting on the floor, only the moonlight illuminating their silhouette.

Still, depsite the darkness, Alec recognized her instantly.

"Iris." Alec said, not lowering his gun. She had no reason to be just sitting in the bedroom of a private hotel room that she shouldn't have a key for.

No reason except one.

"You and Magnus have been busy." she slurred, jutting a foot out to kick at the garbage can next to the bed.

Alec knew there were multiple used condoms in there. He tried not to let the bile exit his mouth at the idea that she snooped and came across such a thing. He was not ashamed of his and Magnus' sex life, however new, but he was a naturally private person and having someone see physical evidence of it was uncomfortable.

He watched her tip back a bottle of something dark amber into her mouth, and, based on the wrappings scattered next to her, he had a feeling she had gone through the whole thing in one sitting. There were only a few mouthfuls left and it was not a small bottle.

"Iris, what are you doing here?" Alec asked, keeping his eyes on her back leaning against the side of the bed while he silently texted Luke to get to their room immediately to remove Magnus.

Before he could press send, Iris responded.

"I wanted to know for sure. I see the way he looks at you. Has always looked at you. He's never looked at me that way. Never, in all our years of knowing each other. Hell, he never even looked at Camille like that. That wretch."

"Okay… So you're here to prove that Magnus and I are together? You've done that. So now what?"

Iris blew out a breath, leaning her head back against the bed. The new angle gave him a view of what was sitting next to her. He held his gun steadier, not wanting to give her the chance to use hers.

"Alex. Alec. Do you believe in karma?"

"I… what?"

She scoffed in annoyance, impressively irritated despite her level of intoxication. "Sometimes, irony is a bitch, and karma even more so. I've been so stupid. So, so stupid. How I ever thought my luck could turn around…"

"Iris, what are you talking about?"

He already knew. He just needed to hear her say it. He clicked record on his phone.

"It was me, Alec. The reason why you were hired."

"You placed a bomb disguised as a doll in Magnus' dressing room, which prompted Raphael to finally take the threatening letters seriously and hire a bodyguard?"

"No. I sent the letters."

"You sent the letters?"

It wasn't Alec who asked the question, and he whipped around to see Magnus standing behind him.

"Magnus. Leave. Now." Alec growled.

Magnus was stubborn as always. "No. Iris, you sent the letters? The ones that threatened to kill me? You… you claimed my death was imminent… that I had everything and you had nothing…"

"Well it's true!" Iris slurred in a shout, whirling around to glare daggers at Magnus. "You and I were supposed to have a band together, remember? Get famous and be successful as a team?"

"Iris, we were thirteen at the time!" Magnus shouted in exasperation, his incredulity overshadowing his fear.

"So? I never gave up on it. I never gave up on you. You always saw me for me, Magnus… and then a couple weeks with this brooding giant and you're head over heels? I've waited years! Hoping one day you would see the truth – that the only person right for you is me. What we could do together. You auditioned for that talent show years ago, but did you forget that quick that I did too? And while you got put straight through I only got half the votes and didn't pass even the initial audition. And then you hire me on as an assistant to your personal manager? What did you think I would do? Be grateful? You hired me as an underling to your underling! You have all of these connections and you didn't even think to try to make my dreams come true too?"

"There are so many things wrong with that I can't even being to unpack it, but Iris, I thought I was helping you. You had been unemployed for almost two years and had been abusing drugs and alcohol to cope. Giving you a structured schedule and accountability on being somewhere pulled you away from that life."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh the great Magnus, saving the day!"

"I was trying to be a friend to you, Iris!"

"Well I don't want to be your friend, Magnus!"

"So you threaten to kill me?"

That sobered her up instantly. "No… I… I only meant to scare you. Hoped you'd cancel the tour. Have it disappoint your fans and lower your fame. Hoped the photos of you in your home would make you want to move somewhere inconspicuous or hide away from the world until it forgot you. I never wanted to hurt you – just destroy your career."

"And in what reality would destroying everything I've worked for and built not hurt me?"

"Maybe it would make you remember who you were and where you came from! Remind you that these superficial people are not your real friends! They don't know you like I know you! They will never understand you like I will! You think Alec would even look twice at you if you were still an abused foster kid who graffitied the town?"

"Don't speak about Alec. You don't know him. But he knows me. More than you ever have or will."

Alec stepped in front of Magnus, not liking the wild look in Iris' eyes at that. He wasn't even sure Magnus noticed the gun next to her. Her hand had been gravitating towards it more during their argument, and he knew Magnus insulting her wasn't helping.

"If I mean so little to you then why am I even here? What's the point?" Iris shouted, hand grasping the gun next to her.

Alec shielded Magnus, raising his own to aim directly at Iris.

Instead of targeting Magnus, she pressed the gun to her temple.

"Iris, no!" Magnus shouted, horrified and trying to fight Alec's sturdy hold on him.

"Why do you even care?!" she screeched.

Before Magnus could respond, Luke was bursting into the room with Raj in tow, and Alec took that opportunity to back Magnus out of the room.

If Alec wasn't so busy near-tackling Magnus to get him out of harm's way, he would've been pretty impressed with his team for their disarming capabilities. They managed to get the gun away from a now-sobbing Iris and half-carried her out of the suite.

"I love you, Magnus! I've always loved you!"

Magnus looked stunned even as her cries grew further away.

Alec stepped into his line of vision to gently get his attention. "I have to help them take care of things. Will you be all right for a few minutes?"

Magnus seemed to deflate instantly as the reality of the situation finally sunk in.

"Magnus?" Alec prompted, eyebrows furrowing now at the lost look on his boyfriend's face.

"I… I'm just going to get in the shower. I'll be fine, Alexander. Go."

Alec didn't believe him, but he knew he had to handle things with Iris. He was head of security – he couldn't just bow out because he didn't want to leave Magnus' side when he seemed emotionally vulnerable.

He knew he didn't have a choice, so he let Magnus process things solo while he went to speak to the police.

* * * * *

He found Magnus sitting alone on the end of the bed after everything was handled, not even a light on in the room. It was clear he was still stuck in troubling thoughts if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

"Magnus?"

Magnus barely even blinked in response.

Alec lowered himself to sit down next to him. "Magnus, are you okay?"

"I can't believe it was Iris. I've known her longer than most, almost as long as Cat." he said hoarsely.

Alec simply rested a comforting hand on his knee, not wanting to crowd Magnus' space when he was still processing something of such magnitude.

"What's going to happen to her?"

Alec sighed. "Well, given her clear mental instability, she will be evaluated by a psychiatrist at the precinct. They'll be transferring her back to New York since that's where she normally lives. If I had to guess, I assume she'll be admitted instead of imprisoned."

"That's probably for the best. She…" he trailed off. "I just can't believe this."

"I know." Alec murmured, not really sure what other comfort he could offer.

"I know I can be flirty with just about anybody… but I purposely never was with her. I knew she had feelings for me. I had hoped they had ended in our youth or at least died down over the years but clearly I was naïve. I should have made things clearer, actually confronted her about them and let her know I didn't see her that way. My reluctance to endure an uncomfortable conversation led to… well, all of this." he said, gesturing around the room, which Alec understood to mean his hiring and the drama of the night.

"Magnus, you can't shoulder all of the blame. All that she said… it's her own mind twisting things to rationalize her actions. She needs psychiatric help and likely has for some time. And you could blame me for giving in to my feelings and getting involved with you, since that clearly set her off."

Magnus sighed, apparently getting his point. "I don't know what to do now. What happens next?"

"Well, we're transferring all the evidence to New York in the event Iris does need to go through a trial. I had it routed directly to Jace so he can keep us updated. They'll process it, prove the link to her if she won't admit to it."

"Perks of having a brother as a lead detective on the force." Magnus laid back on the bed, exhaling slowly. "This feels like someone else's life sometimes, but never more than it does today."

"How about we forget about it for a while? Watch some trashy TV and make fun of reality show contestants or something?"

Magnus smiled, climbing up the bed further and snuggling up to Alec when he laid next to him.

"Mm. I knew you were the man for me." he teased, kissing him softly before resting his head against Alec's chest and flipping the hotel TV on.

Alec held him close, glad to have the physical proof that Magnus was okay.

After all those months of fear, it was so strange to realize it was over. They were safe.

He should've known to listen to his gut when it was still tight with anticipation.

It wasn't over yet.

* * * * *

Continue to Chapter 10

#malec #malec fic #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #the bodyguard fic

12 notes · View notes

anxtheroliveinthehouse · 4 years

Note

I saw your requests were open!! Hello!! Can I request a L from death note reader insert (that is if you make up your mind about your feelings on writing them, if you’re not comfortable I completely understand) with a Soulmate AU?

Hello! Thank you for requesting! I’m sorry it took a few days for me to respond but I had finals this week and I was also very ill on the one day I had off ;-;

I thought since you were the first to request and it is the festive season, I might as well do a reader insert. You requested a really broad scenario so I hope you don’t mind me writing this story as the AU but if it had occurred “before” the events of Death Note and as a first meeting (as I imagine it happening). It also turned out really long because I actually loved writing this. It’s a little angsty as well (again I hope you don’t mind). If you’re down for another part to this story with a bit more fluff, I’m fully ready to write (**types aggressively**). Happy Holidays (★^O^★)

Request: 26) Soulmates AU, Reader insert

Anime: Death Note

Character(s): L

Relationship(s): Reader x L

Words: 3227

It had always been a struggle to the train station after your last class on Thursdays. Whether it was your professor running over time or the slow running elevator and crowded stairwells, there was always something that kept you from leaving the building when you should. Or perhaps, as it was in that moment, a torrential rainstorm darkening the once beautiful day in Tokyo. You didn’t mind the rain, however it seemed to always come at inconvenient times. Especially on the days when you were carrying large amounts of your artwork to and from the university.

Your large, black portfolio case- large enough to carry poster boards in- was tucked tightly under your arm in hopes that the copious amount of rain wouldn’t soak through. Your assignments, projects, everything of importance to you and for your classes were inside and with the inconvenient rain, you knew you were screwed. For a second, you stood at the entrance to the art building looking lost at the sight before you: obscuring amounts precipitation, wet cement, dripping gutters, deep puddles.

Of course, you had forgotten your umbrella in your fervor to leave on time that same morning. You didn’t think to check the weather while fighting with your backpack, forcing it to fit all of your supplies. In fact, the only thing extra you left with was a protein bar sticking out between your teeth. Besides, you couldn’t be bothered with carrying on. There was no room in your backpack for a travel-sized one and you didn’t have extra hands to carry everything you need. To even get out the door, you need one hand to close and lock the apartment door and the other to fumble with the ridiculously long case. You certainly couldn’t hold an umbrella while trying to deal with your case, train passes, and eventually keys on your journey back home. Maybe it was for the best that you didn’t even think to bring one. You would have spent too much time struggling with it.

It was only a ten minute walk to the station, and with your light jogging pace you got there sooner. You quickly descended the steps and into shelter from the rain. Surrounding you were the usual for a busy station, people milling about, some running to their desired platforms or destinations, and the walls plastered with advertisements. There were a few that made your stomach knot uncomfortably, even after seeing almost every day for the past year or so. Somehow the message being conveyed wasn’t as happy and cheerful to you as the advertisers were trying to come off as. Get you Soul Mark removed with DermCare Lasers!

You avert your eyes as you pass the smiling men and women in the photos showing off clear skin where presumably their Soul Mark once were. You didn’t understand the purpose of Soul Marks, but you also didn’t understand some people’s obsession with trying to get rid of them. Regardless of the miraculous biological, genetic, statistical, and even religious observation, study and knowledge of Soul Marks, there wasn’t a definite answer to why they existed. Despite being born with a birthmark that you and only one other person in the world carried, it didn’t mean that you weren’t meant to be with them. There were plenty of people who ignored their marks and choose who they wanted to be with. Though, the data clearly showed those who sought for their matches in Soul Marks worked out better in the long run.

You weren’t sure what to think of yours. The mark was definitely a part of you, so you didn’t want to get rid of it. It was a permanent option to get it removed, and a very painful one at that. However, you also didn’t like the idea of a set destiny or fate. Choice was a very important thing to you. There were a lot of things you couldn’t control in life and your mindset was to make that amount as little as possible. The idea of having no control over who it was you were meant to be with by God, the Universe, or even some mathematical mistake was terrifying, no matter who or what was pulling the strings.

The hand around your case’s straps tightened considerably. You were allowed to be angry, you told yourself. Everyone had a different way of coping with the marks. As kids, people were told to ignore the marks until they were old enough to understand. However, the prevailing and ever present culture was already planting the seeds into kids’ minds swaying them to try and find their matches despite the contrary words of parents and elders. In fact, those same parents and elders were often hypocritical. If a child found their match at an early age, there was a lifelong push for the children to marry once they were old enough, essentially grooming them to only expect everlasting love from oftentimes a stranger.

Movies, TV shows, and books often presented these scenarios as desirable. You found them creepy. You didn’t understand the appeal of falling head over heels for someone who you wouldn’t think twice about if you hadn’t seen their mark. In fact, it was a common trope in comedies to see one of the characters remark how unattractive someone was only to find out that very same unattractive person was actually their match. Then, all of the sudden the two characters were madly in love and found each other irresistible. Really, how shallow could they be?

It really didn’t matter. It wasn’t like you were going to find your match anyways.

——————————————————————————–

Somewhere in the absolute chaos that was the Tokyo underground, there was an unexpected delay and so your usual line was cancelled. The closest station to your apartment was more walking and an even longer train ride. You kicked the digital sign announcing the cancellation with fury. Immediately, you regretted your decision as pain flared through your foot. Fellow passengers and general onlookers gave you curious, yet disturbed stares and glances as you grabbed your foot and hopped.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

After the pain subsided enough to let your foot down, you gave another glance at the sign and looked beneath it to the map to see what else you could do. There was a line that took you to a more commercial area near where you lived. It was still going to be a longer walk back home, but the train was coming sooner than the others and was a shorter journey. You also reminded yourself that you could visit one of the many cafes in that neighborhood. It sounded like a really good idea once you realized that you could wait out the storm and not have to walk back in the pouring rain. Not to mention a hot beverage to warm you up. So you raced to the platform and hopped aboard, thinking dreamily about what you wanted to order.

It was on the way up to the cafe, one that sat within a multi-story commercial building, that you noticed a man sitting on the adjacent building’s rooftop in the rain. As you lingered in the landing of the cold, harshly lit, and echoey stairwell, it struck you as bizarre. You stopped to gaze at the man in the rain. Under any other situation, you would have left him be. He obviously didn’t want anyone’s company sitting out in the rain like he was. However, you had a very imaginative mind. It was one of the reasons why you excelled in visual art, but it often ran away with outlandish ideas if you weren’t careful. That was why when you had turned away from the window you saw the man through, you felt a twinge of guilt. What if he needs help? Sick or injured? What if you didn’t help and he died?

You rolled your eyes and huffed. Why were you like this? You turned back around to the door that led to the rooftop and left your portfolio case next to it. You pushed through the door aggressively and made your way over to the man.

He was tucked into what looked like a very uncomfortable position. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his hands cupped them neatly, and his back bowed against the concrete wall that served as a base for the fence that surrounded the rooftop. Through the rain that fell into your eyes and the wind that whipped your hair around so high up, you studied him.

You watched as his eyes adjusted to your feet in front of him. Slowly, they worked their way up to your face. He looked small and empty. His dark eyes showed no expression, his mouth neutral, and his shoulders while hunched didn’t really seem tight with stress. He looked completely okay to you health-wise. Maybe it was his mental health that needed to be checked out.

“Can I help you?” He asked in a quiet and impassive voice.

“I was wondering why you were sitting in the rain?”

He paused for a moment, those dark eyes still burning a hole in you and his equally dark hair plastered around his thin, pale face. He then tilted his head up towards the sky. His eyes flitted shut with the harsh oncoming drops.

“Oh, I hadn’t even noticed.”

Your mouth twisted involuntarily with a lot of different emotions. Confusion and unsettled were the two that seemed to stick out the most.

“Okay, so … Do you need anything?” You asked still trying to be polite.

His mouth opened as if he were about to answer, but he snapped it shut after further consideration. His gaze fell back to your feet and became unfocused.

“No, I don’t believe there is anything pressing that I need at the moment.”

The rain seemed much louder than it had before. The constant drumming was deafening once the man finished his sentence. Your apprehensiveness continued to grow. The urge to take slow steps back to the door was strong, but for whatever reason you fought against it.

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t look up to you and his blank expression never wavered. “Yes, I’m sure.”

You crouched down to his level and matched his stare. Your eyes caught his and at once the world seemed to stop. Something about him made it seem like you and him both had all the time in the world to be sitting there in the rain. It was something about his eyes, you thought. They were too dark and the bags under them were too deep, especially since you guessed he was around your age. Yet, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he had seen and experienced a lot more than you had.

You hold your knees like he did. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

His demeanor changed considerably. It went from cold and robotic to something akin to amusement. His eyes lit up as his attention had been fully won over by something you did. His expression was much like a cat that had set its sights on its prey. You recoiled from its intensity.

“Worried for a stranger, are you?” His mouth opened into a smile. “Very friendly, indeed.”

You felt like you needed to defend yourself, “I was only trying to be nice.”

He hummed in consideration, “Perhaps, but I don’t accept that people are just nice. So if you would let me humor myself, could I try to understand your motivation for coming out here?”

You weren’t sure how to respond to his question, but he began speaking again without an answer.

“I’ll describe the situation from your point of view. If you could, correct me if I’m wrong. A man on the rooftop all alone in the pouring rain. You see him and come rushing to his aid in case he was in need of your help? Because perhaps he was hurt in some manner?”

“Well, yeah?”

He chuckled breathily and brought the tip of his thumb to his lips, “What did you expect in return for helping me?”

“What?”

“You saw a benefit in helping me, what was that benefit?”

“That I get to help another human being?” Your voice was starting to get louder and more tense. “Here, come on. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee at the cafe next door.”

His eyes followed your hand which was outstretched towards him. He was thinking, you could see it somewhat now that he was biting the tip of his thumb. It must have been a habit of his.

Your eyes met his again as he accepted your offer tentatively.

“Friendly, indeed.” He repeated.

When you both stood up, you took in his statue. He was a little taller than you, perhaps more so if he weren’t slouching as much. His shoulders upon further inspection may have been slouched in a way that looked like he was tense. It looked like he was carrying a heavy burden, stupidly reminding you of the ancient Greek story of Atlas, the titan who held up the sky and heavens. However, no sooner than that unnecessary though filled your head, a sudden and heavy weight suddenly crashed upon you as if you had taken over Atlas’ job.

Once that odd man stood and his white long-sleeved shirt was exposed, you could see clearly through the wet material. On his chest was his Soul Mark clear as day. It was very pigmented against his pale skin and stood out even more so with the shirt. You would have maybe looked away if it were anyone else with any other mark. Yet, with your awful luck and this goddamn inconvenient rain, you could clearly see that his mark was the exact same as yours. There was no mistaking it. You’ve spent your whole life staring at your mark, unhappy that it was there, but too used to it to get rid of it. Sometimes you wished you were born without one. Then, you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of a chance encounter like this one.

You must have not moved for a long time. He caught you glaring at his mark and glanced down as well. His hand touched the wet shirt, the tips of his fingers dragging over the mark.

“Do you recognize it?” He asked, his voice much softer than before.

You couldn’t lie to him. Your head bobbed unevenly with your jerky nodding, “It’s my match.”

This took him by surprise. His usual wide-eyed stare was wider and curious.

“Interesting,” he murmured, “The probability of meeting you was already slim to none, and considering who I am and what I do …”

Your stomach sank even further. What he was saying sounded like he was probably a serial killer or something.

“Let’s go inside, to the cafe?” He bent down to level his face with yours before walking towards the door.

You dumbly followed, still in shock and really unable to comprehend anything other than your impending doom. It was like everything had narrowed down to a single point in your life, where meeting your match was not merely a coincidence, but a certainty. As much as you tried to struggle against fate and pull away from losing control something so personal as finding your soulmate, it hadn’t really mattered in the end. You still ended up in the most ironic of circumstances, finding the very person who shared the exact same birthmark in a very uncharacteristic move. You thought sarcastically that you shouldn’t help anyone else out of the kindness of your heart ever again.

The door shut heavily behind them in finality. The sound echoed up and down the stairwell. Then, there was an eerie silence. No more rain in the background to blanket and surround you.

You pushed your dripping hair out of your face and locked eyes with him again. “What’s your name?”

You might as well ask. The thing you have been fretting over and having anxiety about was now happening. You had lost the will to care about panicking and being overly blunt.

He looked uncomfortable, “I go by L.”

“L?” Your head fell with disbelief. “Like the letter?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe that’s your real name.”

“It isn’t my real name, no. I just happen to go by it, like a nickname, or an alias.”

You considered him for a moment, “Why?”

“My work.” L tucked his hands in the pockets of jeans. “It’s quite dangerous. I don’t like others knowing my personal information. Of course, you can find a lot about someone with just a name and description of appearance.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a detective. A private detective would probably be a better title, though I often find cases to study and solve without an initial client.”

You looked him up and down again, “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” He countered.

“I’m in university, third year.”

“I’m a little younger than you, a year or so. Depending on your age, you could be young for a third year?”

“I am.”

L had that weird, open-mouthed smile again. “What’s your name, then? Since we’re going to be playing twenty questions?”

You couldn’t help but grin at his sarcastic tone. “My name is [YN].”

“Well, [YN], I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer for coffee.”

You had completely forgotten about what you had said to get L out of the rain. You had gone through a complete cycle of emotions since then and couldn’t be bothered to remember.

“I don’t mind,” You say, “It doesn’t hurt my feelings at all.”

He cocked his head and studied you for a brief moment, “I’m glad to have met you. Regardless of the strange circumstances.”

You felt sick once more, but there was a bit of relief in realizing that L was not what you had expected and he certainly didn’t expect some heartfelt gestures from finding his match.

“I’d like to keep in touch.” L said fumbling around his back pocket, looking for something. “After all, I wouldn’t mind having an artist around.”

“How did you-?”

No sooner than you had uttered those words his eyes dropped to your portfolio case then back up to you. You felt a flush rising in your cheeks and ears. Your portfolio case had your name on it, of course he would have assumed it belonged to you.

“So you’re an artist.” L said. “I’d thought initially you were an architect and that was based on your clothing. However, with more deduction, I was only thirty-seven percent sure.”

“My clothing,” you said jokingly angry, “What about my clothing?”

“Never mind that. You’re case distracted me. It’s quite large. I had thought you were carrying designs for equally large projects.”

“Wow, thanks for noticing my large portfolio case.”

L’s smile grew larger, “I must take my leave. I will keep in touch.”

He began to descend the stairs in an unhurried manner. As reached the first landing, a cell phone went off and you saw, before L turned the corner, that it had been his.

“Hello? Yes, Watari. I’m on my way down, I’ll be out there soon …”

You stopped listening as you knees wobbled under your weight. You fell against the stairs and curled up into a ball. What the hell just happened?

#death note #reader insert #l death note #soulmate #soulmate au #alternate universe #requests #anon asks #reader x l

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stuckonswan · 6 years

Text

The Inn of Senrof, Act I

It’s still the 31st in Californiaaaaa After many many MANY months of working on this, I have finally completed my work for the sanders sides big bang run by the lovely blog @ts-storytime An apology for being so late to post, the entire month has been nothing but struggles and things kept popping up to delay me. A major thanks to @bloodropsblog who did everything I could possibly ask of them.

Click Here for Act II

Click Here for art done by @zennyo

Click Here for art done by @lady-literature

Another thanks goes to my lovely artists, @zennyo and @lady-literature who have been patient and supportive, I hope you enjoy the final product.

Trigger Warnings: violence, cursing, fire, arguments, blood, injury

Virgil

Pulvis et umbra sumus

His cloak was a worn black, faded with time and covered in rushed patch jobs, the velvet purple lining the inside peeking out in many places. To most, it would have been retired and packed away, or repaired until very little of its original fabric remained.

However, for Virgil, it was his beginning. The cloak with its deep hood and stitched pockets was where he began his endeavors. Each mark on the garment was a memory, an arrow too close or a sword slash too slow. It reminded him he was alive. That he could fight and that he would win.

So it stayed, secured around his throat, barely keeping him warm with all the holes and tears. The wind billowed around it as he rode on his horse, towards the small town of Senrof.

Senrof was a small city, hidden in the valley between two mountains and where Virgil rode to meet his boisterous and excitable partner, Roman.

The pair had been getting more attention as adventurers and, as a result, have been encountering less than ideal situations where a extra teammate would have made the situation far less dangerous as it had been originally. Coincidentally, a pair of adventurers who’d also been searching for a partner, attempting to make a team more suitable for dangerous missions. Roman had encountered them during a visit in the City of Shrines and they had agreed to meet in Senrof to discuss a possible alliance.

Virgil was a half day's ride away, and running late, as if the gods themselves were against his appearance in the forgotten town. As he rode on, he remembered the last conversation he had had with Roman, nearly a fortnight ago.

“I don’t like this.” Virgil grumbled, taking a large swig of his wine. The pair were staying in an inn, just west of the city of shrines. After a grueling quest, they escaped the city to resupply and rest for two weeks.

It seemed Roman had other ideas, however, as he instead wanted to use their downtime to discuss joining up with another pair of adventurers.

“That’s because change is a foreign concept to you, stormcloud.” Roman jokes, dodging the punch to his arm before taking a sip of his drink and continuing, “We need them if we are to take on higher paying jobs.” Roman clapped Virgil on the shoulder. “One’s a healer, the other’s a talented magician. They’d be of good use.”

“I’m not saying they wouldn’t be. But how do we know we can trust them, Ro?” He was paranoid and Roman knew it. It wasn’t that strange a trait to have when you realized he grew up in an assassins guild. It was expected to be stabbed in the back when you let your guard down. Virgil never really shook that particular habit, and had no want to anyhow.

“The healer is a paladin, Shadow. They’re good, trustworthy men. I promise.”

Virgil had just rounded the bend, lost in thought as he trekked the mountain slope when the thieves attacked, throwing him off his horse and into the snow below. He sucked in a fruitless gasp as the wind rushed out of his body. The three masked thieves rifled through his saddlebags, ignoring Virgil’s prone form on the ground.

A dangerous mistake when robbing someone, Virgil thought angrily, scowling into the snow. The least they could do if they were going to rob him is rob him well. Their daggers were still sheathed, the familiar mark of the assassins guild carved into the hilts. Virgil nearly snorted at the sight. Just his luck to be attacked by his peers.

I’m better, the voice in the back of his mind spoke up. They’re amateurs at best, he noticed, and certainly not taught by her.

“Today’s not your lucky day, boy,” a man snarled from under his mask, probably the leader and certainly the oldest. They moved slowly and clumsy, their feet kicking up snow as they went.

‘Boy?’ The word stuck under his skin, the jab at his apparent naivete leaving a sour taste on his tongue.

Slowly, Virgil stood, his knees shaking with nerves he never could seem to get rid of. His cheek was stung from having been scratched in the fall and his arms were covered in gooseflesh, his cloak having fallen from his shoulders. He knew he looked small and pitiful and it only served to make him angrier.

He stood to his full height, bringing himself up above the thieves. He may be thin but he towered over most. “I believe it’s you who should be worried,” he snapped in irritation.

Before they could react, he smirked, falling into a step sequence he knew by heart. His feet moved along the pattern burned into his muscle memory. The steps flowing through his body as he spun and danced and twisted himself around. In the blink of an eye he was gone.

The darkness having swallowed him whole, welcoming him into the inky black of the rich swath of shadows beneath the mountain.

The thieves, ill trained as they were, spun in circles to try and find his cloaked form. They moved with frustrated caution, unsheathing their daggers and calling out to him as if that will make him reappear.

Virgil rolled his eyes. And they thought him naive.

Fast as lightning, Virgil flew through the shadows, incapacitating the men with practiced ease. They were unconscious before they hit the ground.

Virgil did a sweep of the area, making sure no one else was hidden in the treeline. Just because these men were sloppy didn’t mean he needed to be. When he decided it was safe, he stepped from the shadows, the sunlight once again touching his face.

Completely on autopilot, he removed all the thieves possessions from their persons. Coins, knives, and any valuable items they may have stolen. He left them with little more than the clothes on their back. Then he grabbed a length of rope, tying them securely to a tree he knew was near a soldier’s patrol route.

When he was finished and realized he was safe again, the weight of the moment fell onto his chest making it hard to breathe. He took deep breaths to hold back his oncoming panic attack, but he could never really calm down without Roman chattering in his ear.

It took him seven minutes to start breathing normally again, and another three to calm Sombra down.

The damn thieves in the mountain ranges were getting out of hand. Virgil knew Roman blamed the guild, though he wouldn’t dare say those words aloud for fear of hurting his feelings.

He had trained there and he’d always be a part of the guild. It was his roots and no matter how hard he tries to distance himself, he knows you can’t run away from something that’s apart of you. No matter how hard you try or fast you run.

The shadows licked at his feet as he moved, loyal as they were for the few that they chose the help. They blurred the edges of his form, trying to pull him back into their dark realm. Trying to keep him safe. He smiled and cast them away with a quick flick of his wrist, placating them for the time being before throwing a leg up and climbing onto Sombra’s back.

It wasn’t until sundown that he reached the town, he and Sombra exhausted and ready for a rest. And it wasn’t until moonrise that he reached the inn.

Virgil had paid for a stall in the stables on the outside of the town and decided to walk the rest of the way to the inn, giving his nerves time to settle. He passed several small houses and shops, all closed several hours ago. Only the blacksmith was still open, the owner bringing a hammer down on a screaming lump of metal, still blazing with fire. The moon was at its apex and the shadows swirled around him, beckoning him into the darkness between the many buildings.

Soon, the Inn was standing before him. A lame building, clearly on its last legs. Crumbling bricks looking like a hard wind would send the building crashing to the ground at Virgil's feet. He continued forward, his eyes on the inn at the town’s center and the man clinging to the eaves.

“Has my shadow finally returned to me?” a man standing beside the doorway of the inn called out, his face hidden in shadows. Virgil rolled his eyes at him as he stepped out into the light. Roman had been calling him his shadow since their first quest together, when Virgil had quite literally become Roman’s shadow to maintain the element of surprise over their enemies.

“I thought I told you that if you called me that again I’d throw your stuff in the nearest stream, shall I make good on my promise?” The threat was half-hearted at best and Virgil was smiling as he said it, enjoying their inside joke of three years. As he stepped into the soft glow of torchlight surrounding the inn he realised the friendly expression did nothing for Roman in the darkness he was just standing in. His fear evaporated as Roman stepped out of the shadows, bearing a smile as well.

“It’s good to see you, Ro.” The pair clasped hands in greeting. Virgil looked his friend over for signs of battle, checking to make sure he was alright. When the thief found none he stepped back, waiting for Roman to finish his more obvious examination.

“Well you’re late, so I can call you whatever I please,” Roman snarked, stepping back to lean against the wall of the inn. He was wearing his flashy white tunic with the gold accents. The golden buttons he bought on the last job, securing the blood red cape to his shoulders.

He was dressed up like a presenting peacock, the obvious outcast in a sea of dull peasant browns and greens. But after the many years of partnership with him, Virgil had given up trying to talk him out of it. “We’re supposed to meet the others inside at sundown. It’s almost a new day, Shadowling.”

Virgil’s hands shook and he smoothed down the cloak, feeling the worn black velvet on his fingers. “I got held up. Some bandits on the mountain ambushed me.” At Roman’s worried look, Virgil added, “They’ve been handled. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Roman frowned, irritation and worry in his eyes. Despite his best efforts to keep his partner calm, Virgil knew that Roman was constantly worried about him during their brief periods of separation. “I’m glad you made it here unscathed, Virgil.” Roman let out a deep breath before brightening. “Come on. As I said before, we’re very late.” He flicked his cape around him with a flourish before pushing open the door.

The bar was empty save for a few patrons scattered here and there. Most were slumped over cups of ale, snoring worse than Roman on a cold night. Despite the few patrons, it was loud and dirty inside. Virgil eyed the room with distaste.

“I see you still have poor taste in taverns,” He remarked, scrunching his nose as he maneuvered around the tables.

While Virgil had yet to meet his future companions face to face, he trusted Roman’s judgment and just looking around the room, he knew immediately who they were. There were only two men in the bar that Virgil deemed fit for travel, and Roman knew how shallow and picky Virgil could be when he wanted. He would only pick what he thought was best. Besides, he was allowed to be picky, he was one of seven Shadowdancers in the world. It’s not like you could hire one at the market. And if you could, you’d be poor from the effort.

The two men worthy of more than a half second glance were huddled in the far corner. Their table looked to be barely holding itself together but the position was the most defendable should someone attack the inn. The pair looked to be in deep in conversation, their heads bent towards each other as they spoke in hushed tones. The man on the left had cropped, brown hair and a tall stature from what he could see. He wore long, billowing robes of deep navy and light gray silks. Dusted over his cloak were words of power, scripted in what seemed to be golden thread. He held himself with confidence and power, his back straight and shoulders squared. He looked hesitant to touch anything besides his chair and the table.

Virgil rolled his eyes, A spoiled nobleman’s child out studying magic. Roman better know what he’s doing.

To the right of the magic user was a man in lightly glowing armor. His hair was a light brown, almost blonde that curled just past his ears. He seemed to cast a light over the dim bar both literally and figuratively, walking closer Virgil felt magic flow through him and was calmer if only for a moment. His sword glowed brighter than the light he already cast and Virgil decided it was some sort of godly light. Now that Virgil was closer he could see that the armor he wore was well kept yet lightly tarnished, as if it had seen recent battle.

He gestured wildly at his partner, his face animated despite his whispered tones. As they grew closer, Virgil heard this man frequently cut off the other in favor of his own voice. They approached quickly, moving through the maze of tables and the occasional bar maid or patron. By the time they got to the table, Virgil’s heart beat like a metronome to a ghost song. A deep pit was forming in his stomach and he wished he had talked to Roman more before walking in here.

Logan

There is no great genius without some touch of madness

-Aristotle

“How good can they be if they can’t even handle being punctual, Patton?” Logan whispered hotly, eyes scanning the bar on the first floor of the inn. The disgruntled bartender was washing the counters as he spoke to the patrons sitting up there with him. He all but ignored the pair of adventurers tucked away in the back corner, seated at a table riddled with scars and scrapes.

It was a sad inn. There were few customers and the furniture had clearly seen better days. The walls were littered with holes and deep gashes. And Logan firmly believed that the tables had to be imbued with some form of magic because they should have long since crumpled to nothing.

As a whole, Logan thought of Senrof as a pitiful town to stow away in, waiting for two people with no concept of time as it would seem. He was growing impatient, but Patton was hellbent on teaming up with whoever these people were.

“Well you never did like to give newcomers a chance Logan, but we really do need them. It’s getting more and more dangerous out there. The seem like good people, Logan. His partner’s even a dancer, Lo!”

“I hardly see the point of a dance-” Logan was cut off by Patton waving his arms to silence him.

“A Shadowdancer. Taught under she who walked through the shadow plane. The shadow plane, Logan!” Patton took a deep breath, his excitement practically vibrating through him, before he continued, smiling at Logan earnestly. “He’s a good kid and Roman’s a talented Bard. Handy with a longsword as well.” Logan sighed frustratedly. While an excellent partner with a moral compass so good it was almost uncanny, Patton was far too trusting.

These people could be good as Patton believes . Or they could be waiting to kill them and rob them blind for good measure. The latter seemed more likely to Logan than the former and he prefered himself alive, thank you very much.

After all, you can’t cast if you’re dead.

Logan forced himself to admit that they sounded good. However, he and Patton were better he was almost positive. More than good. He and Patton meshed in a way that was near indescribable. Logan had never felt this comfortable around someone else, and he certainly didn’t want two strangers coming in and ruining everything. They made an excellent team as they were.

“I’m just not sure, Patton. If it isn’t broken-”

“Break it.”

In front of them stood two men, the left-most having finished his statement, albeit incorrectly. They appeared to be adventurers, although one was dressed in a crisp white uniform, a golden circlet resting atop his golden hair while the other looked like he had been dragged by a horse down a hill, his cloak taking the brunt of the damage. It was fairly easy to deduce which man was the Shadowdancer and which the Bard. Logan was sure even Patton could tell, he could read people like the best clairvoyants and yet when it came to determining a person’s prefered fighting style, Patton always failed.

Patton stood, grinning from ear to ear as he walked around the table to shake both their hands. “Roman! And you must be, Virgil? Was it?” Patton hesitated on the other man’s name and could see him physically wince. Despite this, Roman nodded and Patton moved away from their table and shook both their hands, grabbing Roman by the forearm in a warriors grasp and then shaking Virgil’s hand as if he were made of glass.

Patton was always pulling things like this on Logan, inviting other adventurers to their table to share stories and regale each other with fantastic tales. Patton normally kept his group of the night up well after moonrise. It was perplexing the amount of energy he would have after a battle or an entire day of traveling. While Logan prefered to sit with a book and a tall glass of ale, Patton preferred company and wouldn’t hesitate to find it once Logan started ignoring him. This time however, Patton had agreed to travel with these new adventurers and while he loathed to be apart of a bigger group, he couldn’t deny that the shadowdancing assassin was intriguing.

“Let’s not hound them Patton, they must have come a long way. At least give them time to sit and grab drinks,” Logan kept his tone neutral, as if he didn’t care whether they joined or not. In all honesty, it wasn’t difficult to act as though he didn’t want them and he wasn’t so sure he was acting after a moment of thought.

“Thank you for offering, my friend.” Roman sat down at the table with a hearty thunk, making himself comfortable as he waved over the bartender. After a moment of hesitation, so did his partner. Unlike Roman who stood out like a sore thumb, Logan would have had trouble noticing Virgil if he wasn’t staring right at him.

Almost immediately Roman waved over the bartender and soon a pitcher and two glasses were sitting next to the ones Patton had ordered earlier.

“So, shall we talk about this new arrangement before we drink?” The assassin spoke without preamble, straight to the point. A personality trait Logan could appreciate.

Virgil leaned over the table, the wood creaking under his weight as he swirled his finger over the edge of his drinking glass. It created a small warbling noise, almost musical in the quiet bar. “I prefer to talk business before my partner here drinks himself under the table.” The words were stamped at the end with a mild glare towards said partner, already half a glass of ale into the evening.

“I agree.” Logan said, a brow creeping its way up onto his forehead before he could stop it. Their partner dynamic seemed… interesting to say the least. For one, they had obviously been partners for years. This was made clear by their friendly banter and overall comfortableness around each other. Roman was quite obviously the unspoken leader similar to how Logan was the unspoken strategist between Patton and himself.

What was unusual was how similar the partnership seemed to his own. Yes, they were an odd pair and yet so were he and Patton.

Granted he had only been around the pair for mere minutes and yet he saw himself in both of them just as easily as he saw Patton in the pair. He caught Patton’s eye and saw him staring back, a gleam in his eye as if they were thinking the same thing. Patton saw it too. Logan stared for a few minutes more, lost in thought until someone pointedly cleared their throat as if waiting for an answer to a question he never heard.

“Logan, are you even paying attention?” Patton was talking to him, poking him in the side till he glanced over.

“Yes, sorry.” Logan glanced up, nodding to both travelers. “Now, what was it we were discussing?”

Patton waved off his lapse and brought him up to speed. “We were discussing our strengths. Roman is proficient with a longsword and is capable of magic!” He bounced in his seat excitedly, the energy of ten men inside his body.

“Ah of course, you’re the bard yes? And your associate is the dancer, correct?” They both nodded although Logan did not miss the look of irritation that flashed across Virgil’s face at the word, ‘dancer’. “I’m a practicing mage although most of my powers go to evocation. However, I am also proficient with spells to aid my companions.”

Roman nodded, “Sounds similar to what I do for Virgil. He’s the fighter in our group. While I am proficient with the sword, I normally aid him with my magic.”

Virgil thwacked him in the head with his sleeve, a playful smile on his face. “You only aid me when you remember you have magic.” Turning to Logan, the smile fell off his face and he became more composed. “I fight in the shadows, Roman usually fights alongside me until he remembers he can use magic.”

Logan’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked over at the lithe and small frame of Virgil. Of course he was muscled, but he seemed far too fragile for a fighter.

But, even he was wrong sometimes. Looks can be deceiving, I suppose.

The rogue caught his eye and, seemingly reading his mind, narrowed his eyes in a challenge. Slow and purposeful, he reached for the hilt of his dagger and sank the blade into the table with a dull thud. It wasn’t deep, merely enough to keep the blade standing, but Logan heard the bartender make an affronted noise.

Both Roman and Patton made confused noises, unable to understand the power play. While excelling in certain areas, brains and strategy was neither’s forte. But virgil seemed to know what he was doing, knew what he needed to do to get what he wanted.

Another agile mind.

Interesting.

“I’ve been told you’ve had training with the assassin’s guild. You are remarkably small-built for a frequent combatant.” Logan spoke in a calm manner, his tone controlled, wanting to see how this played out.

“It doesn’t take much strength to use daggers. And an opponent with all the strength in the world means nothing if they can’t catch you.” His eyes twinkle in a way that makes Logan shift in his seat, silently reminding himself to never underestimate Virgil again. “Besides,” he continued, shifting to be more comfortable in the rickety wooden chair, “shadows don’t care if I’m not the strongest. Their skills are wit and stealth. I consider myself proficient in both of those. Understood?”

The pair held gazes for a moment. Virgil, to make sure he got his point across and Logan to make sure that while the battle was lost, the war was not.

“Of course.” Logan answered, tilting his head in a nod and breaking eye contact. He reached across the table, plucking the knife from the table and holding it in his hands to examine.

Logan didn’t know much of blades, but this one looked like a fine one. It made sense such a man would have a nice blade.

After a moment, he held the knife out, hilt first to Virgil, a sign of goodwill after such mind games. He knew they’d but heads in the future, but for now they could agree to a truce.

Virgil leaned back in his seat, twirling the blade with deadly precision before sliding it back in his holster. As he moved, Logan saw the outline of at least four more weapons on his person. Logan suspected he was wearing a bandolier, dozens of knives held to his chest.

Patton coughed to ease the tension, giving an easy if confused smile. “Well now that that’s… settled, how about discussing what we all came here for, yes? We didn’t come all the way here to talk, not that you aren’t lovely.” He and Roman share a laugh.

“Yes, I think now is a great time to start discussing important matters.” Roman sends Virgil a sharp look which the assassin steadfastly ignores. “While this has certainly been fun, I’m afraid that we don’t know how we’d work together as a team. Most jobs are dangerous. A single mistake could mean death or injury. How do we plan on being prepared?”

“My concerns exactly,” Logan agrees. Virgil looks at him in surprise but hides it before anyone else notices. “We cannot guarantee safety in such uncontrolled environments. A possible solution could be a simple mission with little fighting, but that could still end in injury.”

“Exactly! See, Roman? I’m not paranoid, I’m merely thinking ahead.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Then what is your solution?” he asks, slamming back the remainder of his pint before refilling his glass.

Logan sighed, “If it fails then we go our separate ways, and we forget meeting each other.” He spoke the answer as if it was obvious and to him it was. Why would they continue as a party if a simple quest went awry. Patton, ever the cheery one, sat up straighter in his seat and leaned onto the table before speaking.

“Logan is just a pessimist, ignore him. A test run sounds like a swell idea and I’m sure it’ll go great. Right Lo?” The agreeing tone and the kick under the table had Logan nodding, if only to keep the peace. “Now that we have decided on where to go from here, how about dinner?” Patton waved over a waitress before anyone could protest and soon, their orders had been placed and Logan was once again sitting with his head in a book, ignoring the chattering of his newfound party.

The smell of warm food brought Logan’s nose away from the stiff pages of the book and he quietly put it away as the waitress slid platters onto their table. A large pitcher of ale and two platters of meat were accompanied by 4 wooden bowls filled with a strong smelling broth. Logan nodded at the barmaid in thanks, tossing her two silver pieces before grabbing a bowl. Other than the call for more ale from Patton, supper was a silent affair and afterwards, the party of four paid for the meal, and went outside towards the back of the inn to examine the quest board.

Like many towns, the quest board was right outside the inn, marked by a line of torches at the top of the wooden sign. However, unlike many towns, this board was thin for quests. Only three papers littered the massive board and none of them required the skill of four adventurers. Logan sighed, defeated if only for a moment. “Looks like no quests worthy of our attention. Of course we may do them for the gold they can bring us but it would be a better use of our time to travel elsewhere in search of a good trial quest.”

Patton gathered the papers regardless and nodded. “I agree with Logan. These papers detail ingredients that need to be gathered and children’s pets that have wandered.” he glanced at a child’s drawing of their own missing cat, carefully peeling it off the quest board, “I can deal with these at dawn, split the money four ways before we leave town. For now, I suggest we rent rooms and get some rest. It has been a tiresome day for us all and we must leave after breakfast tomorrow.” He looked at the pair next to him, a stern look set into his face, and waited for their nod of agreement before turning on his heel and walking back into the inn.

Logan fell in step behind the trio, looking back in disappointment at the board. One small close of the fist and the torches extinguished around the board, leaving a patch of darkness in the circle around the inn. He closed his fist entirely, nails digging into the flesh of his palm, and the area went dark entirely. The only light came from Patton as he led them back inside and up to the barkeep.

“I only got two rooms, double beds in em both.” the barkeep was talking to Patton already by the time Logan had stepped through the door. He sighed, watching as the barkeep handed over two small keys. His hands gestured upstairs with a dirty rag and then the foursome was upstairs, trotting down hallways to their rooms.

“So what did you think of them?” Patton was laying on his bed, having just finished his nightly prayers. His armor rested by the bed in a neat pile waiting to be polished and he had switched into a pair of cotton pants with a light blue tunic. He gazed over at Logan every so often, glancing at him before returning his eyes to the ceiling above him.

“They were certainly interesting. You have a knack for picking perplexing individuals, Patton..” Logan shuffled around, folding back his blankets and crawling into bed. Immediately his eyes shuffled closed and a wave of sleep crashed over him. He murmured a small good night to Patton and was then asleep.

Roman

“Where words fail, music speaks.”

-Hans Christian Anderson

Roman folded his clothes, making a small pile on the nightstand between the two beds. The moon was high in the sky, marking the late hour like a beacon and yet the pair were still awake. Virgil had already shucked off his clothes and was now pacing across the floorboards in a pair of linen pajamas, shirt flowing unbuttoned. Every so often he stopped to engage his partner and yet didn't bother trying to calm himself. Roman just started on, lazily strumming his lyre as Virgil attempted to saw a hole in the floor with an endless back and forth pattern as he walked. This had been going on almost an hour now, Roman’s eyes blurred from watching the motion.

“-and it’s everytime Ro! Why can you walk up to any random adventurer in a tavern and instantly have a seat with a pint of ale while I have to prove myself every damn time. I hate taverns.” He had been rambling nonstop since entering the room and Roman kept murmuring small remarks to keep Virgil under the belief he was listening. If he was honest with himself, Roman was just as angry. Yes, Virgil was a small, lithe body that hid in deep hooded cloaks for most of their friendship. It makes sense that people look at him without seeing the threat. However, Roman had watched Virgil throw daggers with deadly accuracy and seen him be swallowed whole by shadows, leaving no trace of where he is. He was powerful and yet his appearance masked any sign of strength. It worked for them in hostile situations but it was useless making allies.

“You can best five men in a fight without breaking a sweat. People’s first opinions may be wrong but their second is what matters most, Shadow.” Roman settled across the bed and turned to his partner. He plucked at the strings of his lyre, humming as he tuned the small instrument. “Now will you please settle? You’ll fall through the floor with all that pacing.”

Virgil collapsed onto the bed, it wobbling dangerously before settling against the floor. “It’s annoying, and frustrating. Not that you would know, Prince Perfect.” the name is a poor attempt at a jester to lighten the mood and Roman laughs if only to soothe his partner. It was true, while Virgil struggled at near every town, Roman could walk in anywhere and swindle a crowd to his side. They never took him seriously, but he had no problems making friends before traveling with Virgil.

“I have my own dealings, Shadow. Now try and rest. Tomorrow will be a new day and you’ll need your strength.” Roman strummed a soft and gentle rhythm, humming to the tune. It was melodic, calming for both. Instantly, Virgil’s eyes drooped down and he turned onto his side, grabbing the blanket to tug over his head.

For as long as they’d been partners, sleep was a rarity for Virgil. So for the better part of their friendship, Roman would make up nonsense chords to sway the shadowling into sleep. Sometimes he would sing lullabies and sometimes he would only have to hum for Virgil to fall prey to his tune. This was one of those nights, Virgil kicking off his boots and closing his eyes.

Roman continued his tune until Virgil’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, almost to the beat of the song. He gazed over at his companion, propping his lyre up by the nightstand between them.

It had been a long day. A long, difficult day for both him and Virgil. He would be branded a liar if he said the first meeting went well, Logan being an obvious problem for Virgil. Roman was unable to keep the peace between the two and as far as first meetings go, this one would unfortunately be considered an utter failure in his book. The team just didn’t click. He wasn’t sure they would ever be considered a decent team and the thought was...worrying to say the least.

Before long, Roman’s eyes grew heavy, exhaustion weighing him down like an anvil tied to his back. Shifting onto his side, Roman allowed his eyes to fall shut. His last thought before sleep overtook him was of the quest they would soon begin. Of course, he should have known sleep wouldn’t last long on nights like these.

He was stepping off a ledge, one foot impulsively moving off the side into the abyss below. The wind blew hard and fast, ripping at his clothes and hair. Fear rippled through his entire being and he could feel his heart beating like a tribal drum. The energy around the hole was dark, negative and ominous. He knew nothing good would come from stepping into the abyss in front of him. Yet he was halfway there already.

He could sense death and the image of a dark, almost black horse with a broken neck became all he could see. Like a terrifying play, the images pressed forward, showing him a broken party. His broken party. Roman surged forward, his weight toppling into the dark cavern below.

The felt like an eternity, but he could tell it only took mere minutes before he hit hard, on rocky ruins. Roman gasped for air, his lungs deflated after the impact stole his breath from his body. He lay prone, head barely lifted and saw chaos before him.

Virgil stood alone, betrayed by his own cloak which lay wrapped around his throat, throttling him. The thin fabric dragged him backwards with a choked scream followed by a sickening crack, 20 feet into the darkness. A silent scream ripped from his throat, helpless on the ground and unable to speak. On the floor Logan lay, moaning in agony with a bloody hole in his forearm. His eyes stared at the hole and back at his quarterstaff, broken in half at his feet. Patton stood with a smile yet his face was horribly marred, burns covering over half his face. Screams could be heard, echoing throughout the cavern and when Roman awoke he realized it was his own voice.

Gentle hands rested on his shoulders, a soft voice murmuring kind words to him. “Everything is okay, you’ll be fine Ro. It was just a dream. No one here is going to hurt you, not with me around.” Roman may be out of it, eyes unfocused and heart running a race it had long since lost, but he could recognize the voice of his shadow anywhere. It was as if someone had washed his body in cool water, a wave of calm rolling over him as he focused on the voice. Unshed tears blur his vision and he blinks them away, allowing the tears to trace their way down his face. Virgil’s profile appears above him, features sharpening as his eyes become tear free. Worry and concern flash through Virgil’s features and as he helps Roman sit up in his bed, his hands shake.

“I’m so sorry I woke you. It was but a dream, nothing harmful to us in the present.” His words rang true at least partially. No one can speak for the future.

“Bullshit Ro. I’m surprised the entire inn isn’t awake from the screaming. It was worse than the wail of a banshee.” he sits on the bed, fidgeting with the bedspread in an obvious show of restlessness. “It wasn’t a good thing to wake up to. It sounded like you were dying.”

Roman’s features softened, hand going up to Virgil’s shoulder in a sign of comfort. “I can assure you, I am quite alright, my Shadow. It was but a startling dream.” Which again, partially true on Roman’s part. He couldn’t bring himself to recount the dream to Virgil. The shadowling had enough trouble sleeping without any unnatural dreams. Besides, looking at Virgil, scanning his neck for any bruising and seeing none, he slowly realized he had nothing to fear. Everything was going to be okay. His shadowling was alright and so was he. Roman let his hand fall off of the other man’s shoulder, resting it atop his hand instead.

“Ro are you sure? You looked like you’d seen a ghost. Or worse.” He kept a grip on the palm of Roman’s hand, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh.

“I’m sure. It was just a strange dream. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m sorry for rousing you from sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” The room was still dark and the sun had not yet risen. “Need me to play for you?”

Virgil gave a small chuckle, a smile across his face. “No need to worry about me, just get some sleep” his voice was like velvet, soft and gentle. It washed over Roman until the fear had gone and a wave of sleep fell over him. The dream loomed ominously over his head but at the moment, sleep was winning.

“Goodnight, V.” he murmured, clinging to the blankets with one hand, Virgil with the other.

The other man smiled, “Sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

The last thought Roman had before lady sleep dragged him away was of the smooth circular movement Virgil was rubbing his palm.

Patton

Strength does not come from physical capacity.

It comes from an indomitable will.

-Mahatma Gandhi

Patton rose with the morning sun, his eyes sliding open on instinct, as if he somehow knew a new day had arrived. Putting great effort in keeping his motions soft, he stood and stretched. Soft cracking noises could be heard throughout his body, weathered with age. It was the marks of battle making early appearances in his still youthful form.

His arms moved instinctively towards the tarnished breastplate laying neatly on top of his pack, almost urging him forward with the warmth it gave off in the otherwise cool and dark room. Picking up the piece, Patton made quick work of the worn leather straps and pins that kept his armor in place. The moment the last strap was secure against his body, heat poured off of him. It was a type of light his armor held from the day he first strapped the pieces onto his person. He never knew why it glowed and he dare not ask in his prayers, lest it be taken. After all, who is he to question the gods who so generously blessed him everyday?

The life of a paladin wasn’t ideal for most, but for Patton, it was the only suitable way to live. From a young age, the ideas of the gods had been drilled into his brain, and of how the forests and sun that blessed his town were all gifts from them. It was taught to never take those gifts lightly. . He had trained for years in an attempt to pay the gods back and the first day he strapped on his armor, he knew with the glow that every hard quest or difficult night he had worked paid off. The gods had shrouded him in golden light as thanks. Or at least that’s what he believed.

Now fully protected in his armor, Patton moved to the window and knelt, head hanging with eyes closed. Silently, he reflected on the day to come and thanked his gods for allowing the day to exist in the first place. Warmth began to seep into his skin, heating his body in a pleasant, kind way and he smirked. Everytime he prayed he felt what could only be described as sunshine flood into his body, proof the gods were at least happy with him.

A quick glance towards Logan showed him still sleeping, albeit fitfully. His blanket had long since been discarded and the clothes he had worn to bed were rumpled. Clicking his tongue as he observed his sleeping partner. Patton grabbed the blanket, now strewn half on the bed and half on the floor, and threw it over Logan. Satisfied with the room and himself, he stepped out into the hallway and started for the stairs, his armor clinking as he walked.

The inn was quiet, not a single person awake besides the bartender and himself. It was a strange sight witnessing a bar in dead silence and yet it was one he was familiar with. As long as he could remember, Patton was asleep before the moon and rises high into the night sky and was awake with the morning sun. The smell of eggs and sausages wafted into the air and he moved towards the counter, taking a seat and holding up a single finger, silently requesting a plate.

It arrives sooner than he expected, a metal pan heaping with eggs, potatoes and sausage along with a large glass of water. He gives a nod in thanks, a small, cheerful smile spreading on his face before he begins to scarf down the breakfast, burning his tongue as it slides down his throat. The food warms the inside of his stomach and he smiles at the feeling.

“Up quite early aren’t ya? I normally don’t see people down here till half past six.” A loud yet gentle voice brings him away from the still silence of the morning and Patton jerks his head up to stare the man in the face. The bartender’s eyebrow raises and Patton follows the curve of his brow up his forehead.

Patton paid no mind to the bartender, just shrugging to the comment and returning to his breakfast, When he was done he slid from the high stool and walked towards the exit, towards the quest board to see if any new ones appeared. None were displayed much to his disappointment and frustration, so he pulled the papers he collected from it the night before out of his pocket, unfolding their worn creases and reading their requests.

In every town, no matter what the quest, Patton always gave it at least an attempt. Not only did it allow him to serve the people of the town, it gave Logan time to rest as he rarely went on the quests with him without a reward or some danger. Fine by him, he was there for the adventure.

They weren’t anything exciting, mostly recovery of artifacts or cave exploration but he took what he could.These would at the least intrigue Logan who would see it as an easy exercise for this newfound team they had become a part of.

Upon closer inspection, the quests seemed to line up after one another, something no one noticed. Not even Logan. Patton moved to the floor, leaning against the wooden legs of the board for support as he spread the papers out in front of them. He couldn’t determine the order but he knew that they connected.

A heavy sigh caught his attention, he looked up to identify who it had come from to see a figure kneeling in front of him. The person was cloaked, the black of it seeming like a piece of the world was missing in front of his very eyes. Not even the light he had been gifted from the gods could penetrate the darkness in front of him. A nest of bonerats began their tumble through his stomach and he couldn’t shake his feeling of unease. Their face wasn’t visible, covered by a deep hood and from what he could tell, a half-mask across the person’s face. Patton stared down the figure, a hand instinctively moving towards the sword at his side.

“I see you are thinking of taking up on those quests.” The voice was deep, a light echo following after the sentence. It felt like the world around them shut off. The wind ceased to gust, the trees no longer made a noise, the sounds that came with the morning had ceased to exist. He looked around and saw nothing out of place, as if time had stopped. Serious magic was at work here and Patton stared back at the man with a small smile, deciding to keep talking and avoid a conflict until there was no other choice

“Uh.. yes. Me and the rest of my party are doing this as an easy exercise.” That sentence earned a hearty laugh from the person in front of him, laughing as if they were old friends sharing a joke.. “Easy. That must have been the funniest thing I have heard in years. Oh traveler, these quests are nothing to take lightly.” His fingers traced the papers as he spoke, stroking them fondly like you would a lover. Patton shifted where he sat, not able to look at the figure without feeling as if he were about to lose consciousness.

“They’re nothing but puzzles and caverns. I see no difficulty in these quests.” Patton’s features hardened and he stared down the hooded figure who merely snorted.

“These caverns are design to drive you to insanity should you take one step out of line. Even now, miles above the surface they plague members of your team and this town.” Patton opened his mouth to speak only to find silence, no words came from his mouth. The hooded man, at least he was sure it was a man, continued on. “You have to work together, to never part. It is all or none of you. There will be tragedies and falls, but you mustn’t let those stop you from adventuring into the caverns.”

Patton looked down at the papers to see them in a new order. Magically, they had shifted to the correct placement, each quest trailing into the next. The more he stared, the less they looked like individual pieces. He picked up the papers to see they had combined as one. Between his fingers were a crude map. The first one didn’t have a way to get into the cave, no way of getting in to start their journey. “How do we get in? How do I make sure we stay together? To make everyone get along?” Like firing arrows, the questions shot out of his mouth and he was grateful he could once again speak.

“You simply wait for the fall of course. It shall come before the days end. Unfortunately it is impossible to keep your team together in the dark. They’ll have to want allies in order for your team to not wither away at the edges.” He must’ve seen the confusion in Patton’s eyes for he continued, “Patience, dear Patton. You will find out in time it is more difficult underneath the surface.”

As Patton was about to ask what the last sentence meant, the figure stood and dusted off his clothes, the darkness rippling as his hands ghosted over the fabric.”Unfortunately, we are out of time. I can only be on this plane for so long before things get finicky although I’m sure you’ve noticed that.” A pocket watch appeared in his hand and he spun it, the hand moving faster than a hummingbird or an arrow. Just when he thought he would be sick staring at the whirling hand, it disappeared with a loud crack and with it, the man.

A weight came off Patton’s chest and he took large swallows of air, head moving around to see where he had gone.

The earth seemed to move again, slowly but surely it came back to life. It was no longer quiet. The wind began to blow again, almost knocking the paper out of his hand. The trees began to shake and the leaves fluttered in the breeze. Animals began shifting in the shadows of the forest on the outskirts of town. From the bar behind him he could hear the clattering of pots and pans. What just happened?

It was jostling, the sudden noise. It was never quiet for him, ever. When the man appeared it was as if time had stopped and nothing could move but them. Suddenly even the softest, ambient noises were too much for him.

“Patton!” A voice yelled, causing the one in question to flinch back in surprise, throwing his weight back into his hands. There they stood, the other members of his party. Each one wore concerned and worried looks on their faces. Logan was the closest to him, arms crossed. “Patton, are you alright?”

“I- I- uh…” He looked at the papers again, hands trembling. “Um…” He didn’t know what to say. How do you explain what he had just seen? “How’d you three know to find me, it’s barely dawn.” he musters out instead, distracting them if only for a moment.

The three moved forward till they stood around him in a neat semi-circle. “We were all walking out of our rooms to the quest board, we were hoping to find a better suited quest. Patton,” Logan’s voice is soothing on his thudding head, “what happened?” Logan had bent down, now face to face with Patton.

“It was a man, a creature. He gave me this, told me this was the quest we must begin.” He started, holding the crude map out for the three to see.

Logan took the map from his hands, passing it to Virgil before hauling Patton up by the arms. Patton yelped as he was moved before he stood and Logan was holding onto his shoulders, rubbing them in comfort for a moment before gripping them tight, pulling him so they were an elbow length apart.

“Tell me everything” He said, demanding and authoritative, the voice Logan typically reserved for battle. The lines of his face had become hardened, concern evident in his eyes. Patton took a deep breath and began retelling the story. It took only mere moments to explain what was going on but by the end each person looked concerned, fear underlying their entire conversation.

“...and then he pulled out a pocket watch, spun it and he disappeared. It was almost as if...” he trails off. Patton knows what he thinks and that is that. But he’s almost always wrong, especially when magic is considered. It’s impossible. No wizard has that power. Virgil moves suddenly, his face once appalled now questioning.

“You were frozen in time.” he looks down at the ground, holding something in his fist.

“Uhm...yes that’s what I was wondering. But isn’t it-”

“Impossible.” Logan finishes for him, looking sharply at both men. “No mage has that sort of power, time is a finicky subject that only the oracles can control. There hasn’t been an oracle capable of stopping time in millenia if even that.”

“It’s not impossible, just hasn’t been heard of in some time.” Virgil was tense, ridgid. He opened his fist, revealing a small medallion in his palm, raising it in an offering to Patton. “Does this look familiar to you?”

Patton takes the medallion, turning it over several times in his hand. It’s heavy for its size yet still relatively thin, almost as if it’s a coin. On what he would assume is the front of the “coin” is the pocket watch, impeccably detailed onto the metal. Upon closer inspection, the clock seems to move with each passing second, giving him the time. Fascinated, Patton flips the coin to the tail end, a small illustration of a hooded figure, shadows spilling from his hands staring back at him, the shadows swirling around on the coin. “That’s...it looks exactly like the watch I saw and minus the shadows, that’s the figure I saw.” He holds the coin back out to Virgil, slipping it back into his waiting palm. “Who is that?”

“That is the symbol of Skotos Sythos, patron God of assassins.”

#sanders sides fics #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: arguing #ts-storytime #2018 submission #Hannah's shitty writing #TS-Storytime 2018 Submission

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cbsmithpks · 5 years

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Every Parent’s Nightmare

We worry about our children from the day they are born or perhaps even from the day we find out that are we are pregnant. In September of this year, we had the scare of our lives as parents. After living through this nightmare, I was told by many parents that I should blog about our experience to help raise awareness of the symptoms of joint sepsis in children.

On a typical Thursday evening we thought our 11 year old daughter had the stomach bug that was going around the middle school. She had a fever of 103.4 and was throwing up. This lasted all of Thursday night and most of the day on Friday. But by Friday evening she felt somewhat better and the fever had dropped to 99.5. We thought we were out of the woods, but she was up much of Friday night with a fever and throwing up. I even told another mother on Saturday morning that this was the worst virus I had ever seen and I hoped other kids didn’t come down with it. Later Saturday morning, when our daughter tried to get up, she couldn’t walk. She was in severe pain. Even the weight of her leg hanging when we carried her was unbearable. We knew something was wrong. Fortunately for us, our good friend, Maureen is a Pediatric PA. She took a look at her and told us to go to the ER that she thought she had a septic hip. “A what!!” I exclaimed. How does a perfectly healthy child get sepsis?

We rushed to the ER and were there for over 4 hours. They did some blood work, an x-ray and we were told she had Transient Synovitis, which is when a viral infection moves into a joint. We were told it isn’t serious and that it will go away on its own. We were sent home with a child still unable to walk and in excruciating pain. That night things got even worse, she was up all night with a fever, throwing up and in unimaginable pain. In the morning, I called my friend, Maureen. She said she really felt like our daughter had sepsis and that the ER was incorrect. She reached out to our doctor (with whom she works.) He was not on call this particular weekend but lucky for us, he went ahead and met us at his office early on a Sunday morning. Within just a few minutes, he said, “I am pretty confident that this is a septic hip.” We were admitted to the local hospital where blood test and an ultrasound confirmed the diagnosis.

While my husband went home for the night to prepare for an oncoming hurricane (we live on a barrier island off the coast of NC,) my daughter and I were taken via a 3.5 hour ambulance ride to University of North Carolina (UNC) Children’s Hospital. We arrived in the middle of the night and within 5 hours of our arrival, I had already met with the Pediatric Team, the Infectious Disease Team, the Orthopedic Team, they had drawn their own labs, done an MRI and our daughter was in pre-op for a joint aspiration. After that surgery her pain was a bit better due to some pressure being relieved. That surgery along with the MRI and blood work confirmed the seriousness of her diagnosis and within 2 hours of waking up from the first surgery, she was back in surgery again. This time they had to open up her hip and go in and clean the infection out of her hip. A drain pump was inserted to remove the fluid. She was in excruciating pain after this surgery. To say that my heart was breaking for her is an understatement. She was put on very strong antibiotics while we stressfully awaited the 48 hours for cultures to grow to see if the bacteria was treatable with antibiotics (i.e. that it wasn’t antibiotic resistant.) She was given an echo-cardiogram to ensure that there had been no damage to the heart. “What!!! This was a possibility?” Another thing to worry about. Fortunately the results were excellent! We found out that the bacteria would respond to antibiotic treatment so next we moved into a “wait and see mode” as we waited for the antibiotics to do their thing.

To be considered free of bacteria, blood cultures have to be clean for at least 72 hours. Four days after surgery we had a big scare as the blood culture came back still positive for bacteria. They were getting her ready for a 3rd surgery when the orthopedic team came in and said that they thought that maybe pulling the pump the prior day could have caused bacteria to backwash into her blood stream and the blood test picked up on that. So the infectious disease team agreed to wait 24 hours for another blood sample. This was a huge relief as our daughter, who starting to get some relief, was terrified of having this clean-out surgery again as it caused her extreme pain the first time. Fortunately, the orthopedic team was correct and her blood was clean 24 hours later. So now we were 24 hours into our 72 hour wait before she could be considered for discharge. Once her blood was good, she went in for a minor surgery to have a PICC line installed to deliver IV antibiotics for several weeks before she could transition to oral antibiotics. She also started physical therapy to learn to walk with a walker.

She ended up in the hospital for 9 incredibly stressful days. It was difficult for my husband and I to see her in this kind of pain. We were physically and mental exhausted. We tried to shield her from the seriousness of her condition and it was very difficult to stay positive and not breakdown. I know any parent who has experienced a seriously ill child can relate. It was without a doubt the worst 9 days of my life. I swear that still today when I think about it - I have PTSD. It makes me almost nauseous.

While at UNC-Children’s Hospital we were educated on the ramifications of not getting timely treatment of sepsis in a joint. Because the hip is still growing, it is of utmost importance to protect the cartilage. Patients who sustain damage to their cartilage are risking permanent hip joint damage. These patients may require hip replacement later in life if the damage to the cartilage is severe. There can be complications such as osteomyelitis, bony erosions, damage to the heart and other organs and even death.

Until this, we had no idea that a perfectly healthy, very active, 11-year-old girl could get sepsis in her hip. Nor did we know how serious and how painful it could be. Once the antibiotic was working and she was out of immediate danger, we began asking questions about her long-term prognosis as she isn’t the sit around the house and watch TV or read kind of kid. She is a middle school cheerleader, plans to tryout for the track team, she bikes, surfs, swims, kneeboards and tubes. She never sits still. The thought of long-term damage, still weighs very heavily on me as I keep thinking --- “was there something else I could have done after the visit to ER with a misdiagnosis?” In my gut I knew something was wrong.

The delay caused by the misdiagnosis made it day 5 since first symptoms. After 5 days is when one can get into trouble with complications. We won’t know if her growth plate was damaged until we return to UNC Children’s Hospital early next summer. Her orthopedic surgeon feels pretty confident that all will be ok. Once she was in hospital, with the help of the doctors, we had traced back her symptoms. We learned that her hip hurt her on Wednesday during PE, but she thought she had pulled it in cheer practice and she wanted to cheer at the football game Wednesday night. I also recalled that on Friday, when we thought she had a stomach bug, she mentioned that her leg hurt. She didn’t say hip. I chalked it up to a sports injury. Because for the life of me I couldn’t imagine that fever, throwing up and joint pain could mean a septic joint. I had never heard of such thing. If it weren’t for our good friend, Maureen, being insistent on this being sepsis, I am not sure what we would have done. I shudder to think of the outcome.

At this point, I am sure you are all asking “how does a perfectly healthy child end up with sepsis in her hip???” What we learned is that she likely had a cut somewhere on her body and the bacteria got into her blood stream when she came in contact with it. The bacteria was Staphylococcus aureus which is a very common bacteria found everywhere. Typically your body fights it off but for some reason, unknown to the doctors, several thousand perfectly healthy kids a year don’t fight it off and it takes up residence in synovial fluid in a joint area. So we will never know how or where she picked this up or why her body didn’t fight it off.

While I hope you never have to experience anything like this in your lifetime, I do hope that by writing this article, others can learn more about sepsis in a joint and get quick treatment. While this is not very common (about 5 kids out of every 100,000 kids) it is scary when your kid is one of them. If your child has a fever and has severe joint pain --- shoulder, hip, knee, ankle, elbow or wrist - it is a medical emergency. Don’t make light of it. Insists on blood work, x-ray, ultra-sound and be sure to have them seen by a pediatrician, as this is more common in kids than adults. And from what we have learned septic joints are missed quite a bit by general ER docs that are not trained in pediatrics.

Finally, we would like to thank Maureen Young, our awesome Pediatric PA; Dr. Andy Kiluk, who is incredibly gifted at what he does, for rushing to office and giving up his Sunday to ensure that Peyton was diagnosed and transferred to UNC Children’s Hospital where she received exemplary care. And a HUGE thank you to the following groups at UNC Children’s Hospital (they were wonderful) - the Pediatric Team, the Orthopedic Team, the Infectious Disease Team, Radiologist, Cardiologist and Physical Therapy. So happy to have such a great resource in North Carolina!

Now..... go hug your kids because I learned that we are not promised a tomorrow. It can all be striped away in the blink of an eye. We were lucky, but it was way way way to close for comfort!!!

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nitaescence · 7 years

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BTS | Scenario #3

| Things they do that make your heart flutter |

Pairing : Idol!BTS x Reader

Gene : Fluff

Word Count : From 250 to 370.

Kim Seokjin

Tonight feels hot as you walk on the streets of Seoul, crowded with people. You can’t look away from the garish decorations of fairy lights strings as sellers shout their advertisements to attract customers. From the sounds of meat hissing on the grills to the delicious smell of sweet Korean pancakes, your senses are all stimulated. Walking side by side with Seokjin becomes quite a task and you constantly have to make sure not to lose the sight of him amidst other people. Some street stalls catch your eye and you progressively come to a standstill to watch vendors skillfully make yummy food in creative ways.

Your boyfriend looks back to see if you’re still following behind and panics a couple of seconds before spotting you in the sea of passers by. He walks back to you and you exchange grins when he settles in watching the small performances with you. After a few minutes you walk again, with him still leading the way. More and more people gather around you and he almost disappears, making you tiptoeing to locate him. He sees you struggling to keep up with his pace and stretches his hand for you to take it.

You do and soon feel him pull on his arm to make you walk in front of him. You let yourself guide, your cheeks coloring in a pale pink as he speaks out some words to you. “Let’s not lose each other.” He places his hands on your shoulders and your heart is beating quickly in your chest.

Min Yoongi

You lock your phone and put it back into your coat pocket before nuzzling your face in your scarf to protect you from the cold wind harshly blowing this morning. Your head aches and you haven’t had the time to eat anything this morning since you were too busy choosing what clothes to put on for your fourth date with Yoongi. He’s just told you in the call that he is on his way and the thought of seeing him in a little time makes you feel a bit more good. A hot drink would still be much appreciated.

Some minutes later, you see him jogging his way to you and you can’t help the smile forming on your face. He smiles too and you know he’s as much happy to see than you are. Your head hurts surprisingly less and you can’t wait any longer before spending all day long with him.

He hesitates a moment and that’s when you notice he’s carrying something with him. “You sounded a bit cranky on the phone. I thought coffee would do the trick.” You feel a pang in your chest and don’t know what to say to him for some time. He’s already told you about him not being too showing when it involves emotions so you really can’t hide your surprise when he holds in between you a set of coffee cups. He smiles awkwardly in front of your weird expression and nudges your hand for you to take one of them. You’ve just fell a bit more for him.

Jung Hoseok

Now comes the moment you hate. After spending an extra day with your boyfriend the moment you have to part has arrived. And usually you wouldn’t feel so down but he has to be absent for several weeks and despite the fact he’s told you about that several months ago, it still feels too early and is quiet a bummer. He can’t even walk you to your home since he has appointments to attend but has decided to wait for your Uber with you. So there you are, both standing still, facing one another with sad expressions.

Hoseok tries to cheer you up with funny faces that almost make the pout on your lips turn into a smile but you’re still showing your unhappiness. He sighs and pulls on one of your arm to hug you tight and whispers sweet nothings in your ear that makes you feel a bit lighthearted.

Then you see your Uber coming closer and you turn your head back, nuzzling it more into his chest. He chuckles and pecks you on your hair as the car park next to your spot. “Time flies quickly, Y/N. We’ll soon see each other again. Take care of yourself.” You kiss longly one last time, you reluctantly step into the car and he closes the door after you. You don’t break eye contact even when the car starts driving away and you turn around to look through the rear windshield — your eyes turning into crescents and your lips into a silly smile when you spot him making heart-shaped signs to you until you disappear from his sight.

Kim Namjoon

The couple of vehicles passes by very rapidly and you’re gradually feeling unsure about actually getting on the roller coaster Namjoon’s convinced you to. You look away, staring at the fairground and the crowd of people walking by to make you feel less pressured and to hide your fright away from your boyfriend.

You, then hear the vehicles coming to a standstill as the passengers get off and you see Namjoon eagerly walk to the front seat as soon as the carny’s provided access to board. You follow close behind, a small frown on your face while he settles with a big smile.

The whole way to the attraction, he hasn’t shown any particular attention to you — He’s just showed his excitement about finally being able to try the roller coaster and how he really wants to get that ride.

You sit next to him and fumble a bit with the security belts. You soon grow edgy about it, the thing not seeming to fit into where it should. Suddenly, you’re interrupted by him, taking care of the task at hand for you and you freeze, slightly blushing. You gaze at him, admiring his focused look and smile back when he looks at you. “Comfy? You can hold on to me if you want.” He suggests, holding his hand in the air for you. You take it and he leans in to kiss your cheek while your hearts beats quickly.

Park Jimin

A drink. You need a drink to keep up with interacting with the rest of your family who’s gathered at your home because your parents have thought it a good idea to call people you haven’t seen since you were five years old to congratulate you on your college graduation. You’ve been receiving compliments for half an hour now, relatives coming one after another, sharing hugs, laughs and nice words. Only one person hasn’t come up to you yet.

You spot your boyfriend happily smiling and talking to your mother and you just wish he was by your side, claiming you back so that others would stop keeping you to themselves. You are seeking someone else’s attention but he isn’t looking at you at the moment like for the past hour.

You have just the time to sip on a drink you’ve just poured yourself when you hear one of your uncles shouting your name to join him and others so that he could talk to you about everything and nothing. You sigh and put on one of your best smiles before walking to them. You stand next to your kinsmen, not quite sure what to say nor when to intervene.

You just stand there, looking awkwardly at the floor when your eyes are drawn back to Jimin across the room, now leaning against a wall with his hands in his dress pants’ pockets and a flush color your cheeks when you realize he must have been watching for a while, his cheeky smile just growing even more. You see him mouthing the word “Cute” and you have to look away, heat spreading through your body.

Kim Taehyung

Your stare into space, gaze locked on the first snowflakes waltzing in the cold wind and soon feel a shiver running through your body. You bring one of your hand in a fist to your mouth and close your eyes while softly blowing warm air. Your eyes open again when your boyfriend takes the other one and engulfs it in his large, warm palms. You look at him, at first surprised then your lips curve into a loving smile - his cheekbones and nose tip are red from the cold and his watery eyes, partially hidden by his bangs that have grown too much, are messily gathered under his beanie. He’s just too adorable - smiling back at you, providing you his warmth while you still are together.

He has been the one insisting on waiting for your train, delaying your splitting time as long as possible and you haven’t objected to it, leading to the two of you sitting on one the station’s benches. Having him waiting with you despite the harsh temperature has made you all warm and fuzzy from within and you can’t suppress the pang in your heart thinking that you’ll be away from each other for some time.

The oncoming train is heard whistling and you feel Taehyung’s hands tighten a bit around yours. You both stand up, neither of you ready to say goodbye. You pull your suitcase next to you, watching the train decreasing its pace as other travelers gather next to the doors. He’s watching you but you don’t want to look at him, sadness gradually taking over you, and you hug him tight - sliding your arms inside his long coat, head pressed on his chest and eyes tightly closed and he circles you in a tight embrace. You don’t want to let go but he eventually forces you to look up at him by cupping your cheeks and doesn’t let you complain as he instantly molds his lips to yours in a loving kiss. You give in and kiss him back, your hands tightening their grip on his sides.

The last calls for passengers to board are shouted and you reluctantly lean back to break the kiss but Taehyung doesn’t let go and presses himself even more into you making you chuckle and you concede him a few more seconds before he grudgingly parts, gasping for air. “Come back to me soon.” Your heart skips a beat while gazing at each other but you really have to go. So you smile, sorry, and he pecks your lips several times before letting you walk away.

Jeon Jungkook

You’re lying on your bed while Jungkook plays on his computer, shouting now and then comments or scoldings into his gaming headset. Totally oblivious to your dying state. Well dying would probably be an overstatement but you’ve been coughing repeatedly and your head was aching and heavy.

Yet you still insist on going out to that film show starting in half an hour now with your boyfriend since you barely have the time to spend it together; so any dates possible are not voidable. You just had to get ill that particular time. Added to the fact that you could barely touch each other since he couldn’t afford being sick with the group’s comeback coming shortly. Lucky you.

You get up and start getting ready, putting on your clothes and combing your hair, sparing yourself the sight of your tired face. He turns his computer off and changes his clothes too. After putting your coat on, you don’t forget your scarf, hanging loose around your neck while checking in your purse that you have the necessary before going out and you hear him walking to you.

Once downstairs, you hold the entrance door for him and start walking towards the theater’s way but his firm grip on your shoulder keeps you still and you turn to him, taken aback. He starts buttoning your coat and readjusts your scarf tightly around your neck not to let any cold infiltrate.

You watch his concentrated look while he finishes his task and his face turns all smiley when he looks at you as you watch him. “Can’t let my sick Baby go out in this cold without making sure she’s warm enough. I’ll buy you vitamins on our way there.” You can’t help the blush coloring your face as he kisses your nose.

#bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts imagines #rapmonster fluff #seokjin fluff #suga fluff #jhope fluff #jimin fluff #taehyung fluff #jungkook fluff

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petty-revenge-stories · 7 years

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Don't help me all day? I have the fix for that.

Some backstory - I work in a manufacturing plant. The place has a lot of different machines, and different technicians to work in different areas on the production line. If a tech works in section B, he doesn't work in sections A or C. Some techs have training in multiple areas, so they work in A and B, but not C.

Enter my workplace annoyance, B*tchface. Bi*chface is a lazy ass, trained in areas A and B. His favorite trick is to say he's helping in the area that is least busy. So if nothing's going on in area A, he'll be supporting that- regardless of how busy area B is. (Amusing sidenote : One of my co-workers with a truly impressive beard loathes B*tchface because B*tchface has a beard... and my co-worker thinks B*tchface has done nothing to earn the manliness of a true beard.)

Today at work, B*tchface was told by the boss to support the area I was in today (Area A.), and he decided to do a very easy, easy job, and call it good. While usually I can take a breather in between machines breaking, or scheduled work, today was just nuts. Everything was breaking, everything was critical, and I was stretched super thin trying to cover it all. Meanwhile, B*tchface was nowhere to be seen, ostensibly helping out Area B (Where I was later told, nothing was happening). Boss was busy with a bunch of things and B*tchface is very good at hiding.

I was tired and headachey when I went through my final walkthrough in my area, cleaning it up and making sure the oncoming shift was set for success. (Shout out to my night shift guy, he rocks.) And there I happened upon the glorious tool of my revenge... The toolbox B*tchface had set up next to the machine he worked on for all of 45 minutes. It was a mess. Tools were strewn around, chemicals were left out, cleaning supplies tossed on whatever flat surface would hold them. Big no no. Chemicals alone are not to be left out, but obviously cleaning up after yourself is a big deal.

I went to the meeting room where we do our shift change- we give information as to what equipment is broken and needs more work, we talk about what we did that day and anything coming up for maintenance. Both shifts and both shift bosses are there. We did our turnover, and just when B*tchface was about to leave, I called out.

"Hey, guy I totally don't call B*tchface, you left the toolbox over behind the machine- I didn't get the chance to clean up after you, I was just so busy." He froze like a deer in the headlights, and slowly looked over to me. B*tchface loves to leave ASAP, if not before, and this would delay him.

Night Shift Boss, a cranky old Irishman (With a thick accent to boot) has zero patience for people who don't clean, and he rounds on B*tchface. "Oi, don't tell me you left cleaning chemicals out."

B*tchface : "Uhhhh...."

Night Shift Boss : "God bloody hell this is the kind of shit that gets people in trouble with Safety and blah blah blah-" Night Shift Boss is pretty chill, but hates dealing with Safety and all that.

I left him there, getting lectured while he clearly wanted to go home and leave. Thing is, I would have cleaned up for him if things were quieter in my area. Shame, I had no help today....

(source) (story by etwasred)

#pettyrevenge #by etwasred #pety revenge stories #revenge #petty #revenge stories #petty revenge

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axolotiels · 7 years

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Kick in the Head Ch. 3

We return to our passive-aggressive/panicky robots today! Thanks to @weavingmemories who is better at writing GLaDOS than me and is also a doll. Thank you for the support, again, it’s phenominal,,

It took a good ten minutes or so for Wheatley to boot himself back up. Or really, if it was up to him, he was sure he would have remained in sleep mode for quite some time longer. But something sharp and shock-y had jabbed itself into his non-existent side and had jolted his systems awake. Wheatley himself was only partially conscious during the boot-up, his ‘thought’s muddled with delirium and the absence of any recent memory. He didn’t even recognize his own voice.

What? Oh.. ugh.. What happened… It wasn’t even a question really, more of an aloof statement that he couldn’t remember saying two seconds after saying it. Or rather, thinking it.

Personality loaded. Commencing autonomy boot and motor control boot.

�� He didn’t know whose voice that one was in the least, but it didn’t matter. Something was being loaded up to help him feel less like he’d been tossed from a high ledge. Usually after waking up from sleep mode he was right as rain could be while floating about in space. Today was horrible and he hadn’t yet loaded the cognitive ability to figure out why.

Autonomy boot complete, motor control at 54%. Okay, okay, that was all fine and good, now he could think.

It was like waking up after a nap at an odd hour of the day: rather than feeling rested he thought he’d been dunked into a wash basin and flung into the orbit of the earth. He was having a bit of trouble trying to actually remember what had happened and how long he had been out. He was in space and had been in space since he had to way to get out of space, and so therefore it should stand to reason that he had been in space before he had knocked out.

Let’s see, he’d been cleaning up his files and tucking the undesirable ones away. Wheatley would use the word ‘undesirable’ to describe technical files and repression files and the occasional recipe for food that he could neither prepare nor eat.

The shutters over his optic creaked open, and he found himself staring into the spotty and starry abyss that awaited him when not looking at the earth, the sun, or the moon. If he had a nose, he would have wrinkled it in mild dismay. He glanced from side to side, attempting to spin himself a bit to get a more interesting view. The little core did indeed spin but it ended up being much too quickly for his liking.

Irritated, he waited until he stopped and watched the white star pinpoints turn into pale white smears that bled into the blur of the earth and the moon. That voice that was not his own spoke up again.

Recent connection to Michigan Relay Tower 48 was broken. Host is requesting contact: y/n?

To say that Wheatley’s blood had run cold would not be accurate. Neither would be that ‘he was biting his nails’ nor ‘he was at death’s door’. Instead, imagine for a moment what it is like to have the rug pulled out from under you. Then imagine being wrapped in the rug, thrown down a flight of concrete stairs, picked up by the feet, lit on fire, and rolled from the top of a steep mountain only to be plunged into icy water hundreds of feet below. That would be about half the intensity of the amalgamation of emotions that Wheatley felt once he remembered everything that had recently happened.

The voice asked again, Grant host access to your communication channel: y/n?

It was like he’d had a bucket of cold water dumped on him, which he may have actually preferred to this. At least with the bucket of water he’d fizzle out until his systems managed to clean it away. All Aperture technology could shed water, after all; they would only get water damage if they were submerged. He did not remember how he knew this, likely something had gone wrong while he was still near the scientists and therefore still near water, but that was here nor there.

No no no, reject, reject! He yelped despairingly, none the wiser that the voice-that-was-not-his was not to be refused easily.

Please open the communication hub. The prompt continued and was silent for a few seconds before reiterating its wishes. Wheatley was at least thankful that it wasn’t her voice, but he knew it was probably her sending them.

Many expressions that we commonly use are often understatements, like the cavalcade of emotions that Wheatley was processing being boiled down to simple ‘surprise’. To say that the personality core had a ‘funny feeling’ that something bad would happen when he opened the communication hub to silence the nattering little voice would be like saying circus performers had a slightly challenging job or that Android Hell might be real. To describe it in a commonly used expression: it would be another understatement of the century.

Please open the communication hub. The voice-that-was-not-his said again, it’s tone not changing but Wheatley getting more and more put off each time it told him to. His cracked optic settled on the little bit of earth that he could see, and aside from the clouds nothing much had changed. It was still the lump of green, blue, brown, and white rock that it always was, or always had been to Wheatley anyway.

Quite suddenly, the little core remembered that GLaDOS’ relay tower was not the only thing that he had gained access to while sweeping out the code-y cobwebs of his head. There had been a radio station, one that had kept him occupied for a small period of time before he decided to bite the bullet and connect to the relay tower in Michigan. Now that Wheatley thought about it, albeit not very deeply, he wondered if the United States were still united at all.

While he was still in the facility being tweaked and poked and prodded by the white-coated buggers that dared to call themselves scientists he had gathered from being told that 1. He was in the United States, and 2. That the US was the only country that seemed to make scientific breakthroughs. He’d also gathered from a very angry and sick sounding man over the speakers that a country named Black Mesa had stolen quite a few things from Aperture, which Wheatley had in turn learned was in fact, not a country, but a building inside of a state inside of a country. For all the things that Wheatley had learned, he retained a remarkable amount, but only in hastily written jumbles of code that read more like stereo instructions than notes on the world around him.

But he was no longer in Aperture or its parent state or its parent country and was instead floating in the earth’s orbit with two little nattering voices to keep him company while he was on the brink of a simulated anxiety attack. Wheatley didn’t like his emotions in the least; they seemed rather useless to him. He’d seen other cores, one that lacked sufficient emotion or ones that were made entirely out of emotion, and they seemed to have no moral dilemmas on which direction to travel in that day or what to use to make spike plates look cooler before murder.

It was quite the easy dilemma to pick which station to tune into, but even despite this Wheatley had an even funnier feeling that GLaDOS could patch herself in any time that she wanted. She knew where he was in the atmosphere now, she could trace him. She probably had a little locator button pinging off over an image of the earth now.

Please open the communication hub. The voice said again, breaking his two-cart train of thought. Wheatley squinted uneasily at the earth again, and sighed.

He did open the communication hub, but rather than the hellish screaming and grating he had endured for two days straight, he was given the list of stations to pick from again. Michigan Relay Tower 48 was blinking green; he wouldn’t touch that with a ten-line code. Pirate Station Sinatra was still active, and a few others had been added to the list, but they looked to be relay towers for said station with names such as Sinatra Station 2 and Sinatra Station Kaltag.

So Wheatley did the logical thing and tried to shut himself off again.

Error: solar charge capacity reached. Unable to initiate sleep mode. Please connect to server.

Oh that’s just lovely. Wheatley scoffed at nobody. That was how he was still alive? Solar power? Solar powered what? I’ve got nothing to absorb sun juice or whatever it is I’m doing.

Wheatley was doing something known as ‘stalling’. Stalling can be talking an inordinate amount of time to someone you do not wish to talk to in order to buy time for either a friend or yourself to delay the oncoming and awful news that you do not want to hear. Stalling can also be described as doing any number of activities to keep yourself from doing a task that you find particularly boring or do not want to do anyway. Some will stall to avoid having to clean a tank of alligators as punishment for daring to have an opinion that a large sum of people did not like, likewise as some will stall by writing a four page essay on comedians or voice actors one particularly likes rather than writing a four page essay on the history of titanium alloy. In fact, you might say that I am stalling now while attempting to avoid work by writing this story or that I am stalling against telling the actual story in favor of descriptors, and you would be correct.

Wheatley shuffled between Station Sinatra’s access points a few times, feeling sure that if he opened any channel then some screaming and scraping would ensue, and if he did not open a channel then a channel would open itself and then things would get worse from there.

The command prompt hovered over acceptance of Pirate Station Sinatra, and he accepted. There was a horrifying few seconds of nothing, then the three connecting beeps that were followed by the middle of a song. He remained still and terrified that a high pitched shriek would tear through him at any moment, but it never came. The song that had been playing, whatever it was he could not remember, faded out into a light static buzz.

It was soon replaced by another song, one that actually did feature Frank Sinatra, though he would be damned if he knew which one. He liked them, but most of his music sounded the same. Baby this and sweetheart that all piped over a saxophone; if Wheatley hadn’t been starved for sound he would have disliked it all much more quickly. Luckily enough, Frank Sinatra was not all that played on Station Sinatra.

Wheatley fitfully listened to the music that was funneled up from the station, not really having anything to look at but looking out to see anyway. Many songs passed, some of them jaunty and some of them sad, but most of them blending together into one gramophone and radio filtered cluster of sound. It had been quite a while since Wheatley had found his thoughts wandering by accident, but beginning to wander they did.

The core, for once, asked all the correct questions. There are useless questions that he could have asked, like ‘How many budgerigars could I buy for 50 dollars’ or ‘If I was a human stuck in space how much flesh would be left on my body with nothing to break it down’. There are even more questions that would prove useless to him but prove quite useful in other situations, and it was a miracle that Wheatley did not ask any of them. But the questions that Wheatley did ask, be it of himself or of the night sky that he couldn’t get away from if he tried, were appropriate.

What is she going to do to me? Was the first and foremost, and for all he knew there was a bug or a tap in his head that let her monitor his thoughts. He wouldn’t put it past her to install such a thing. Another question was When is she going to do it?

Wheatley had been shuffling from absolutely panicked to bitter to oddly calm and all the way back for about two hours at that point. He was not very good at distracting himself on a good day, and absolutely horrendous at distracting himself when he had nothing else to do. The core decided that knowing others was just too much of a strain on him.

The scientists had been a strain, the other cores had been a strain, she had been a strain. He had often been torn between feeling sorry for himself, feeling sorry for her, and feeling angry at her in his early months in the atmosphere. Now he didn’t know how he felt on the issue, but most of it was bitter and the other half dismissive. All he had tried to do was help her, then she had the nerve to go behind his back, talk about him to that… that great yellow-eyed demon, and… and… Wheatley tried to concentrate, his shutters closing. That was what happened, right? He thought, having trouble recalling. He chirped to himself half-heartedly in a thinly-veiled attempt to not remember, because he simply did not want to. Of course that’s what happened, yes! I only fight back when I'm bein’ pushed, not unfair at all.

Wheatley, of course, was being very unfair.

He was glad there had been no leftover testing residue in his body left after he’d been ripped out of the chassis by the vacuum of space. He shuddered to think of how bad the itch could get if he were not wired into any sort of testing system at all. Serves her right now, to have no test subjects. The core thought resolutely. Killin’ them all off, what did she think was going to happen?

Wheatley did not acknowledge that he had done the same thing on a lesser scale. The core did not acknowledge a lot of things that made him feel guilty, as most of us do not. It is in human nature to disregard things that make us feel bad, dismal, or any other word that describes a negative feeling, and though Wheatley was not human, he was certainly more than capable of feeling those things. As previously discussed, he hated being able to.

A-and if you’re listening, you… you… He was going to say something that would be far too heinous to type out here, but luckily enough for me, he did not finish his sentence. Instead, he trailed away and rethought attempting to bolster her any further.

He sat in silence again, listening to Station Sinatra and their spurs that jingle-jangle-jingled. That’s definitely not ol’ Frank. He thought, staring down at the blurry sphere of the earth.

“I got spurs that jingle-jangle-jingle (Jingle jangle)”

It did not occur to Wheatley that he had begun twittering along, at least mentally.

“As I go ridin’ merrily along,

And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single",

And that song ain't so very far from wrong!”

“Wrong!~” There came a voice that was not his, was not the prompt voice, and was not GLaDOS’ voice but sounded an awful lot like it. He froze immediately, the music still piping along and the voice continued on.

Oh, what bloody now? The screaming wasn’t enough for you? You can’t let me rest after 2 days of nonstop android agony? He asked all these questions in an endless panicked stream of words, sounds, and the most raw fear that Wheatley had felt since GLaDOS had first patched in. Well, that wasn’t true. The first time was much worse, but that did not stop him from feeling as ‘ill’ as a machine could feel.

It is an odd thing, to speak nonstop in the face of danger. There are some places in which speaking nonstop is appropriate, such as attempting to call for help from nearby people or putting on an hour-long stand up special to a particularly drunk crowd. And then there are places in which it is the least appropriate thing in the world, like attempting to talk down a hungry looking pack of coyotes or trying to get a homicidal AI not to crush your smelly human in her claws like a fiberglass banana.

Wheatley’s predicament fell somewhere in the middle, as he was neither hosting stand-up nor was he trying to keep an ungrateful human fleshbag from getting her spine snapped. He was in no immediate danger, but dreaded the screeching that he was sure would be patched in at any second.

The robots on the other end of his incessant babbling could never have been more confused.

P-body was fairly smart, even as Aperture appliances go. GLaDOS didn’t refer to her as ‘P-body’ often, as she felt that would spoil her more than she already had been, likewise she did not refer to Blue as ‘Atlas’ for the same reason.

She was honestly a bit disappointed in herself that she had made them so sentient and then had not made them for doing anything useful, other than testing of course. They had seemed overjoyed when she had given them a task that was not completing a testing course, and had been attending it dutifully, which was a relief. She didn’t need them to do it, really, but it would be one less bunch of jargon she’d have to concern herself with until repairing the seemingly ever-growing facility was done.

GLaDOS heard Orange give a high pitched little warble in tandem with the radio that had been piping away since the moron’s broadcast had turned back on. She had a microphone feed coming in from the room where they were monitoring the signal, and it was soon jammed with panicked babbling and pleading.

It was all very amusing, especially the commentary that she found her two test gremlins to be giving.

Is this really the core who… who took over her facility? Orange twittered, her singing broken away.

He’s like a scared little kid who happens to sound like a 40 year old human. Is he still going? Blue responded testily.

“Of course he’s still going, he thinks he’s getting away with something.” GLaDOS droned through her own input, and was quite pleased when the yammering stopped.

There are many ways in which things can go wrong in a facility like Aperture. There could be the more bland things like coffee being spilt and frying a few wires, or you could go to either end of the homicidal AI extreme, be it with the original or a replacement core with a particularly annoying habit of never shutting up. There are other instances in which other things can go wrong that are more within the confines of the facility itself than to be blamed on any AI in control of said facility, and that is precisely what went wrong.

It could be felt all the way in her room, and the two test bots that were floors lower felt it even more so, frightened by a rather unpleasant sound: that of metal bending and collapsing. It made a horrible groaning and squeaking all at the same time, and several of GLaDOS’ image feeds went blank.

A bit startled, she tried to figure out what the problem was as Blue and Orange both gave surprised wails and scrambled to the nearest corner. Flipping around several of her nearby cameras and remaining feeds, she found that, much to her horror, one of the long pieces of rebar she had been using to make a reinforcement plate beneath new Aperture had buckled from the wall. The whole left side of the facility that had been resting on it had begun bending it.

This was easily enough fixed, she merely collapsed most of those rooms and shuffled them off to the side until she got their standard railings mounted. When she heard someone speak, she was both annoyed and even more surprised.

“What the hell was that?” It was Wheatley, who had been silent since she had patched herself into the communication relay.

She physically narrowed her optic; what the hell was he trying to pull?

“I would have thought you were aware of the grotesque mutilation you’ve imparted on my facility. I’ve been trying to repair it, you dolt.”

A soft staticy silence. “For… for three years?” He sounded astonished.

GLaDOS was angry, there was no doubt about that. She was also embittered, surprised, and even a little bit baffled by his inability to comprehend the amount of damage he had done to her home. The rebar had stopped creaking by then but she felt it as the bent piece finally broke away and shook the framing that she’d been setting, so she sent the sectional nanobots to repair the jagged edges of the broken bar.

For once, she didn’t know exactly what to say. This happened very rarely, usually when she was having a mental fit or there were too many scathing options to choose from. Today, it was a bit of both but mostly the latter. She sorted through her options painstakingly for what seemed like seconds, and decided it would be more fun to remain silent.

For good measure, she muted Blue and Orange’s audio input as well. A few moments passed as she resumed rebalancing the rooms that had been resting on the one faulty piece of rebar and she waited like a cocky leopard in the underbrush.

It wasn’t long until she either had another bit of reinforced steel brought or the little moron started chattering like a parakeet.

“Oh… hello? God what was that?” and then more to himself, “Bunch of idiots, it’s been three years and they’re still letting whatever it was kick around in there! Miss High-and-Mighty, Miss ‘You-Ruined-My-Facility’, she hasn’t done anything to keep that from happening’ again, has she?”

GLaDOS narrowed her optic again, knowing full well that the talking was more for the sake of himself rather than attempting to make contact. After all, what would that little idiot know about repairing a facility; he didn’t even destroy it all the way.

A few more moments of relative quiet passed and the nanobot crew reported the even shaving of the broken beam; she waved them away as he started talking again.

“This-this isn’t funny anymore.” He sounded afraid; good. “Oh… oh no.. that was… that was my only way… oh, nonononono.”

Here was a signal being sent in from Blue and Orange’s monitor room. “What’s going on? Is-is the facility collapsing?”

GLaDOS muted that signal too; far below a reinforced bar was being burned into place. She’d have to see what caused it to break in the first place from the nanobots soon, but for now, this was fun.

She didn’t think Aperture constructs were able to have panic attacks but he sure was trying. “Oh nononono, this… ohh, this is bad. This is very bad. That could have been my only way out, oh no.”

It was at that time another tremor did happen, and she realized that while she had many things focused in places that they needed to be, that this was causing quite a few things to rupture, a word which here means ‘explode violently and send tremors rippling through the facility, probably shaking rebar loose’. GLaDOS was practical in every sense of the word but even she could get distracted when playing around with someone who was isolated in space.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” She began, finally giving him a response and shattering his chain of panicky babble. “Not that you would know how to think, of course, but anyway.”

GLaDOS couldn’t help but narrow her optic again, even though there was nobody there to witness it or the way her chassis coiled up to the ceiling like a venomous snake. “Simply put, it’s funny watching you squirm in space. But it’s only funny for a little while. Even if you aren’t here, you still manage to somehow take apart this facility in one way or another.”

Something in her told her told her that he’d flinched a bit, probably the gyroscopic mechanism that could only twitch in space. Another something or other shook and she turned several cameras, annoyed; Blue and Orange were still shaking in their built-in long-fall boots and pressing the contact button frantically. She blinked the disassembler to life and they scrambled for it, allow her to return her attention to the talkative little idiot that she could not see.

“I'm going to be very, very generous today, metal ball, so you might want to listen. Well, if you value your audio processors anyway. Given I have my hands full fixing my facility, I honestly don't have the time to be distracted by your... incompetence. So, instead of you deciding when to continuously break my concentration, I've come up with a better idea. Are you listening? ”

GLaDOS would imagine that he did, since he had no other choice but to listen, but he’d probably find a way to miss every point she’d made.

Her voice went smooth again, almost mimicking the purr of some great metal leopard.“If you check in to this channel every day for… say, an hour, then I won’t patch in Room 939. Unless you say something stupid, which let’s face it, is very liable to happen. Have we reached an agreement?”

Another ripple, but smaller; The reactor cores were finally calming down. There was no audible response but the channel was still live.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She admonished in the same tone that a school teacher does when a troublesome student is finally expelled. “You already took up too much of my time today, even with the monitors on you, so-”

“Monitors?” Wheatley squeaked, scared and indignant at the same time.

“Yes, monitors. Those two robots you were going to use for nothing but testing? I’ve given them several other occupations, because unlike some constructs, I know when to quit.”

Blue and Orange were still in the disassembler but pinged something toward her, which she did not immediately answer.

“O-oh…” He sounded as though he was withering, even if he was in space and was a robot with the inability to wither. A bit of static struck the channel as the power surged, but GLaDOS wasn’t worried about that. “Do I… what time do I check in?”

“You have no internal clock.” She said simply, and without giving him a solid answer, cut the channel for the day and focused on making sure her facility did not fall into even more disrepair.

#portal #portal 2 #GLaDOS #Wheatley #Atlas #P-Body #kick in the head

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jacewilliams1 · 4 years

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Ditching a Cherokee off Hawaii

During my first winter in Hawaii, soon after I arrived in what was to become my permanent residence, I was flying a rented aircraft between the islands on my job as director for University of Hawaii Peace Corps training, when my USAF flight training surely saved my life.

It was 7 am Sunday morning, December 15, 1968, in Honolulu. I was at Island Flight Service on the east ramp of Honolulu International Airport, and the twin-engine Piper Comanche I had arranged to rent failed to show up. The Comanche owner had called the Island Flight Service dispatcher earlier Sunday morning from Kauai to announce he would not return to Honolulu until sometime after noon, delaying my planned takeoff.

I needed to reach Hilo to meet, brief, and accompany an evaluation team from Washington, DC. I planned to meet the evaluators in Hilo, where they expected me to arrive at or before 9 am. I planned to fly the team to Upolu Point and Kona airfields, near two ongoing training programs.

Due to the delay, I seriously considered booking Aloha or Hawaiian airlines to Hilo but doing so would have left me without an aircraft to carry our visitors to two distant Big Island training sites.

The only aircraft available that morning was a single-engine, four-seat PA-28 Piper Cherokee, which I failed to fully and properly preflight. I departed Honolulu for Hilo shortly after 9 am.

My delayed takeoff caused me to neglect performing a number of pre-flight duties I normally and faithfully accomplished, including checking the aircraft logbooks which were kept in the Island Flight dispatch office.

As I climbed across Sand Island after my tardy lift off, I reached under the aircraft seat for a life-preserver, and found there was none. I loosened my seatbelt to look in the back seat and baggage compartment but I found no life preservers or survival gear.

I did not even consider continuing the flight without survival equipment, and called Honolulu Departure Control to ask for permission to return to land. The controller said, “Roger that. Is there a problem?”

The Cherokee is (usually) the perfect airplane for hopping between islands in Hawaii.

I replied, “No mechanical problem. I forgot my over-water survival equipment and want to return to Island Flight operations to get them.”

With my return to HNL approved, I landed and requested the Island Flight dispatcher to bring me four life preservers. I checked each for fresh CO2 cartridges, donned one life preserver, and relaunched from Honolulu International to resume my solo flight to Hilo.

Fifteen minutes after my second departure, I noted a drop in the Piper’s oil pressure. I advised Honolulu Control I wished to land at Lanai Airport for a precautionary check of my oil quantity, as the Island Flight dispatcher had given me two quarts of oil, “just in case you need it.” I landed at Lanai and taxied to the airport ramp, shut down, got out, opened the left engine cowling, and checked the oil quantity, which was low. I added a quart, and took off a third time for Hilo.

Forty minutes later, flying southward down the Hamakua coast toward Hilo, and abeam Pepeekeo, I noticed a slow, uncommanded drop in the Piper’s engine RPM. Switching fuel tanks, I applied carburetor heat but failed to correct the gradual loss of power. Then, suddenly the engine stopped, ten miles short of my destination and nearly two miles offshore.

I immediately turned right, toward the Hamakua coast and a distant crop duster airfield in a sugar cane field I knew near Pepeekeo, and again attempted an engine restart.

It quickly became obvious the engine would not restart. It also became obvious that if I tried to stretch my glide I would not reach the crop duster landing strip. I was forced to elect to ditch in the sea, upwind, short of shore, and into large waves.

Realizing I faced ditching in an unfriendly rough sea, I broadcast “Mayday,” alerting Hilo approach control that I was about to ditch along the Hamakua shore, approximately one mile offshore from Pepeekeo Plantation, into waves which appeared to be several feet high.

I asked Hilo for an estimate of the winds. Hilo Approach said winds were estimated at 30 knots from the north-northeast. I turned into the wind, opened the Piper’s single door on the starboard side, blocking it open with my leather-bound Jeppesen chart book. I aimed to touch down along the approaching crest of an incoming wave, upon which I intended to dead stick the Piper. I tried again to restart the engine, without success.

Applying full flaps, I tightened my seat belt and prepared to ditch. I would enter the sea at 55 knots indicated airspeed but actually at only 25 knots if Hilo’s estimate of prevailing winds was correct.

At the last moment a gust of wind carried me into a less desirable approach, above a trough between two large waves, with crests both right and left, several feet above my cockpit.

The Piper PA-28 aircraft with fixed tricycle gear was not my choice of preferred aircraft design for ditching but nose gear-first it would be. I was aware that when the nose gear struck a wave, I would be pitched nose-down and underwater. I recalled US Air Force water survival training in Germany and at Long Beach, practicing ditching procedures.

When the engine quits within sight of the destination airport, it’s hard to resist the temptation to stretch a glide.

The anticipated high impact worried me because the aircraft had only a single seat belt and no shoulder harness. I was holding the microphone in my left hand to give a final Mayday call and flying the aircraft with my right hand, while working the rudder pedals to guide the Piper down the center of the trough between the waves. My right wingtip caught the oncoming wave, cartwheeling me to the right, and in an instant I was under water.

Holding my breath, it was suddenly quiet as the Cherokee sank deeper into the darkening sea. My ears told me I was 8-to-12 feet below the surface and going deeper.

Instantly, I was looking down on myself in the cockpit, with my seatbelt still fastened. I thought in a flash I would go to the bottom if I failed to release my seatbelt. I heard me chide myself for just sitting there: “Open your seatbelt, dummy!” I opened my seatbelt and instantly I popped upward into a pocket of air in the rear baggage area of the Piper. I took in a big lungful.

My feet, luckily, were placed against the right rear window of the aircraft, just above the waterline in a pocket of rapidly escaping air. I broke the window with a mighty shove, cutting my ankles on the sharp plexiglass. I was dismayed to see a blurry red miasma of my blood as sea water rushed into the tail cone of the Piper.

Holding a mighty lungful of air from the darkened cargo compartment behind the Piper’s back seats, I pulled myself around and started headfirst through the window, only to discover that I was hung up. My life-preserver had caught on the edge of plexiglass. Avoiding a puncture of my life-preserver on the sharp plexiglas, I pulled myself back into the cabin. Still holding my breath, I felt the Cherokee’s right exit door, held open by my leather-covered instrument manual, where I had propped it when the engine quit. I pushed the door wide and pulled myself through the open door, free of the sinking aircraft, and swam for the surface. I saw my Jepp chart manual sinking clear toward the sea bottom.

I remember swimming over the right wing, noting a dented leading edge wingtip as I swam upwards, nearly out of the longest breath of my life.

I had managed to leave the aircraft via the only door. I was fully conscious the whole time. I recall being concerned about the dented wing but realized that it didn’t matter. The Cherokee was headed to the bottom. Nevertheless, I regretted damaging the aircraft.

Things slowed down. Now, I was free of a sinking aircraft at the surface filled with blowing foam by strong winds.

As I inflated one bladder of my double bladder life vest, I surveyed a half-mile swim in turbulent seas to reach dry land.

Just because you survived a ditching doesn’t mean the danger is over.

I was aware of the imminent danger of sharks because I had been strongly admonished by one of our Hawaiian training staff members, who said in no uncertain terms that we must keep trainees and staff out of swimming and diving along the Hamakua Coast. He warned me about recent sightings of sharks, including great whites in local waters. He said, “You haole guy one little appetizer for a great white.”

Accordingly, I had circulated a written warning to the Peace Corps training classes and staff about these hazards, and so I issued a “no swimming” edict on the whole Hamakua coast.

Now, here I was, somewhere offshore the Pepeekeo Sugar Mill, swimming with bleeding ankles and wrists, after instructing everyone else to stay out of Hamakua waters. I think I chuckled at the irony.

As the airplane was sinking and I watched the empennage slowly go under water, hissing as the air that had enabled me to live came rushing out of the fuselage, it occurred to me that my briefcase was still in the aircraft, heading for the bottom of the sea, 6,000 feet below.

Clear of my dying airplane, and at the stormy surface, many thoughts raced through my mind. I briefly considered and rejected retrieving my briefcase, a relic of previous Peace Corps travel in the Philippines, which contained important university documents. Removing my life preserver to dive back into a sinking aircraft, however, was a foolhardy notion, which I rejected.

About half an hour later, and still a hundred yards short of land, I noticed a Coast Guard search and rescue Lockheed C-130 from Barbers Point circling about 3,000 feet above me. I learned later they had received word that I survived the ditching and was observed on the surface, swimming toward the shore. The USCG search and rescue center in Honolulu was contacted by a fisherman who had witnessed my ditching. However, the pilot of the C-130, whom I visited at his Barbers Point headquarters several days later, said none of the SAR crew had seen me, due to the turbulent seas.

Luckily, I never saw a great white nor any other sharks.

I swam hard for shore, determined to leave the water as quickly as possible. I watched the huge waves run up a 50-foot, rough, lava ‘A‘ā pali, frothing almost to the peak, then receding, in a rush of white water. My desperate plan was to ride a comber up the pali and grasp whatever I was able to grab as the wave receded, likely leaving me on the sharp ‘A‘ā lava, injured, but hopefully, saved from the cruel sea.

As I contemplated what I knew was my desperate plan, I spied a fisherman with a fishing pole on the Pepeekeo shore. He wore a yellow slicker. I waved to him and, to my great relief, he waved back, warning me with hand signals away from the treacherous pali toward which I was swimming. The man saw I was headed for the pali and vigorously waved me off.

That fisherman saved my life by indicating where I should not go, beckoning me to swim back out to sea, southward toward Onomea Bay. I really didn’t want to stay in the ocean as a possible snack for a great white shark but this man’s signals saved my life.

The beach is beautiful, but many parts are quite dangerous for a swimmer.

I had kept my flying boots on to risk the pali ‘A‘ā but abandoning that high-risk plan, I kicked off my flying boots, which I still regret losing.

I was in fine shape but was swallowing a large quantity of seawater in the foam, and realized that I was still bleeding. I had probably ripped open some veins in my wrist and didn’t know what I had done to my ankles.

I was swimming in high, wind-driven waves as I assessed my condition. I had partially inflated my life vest, using only one of the two CO-2 bottles, the same bottles I luckily had checked before my second takeoff from Honolulu.

As the Coast Guard Search and Rescue (SAR) C-130 circled overhead, I waved, hoping they would see me. They continued to circle and I knew they would drop a life raft if they saw me, but no life raft appeared.

I urgently wished to get out of the water before a big fish found me.

Later, I talked with the commander of the Coast Guard SAR C-130 which circled me, and he said they never saw me. The ocean surface was a sea of foam. Nonetheless, I knew that help was on the way. It was just a matter of time; if the big fishes didn’t turn me into a protein snack first, I was certain that I would be saved.

I was hyperventilating, swimming hard to leave a shorebreak that seemed to carry me closer to the ragged ‘A‘ā lava. I turned over on my back and back-paddled. I still wore my USAF flight jacket, which made swimming difficult, and slowed me down. So, I slipped out of my flight jacket without removing my Mae West, which was a complicated maneuver. It grieved me to lose that USAF flight jacket with my 452nd Troop Carrier Wing ID tag, but I had no choice.

I was still in the water, worried about a great white shark which had been reported nearby, when I saw what I hoped was the mast of a ship. Watching intently, I saw that it was indeed a mast, and it was moving northward, disappearing and reappearing, going southward, back and forth, two or more miles offshore but slowly coming closer. It appeared to be doing a creeping search right off shore where I was last seen and I said to myself, “Ahah, this ship is going to find me.” I had no signal device and no way of contacting the Coast Guard cutter but if he continued a creeping search course along the coast, he was likely to spot me.

Eventually, the Coast Guard cutter’s crew saw me wave and came alongside, throwing a friendly net over the rail. The man who pulled me in was the commanding officer of the 95-footer, a young Coast Guard officer named Lieutenant John Milbrand. The cutter was based in Hilo. Due to the urgency of my distress call on a Sunday morning, the ship was manned by only three out of a normal crew of ten. Lt. Milbrand’s wife Tina, I learned many years later, was a dear friend of my deceased wife, Gail Moffat Hudson.

Lt. Milbrand pulled me aboard, and said he was glad to find me. I assured him I felt the same, and vomited what felt like a gallon of seawater over the side of the rescue vessel. Then I had a cup of strong Coast Guard coffee and felt safe from the Great Whites, at last. I was in the water for about two hours.

If you’re going to make the news for a plane crash, better to be alive to read it.

I was taken ashore at Hilo Bay and met by Walt Southward, Honolulu Advertiser Big Island bureau, whom I knew. Walt interviewed me briefly. His report became a six-column headline and photo of “Dripping Olsen” on Monday’s Honolulu Advertiser, with my rescue details.

Taken by an emergency vehicle to the Hilo Hospital, I was examined by our Peace Corps Training Center physician and friend, whose name I cannot recall, found nothing but a few cuts that had stopped bleeding, and a large bump on my left forehead where I hit a crossbar in the cockpit when I cartwheeled into the sea.

I was an overnight guest of Alan and Patricia White, Hilo residents. Alan was director of the Peace Corps Training Center in Hilo.

I deeply regretted losing the Piper, the only aircraft I lost in nearly 12,000 hours of flying.

Later, I investigated the logbooks of Piper Cherokee 140 N4698R at Air Service Corp. and discovered that the aircraft had been involved in a training incident with a student pilot a week or ten days earlier. The student made a poorly controlled landing, collapsing the nose gear, which caused the engine to experience a sudden stoppage when the propeller struck the ground.

I learned from the aircraft owner’s insurance company that their investigation found that the airplane had been restricted to flying locally and should never have been released to fly off Oahu Island.

I didn’t wish to act upon my losses but I obtained a letter from the aircraft owner, Mr. Vetousek, in which he admitted the aircraft I ditched enroute to Hilo was restricted to local flying on Oahu, and should not have been dispatched for inter-island flight by Island Air Corporation.

I learned that the fisherman who waved me off the pali was Matsuichi Heya. I drove to his house near Pepeekeo Mill the next day. Mr. Heya explained that the reason he waved me off from trying to ride a wave up the pali was because, in 1944, he saw a U.S. Navy pilot ditch in almost the same area I ditched. Like me, the pilot survived his ditching, and swam to where I had headed. Sadly, he died on the rocks. Mr. Heya said he didn’t want me to do the same.

I thanked him for saving my life, shook his hand and hugged him, a gesture which at first was alien to Mr. Heya but which he returned with a hug to me.

The post Ditching a Cherokee off Hawaii appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2020/07/ditching-a-cherokee-off-hawaii/

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