#i am also now working on the next installment and strap in folks we are going back into angst hurt no comfort territory. it'll be a doozy

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. x

This is my second time trying to post this, and I think- I think this may the point where I draw the line with the weird fucked formatting Travelers. Hellsite does not like it when I reach the character limit (and I'm tired of fighting it, curses...) CW for: mentioned animal abuse, mentioned assault towards a disabled character, genocide, homelessness. if there is something else you would like warned for, please reach out to me.

@ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @ananxiousgenz @demonic-panini @the-private-eye @gwenlena

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING BEGINS.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

I apologized to Iris for my outburst a few days ago. They accepted it without any questions. I still feel guilty, but they aren't willing to drag this out any longer. 

The twins are off probation but they still need supervision. Talia goes out with them most days as part of her physical therapy. It's good for her. But she always comes back so tired and wiped out from just walking that she takes days to recover. We don't get days though. We don't know when New Kinshasa is going to change its mind on us again. Today they can give us an early curfew, and the next they can turn the Guardian Angel System on to target everyone old enough to remember the Angel. We don't have a damn clue what they're planning or going to do next...

Uh- this week on Brahma: the Rats gang in the north and the Rats gang in the south are at odds with each other. If the situation escalates any further there's going to a be a damn turf war. Ten years of relative peace and now they're at a tipping point? 

(BAIRD SIGHS)

I remember when a mischief of Rats scurried on to our block a few years ago. Charlie, Talia, and I had run a couple of them off years and years prior. And most knew better than to come looking for trouble down our block. Most everyone that was taken care of by Mrs. Darius or taught under Mr. Eber at some point or another knew not to come poking their nose around looking for trouble. But this mischief was new. They didn't know who's grounds they were stepping on or what apartments they were looking to squat in. 

When those new kids started making a mess of the streets and tried running circles around the market, I went and took care of them myself. Josie and Hank were so worried for me, but when I got back I just told them that it was no big deal. Just a bunch of homeless kids that needed a place to stay. I wrangled them into place and got them all sorted and now they’re running chores for old-timers like Hank and slipping messages to the other Revolutionaries across Brahma. 

Yesterday’s Rats weren’t those same kids though. The twins complained about a group of teenagers mucking around the old daycare. Josie and Iris couldn’t parse much of what they said so they’ve asked me to try talking to them and Talia one on one. And from what I understand, the girls were upset because the Rats kept calling them “Goodies”, and Talia was mostly ignoring them pretty well until one of them chucked a rock at her and Mischa. So now I gotta get involved in another rat problem and either rough ‘em up and shoo ‘em out, or knock enough sense into them they start behaving better. 

(BAIRD GROANS)

And honestly, I wanna do neither. I told Hank and Josie back then that I wasn’t scared but really. I was scared shitless. Those kids were easy to talk to though once they realized I’m like them. I’m not a fighter. I don’t go in fists-a-swinging right off the bat. That was always more Talia and Charlie then me… but, Talia can hardly walk most days, and Charlie’s gone. Josie is too busy distributing aid at the rec center, Hank is retired, the twins are afraid of them, and Iris is coordinating with the Old-Timers. Everyone’s either too old, too busy, or too young to deal with problems like these. 

(BAIRD TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND LETS IT OUT SLOWLY. HE STRUGGLES TO CLEAR THEIR THROAT)

In other news on Brahma: Ester is now taller than I was at ten. Meaning that I really was just short for being a ten-year-old. Hallie is as tall are Charlie was, but they’ll both probably need another year before they’re as tall as Talia was at their age. I don’t know much about Hank and his life before the Galatic Civil War, but I’m almost certain he came from one of the Solar Planets. Why in any Goddess good name he chose to stay in the Outer Rim and chose to stay on Brahma of all places, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. 

(BAIRD COUGHS, BEATS THEIR CHEST, AND COUGHS SOME MORE)

Good grief… I need to ask Iris about something to soothe my throat. Debris keeps falling from New Kinshasa. It burns up before it hits the Dome and can do any real damage, but when I was last in the market, I was talking with one of the vendors and she said her neighborhood was afraid of another Cleansing. The last one was… six years ago? That sounds about right. And the one before that was when New Kinshasa leveled a quarter of Brahma in one day. It still gives me chills just thinking about it. 

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Well, that went better than expected. 

I paid a visit to the squatters at the old daycare. The youngest looked to be about nine, the oldest gave me a black eye–

IRIS:

They did a lot more than that, now hold still while I stitch your face back together.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh c’mon Iris– can’t a guy catch a break? Do you think it’s gonna scar at least?

IRIS:

If it does, no one will notice unless they look for it. 

(IRIS GETS LOUDER, AS IF THEY PULLED THE COMMS CLOSER)

For the record: Baird’s brow split open because the Brat was wearing a ring. Baird does have a black eye, but that’s nothing a bit of pain meds can’t help him cope with. 

(BAIRD GAGS)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

No thanks, I’ll pass. I can cope with the pain. 

(IRIS SNORTS)

IRIS: 

And… There. All done.

(MOMENTS PAUSE)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

You can let go of my face now. 

IRIS:

Right, sorry. You look so much like your parents and I just– I miss them. 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Well it would kind of be a weird if I didn’t look a little bit like them…

IRIS:

Har-har– think you’re so fucking clever… you were saying though? About how it went better than you expected?

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh yeah. It did. I got punched in the face and the others got freaked out when I fell backwards because they didn’t know how to get rid of a dead body. One of them came over to check on me and I was mostly fine after they helped me sit up. 

The one who punched me didn’t apologize and I don’t need ‘em to. I asked them why they were squatting in the daycare and they said that they didn’t feel safe anymore at their old spot. Apparently the Rats North and South from here drove them out and they each found one another looking for some place to go. I talked to them and they agreed to pack their shit up and get out of the daycare, but they want my help finding someplace they can stay. 

(IRIS HUMS)

IRIS:

It sounds like to me, that we’re past a plausible turf war, and are stuck smack dab in the middle of it. I’ll have to bring this up at the next Meeting you know… How do you feel about going to your first Meeting with the others?

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Really! You mean that?

IRIS:

Yes. You’re an adult, I trust your decisions, and you have some experience from back when you helped run Talia’s little book club. Plus those meetings are so boring without someone there to keep you company. It’d be nice to have you around to take notes while I nap.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

You’re such an ass, you know that?

(IRIS LAUGHS)

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

What the fuck!

(IRIS LAUGHS)

No I’m serious! What the fuck was that for the last hour and a half! What the fuck!

IRIS:

Welcome to my world, Baird. I’ve been fighting those ding-bats for the last decade all on my own. They refuse to give me supplies to restock the only functioning Hanataba Clinic left because you live across town now, how are you supposed to take care everyone when you're all the way over in the Est Quarter? I would move back someplace closer if only you would fucking give me what I need! But no! Instead we run circles around and around, have the same passing contests between North and South, East and West, downtown and uptown, and no body fucking wins! 

(IRIS PANTS)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh. I… had no idea. Really? It's been like this this whole time?

IRIS:

Yes! Baird what’s wrong? 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Nothing it’s just… you would move back if they put effort into stocking the Hanataba clinic? You really would?

(A LASPE OF SILENCE. IRIS GASPS)

IRIS:

Oh no no no– no. Baird. Look at me. I would not leave you just like that. You’re my family. I gave up my dream to keep the clinic stocked because I wanted to be there for you and Cyrus. When Hanataba built the clinics, they left each one with a massive handbook covering all sorts of procedures. If the clinic was ever back to half functioning, I’d go back only to show someone else how to keep the lights on. 

(IRIS SIGHS)

But there isn’t anyone else, there aren’t more supplies, and the clinic’s generator was probably been siphoned for fuel years ago. 

(BAIRD MUMBLES SOMETHING INAUDIBLE)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

What if… you weren’t the only Hanataba Clinician the Revolution had to rely on though? What if there was at least one other one? 

IRIS:

Come again? 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Quid pro quo. You help me get the Rats off the street, out of the daycare, and I help you find someone else to train to run the clinic and justify getting it operating again. 

IRIS:

You want to use the Brats?

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Just the mischief that got ran off by the bigger gangs. I bet I could even talk them into running messages across the planet. Helping us organize a bit better. Make getting the word out easier… what’s wrong?

IRIS:

Nothing, it’s a great idea Baird…

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

But?

IRIS:

…but I think the Old-Timers won’t like it. They don’t like the Pests to begin with. 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh yeah no, they’ll hate this idea. But… I have to try. Right?

(FOOTSTEPS THROUGH AN EMPTY STREET. A FULL MINUTE PASSES)

IRIS:

Yeah. You have to try. I trust your decisions, and I trust you. 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

So, lets try together. 

IRIS:

Yeah… we’ll try together. 

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

- This recording takes place a few days after “Decade”. - Baird has mentioned Talia a lot and based off their descriptions it’s likely the neglect and abuse she took from the Constables 10 years prior left her disabled. If not that, in lasting chronic pain. - Baird’s cough does sound very concerning. They sounded awful in the first one (“Belief”). Dust that settles in the lungs can cause scarring. It must have progressively worsened over the years. If they’re alive today I would be shocked. - “Talia’s Book Club” whatever happened to it after Charlie was executed? - Baird’s reaction after attending his first Meeting with other Revolutionary organizers is so much like Eevees’. - Est Quarter: the East Quarter of Brahma. - Baird and Iris’ relationship has changed and improved so much since they were a kid. They’ve clearly grown a lot closer and have a lot of a love for one another. Did Baird’s plan ever get off the ground? Was there another Cleansing? -Frannie’s friend (Ms. Rita) messaged me back with an update on her search for Eevee Bell and Baird Bell. She recommended that I look back through her list for Baird since she said it would take her a week at most to gather everything she could on Eevee Bell. Doing a preliminary search on my own turns up nothing. I don’t know how or where Ms. Rita is getting her information from, and I don’t think I want to know either. The less I know the better (I think). - Though now that I’ve had time to think about it, I could ask her to look into the name Peter Nureyev. I’ve tried searching myself and I haven’t really found anything. Even with the information I’ve gleamed from Camilla and Eevee’s recordings, I haven’t found dick anything. Whoever he is (was?), he very effectively disappeared.

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Blood-Part Two

Summary: Geralt deals with a comatose companion, comforts the displaced Geeta, and wades through his growing affection for another mage despite his reservations.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena) and a bit of Geralt/OFC (Geeta) (totally platonically!) but it’s half/mostly Geralt dealing with the aftermath of the monster fight in the last installment of the story.

Word count: 4.5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language and violence. Some angst. Some fluff. Almost smut, but don’t get too excited, folks. I’m a bit cruel in this chapter. Shameless manipulation of the properties and qualities of character props for my own amusement and story advancement even though there is no evidence that such properties or qualities are a thing. (If you can’t suspend reality or rather fantasy, enough to accept what I did with this, I don’t know what to tell you, I thought it was clever, please don’t @ me. And maybe fan fiction isn’t your milieu.)

Inspiration: No changes from previous inspo note. Just this beautiful show, this stunning man, and like…my feelings, I guess.

Author’s Note: I’m really excited to write this chapter for Geralt. I’ve been wanting to talk about what’s been going on under that luscious white mane for ages. We go back to Ana in the next part, but this was crazy fun to write, especially the dream. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF THESE POSTS NEED ANYTHING! PHOTOS OR GIFS...WHATEVER. Also, again, not beta’d, because as I said in the last installment’s author notes, my friends don’t play nice with the Cavillry. Lol! But I did read it at least twice.

Masterlist with links to previous chapters.

Tags: @fcgrizi @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy@mstgsmy@lareinedususpense @geekycanuck @lunedelorient and @littlefreya Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended!

Fucking Bruxae. That's all he was gonna say about this completely twisted and unpleasant situation they were in. Just. Fucking. Bruxae.

He reached for his potions pouch for the correct one to staunch bleeding…again. Damn, good thing his mage knew what to do for detox, because he hadn't had time to whip up a potion for that, himself. And he didn't think he had all of the ingredients, anyway.

Now this bitch was trying to call him a monster. Not that he could argue. He didn't. But he thought it was damned heavy handed of her. When she and her sisters were the ones who'd slaughtered thousands of people for no good reason.

Oh…he thought, after she explained herself…he'd heard worse reasons to lay waste to cities, if he was honest. Not that he was sympathizing. But the monologuing was giving him time to heal before he ended this once and for all.

Until…fuck.

"Ana! NO!" She had NOT just given herself away! That was the opposite of staying safe! As per their agreement! If they made it out of this alive, which he felt like he was constantly thinking these days, they were going to have a conversation about who was in charge in situations like this.

The Bruxa asked Ana who she was…Geralt thought that was quite the loaded question. He wasn't sure he could answer, himself. She had come to mean so much to him over such a short time. They'd found something of themselves in each other, he thought. He'd never quite found it with anyone else. Even Yen. Her explanation knocked him out of his stupor.

"I'm Anathema of Velena. I'm a mage. And much better equipped to sustain a bite than the poor little girl you've been hunting." She looked like a true warrior, standing in the column of light being cast out of the door to the fire-lit hovel, her steel in her right hand, dagger in the other, his silver wolf swinging from her neck. Thank the gods she'd put that on. His plan, the secret part of his plan, had worked. And they might just win the night, reclaim the day, and end the reign of terror these monsters had visited on this region for so many weeks.

"I don't see why it would hurt to try." Meena keened in a cackle that curdled Geralt's blood and charged at Ana. His neck wound essentially healed and forgotten, he jumped up and rushed to the two entangled in a vile and bloody embrace. Meena released her hold on Anathema's neck gasping as though she was drowning. As her sister before her, she was choking on blood as if it were pitch, although not quite as severely.

"What…have you…done to me…witcher?" she gasped as her body weakened from the poison she had just unwittingly consumed.

"You've done it to yourself, leech." He explained. "Ana was willing to let you drink from her, but you got greedy. You took what you wanted before an arrangement had been made. Don't touch her again." he interjected when Meena scowled at Ana as if she meant to finish her off. "She knew nothing of my plan. You see, that medallion is more than just a handy device to show me where the monsters and magic are hiding. It's a part of me. And the wearer takes on some of my…attributes. For instance, any potions I take affect the person wearing the medallion. Even if taking them personally would kill them instantly. That includes the Black Blood potion. Granted, the potions aren't as strong for the person wearing the medallion as they are for me, but it's enough, in most cases to do the trick." he pulled the Bruxa up to her knees as she continued to sputter and gasp for precious breath. And then he put her out of her asphyxiated misery by beheading her with a swift and sure swing of silver.

He rushed to Ana's side, the blood had been free flowing from her neck…reminding him too much of his past…of Blaviken…of…he made himself think her name, Renfri. He couldn't let Ana die like that. He wouldn't. He took out his canteen of water to rinse the blood and cleaned the wound, which was now barely trickling blood. The Kiss potion must have worked to an extent on her, as the Black Blood had. But she was barely conscious. He shook her as the bleeding ceased altogether.

"Anathema! Ana!!! Wake up, mage!"

"Mmm, 's there bacon?" she asked, groggy and still very out of it.

"Darling, it's nearly midnight. We've just defeated the Bruxae."

"Then why won' you lemme sleep?" she moaned. The venom of the Bruxa must still be working in her system. He couldn't take more potion right now and risk the toxicity to himself. He'd just have to try to get her somewhere safe until he could detox and take more. Then they'd have to take Geeta to Aretuza, he thought.

He had summoned Roach and Clove as soon as the Bruxa had been dispatched. He saw them trotting lazily toward him up the muddy, bloody street. He chanced leaving Ana there while he went into the house to gather their things and Geeta.

"Geeta, it's Geralt. Come on out, child. The monsters have gone."

The cupboard door creaked slowly open, permitting the right eye and nose of Geeta to peek out, warily.

"You sure it's safe?" she whispered. Unsure of the man who was still a stranger to her, and rightfully so.

"I am. Quite sure. Out with you now." and she exited with skepticism.

"Geeta, Miss Ana and I are going to leave now. And it's not safe for you to stay here. We want to take you to a place where you'll be safe and taken care of. Do you have any extra clothes or anything you need to bring with you from your home here?" She looked around the grim room and shrugged. He took his satchel from around his shoulder and tied a knot in the strap. He took a few important things out of it, and a bit of food, and the alcohol he needed for drinking and potions, and put it in his potions bag.

"Here," he slung the bag across her small body. "Find a little pillow and a blanket first, and put them into this bag. Then look around and see if there's anything else here you'd like to take with you." He hated seeing a child have to do this. But he knew it was ultimately going to be for her own good. The mages at Aretuza would know what she needed and with any luck, she could put this trauma behind her.

He started to gather the few things they'd left in the room. There hadn't been much. And it may not have been worth taking, but if Ana had wanted it, he didn't want it to be left behind.

He gathered Geeta, and hurried her to the door. As he walked past the cupboard, the glint of silver caught his eye…he couldn't justify leaving the tray there for marauders. Even if Geeta didn't want it and had no use for it…it had value. They may need to sell it. He grabbed it and shoved it into his saddlebag.

"Geeta, have you ever ridden a horse before?" she nodded, eyes sparkling with a nostalgia for which she was far too young.

"Oh yes, Mister Geralt! I used to get to ride Arrow all the time…that was my papa's horse." she looked sad. And Geralt understood, but he pushed her through her grief this time.

"Well, tonight, you're going to ride Clove. She's a very good horse. She's Miss Ana's horse. And I'm going to put some other bags and things on her, too. It shouldn't be too crowded for you though." he smiled at the girl as he loaded Clove with some of Roach's burden.

"Why isn't Miss Ana riding on her horse? It's her horse!" she seemed very concerned and confused.

"Well, Geeta, Miss Ana is very tired and can't ride by herself. She's going to ride on my horse, Roach, with me." he knelt beside Ana's comatose form to check and make sure she was still breathing. She was, slowly. Pulse fairly steady, not that he was a good judge, his own heart rate being so much slower than the normal for a human.

"Come here, little one." he lifted Geeta up onto Clove and handed her the reins. "Alright, now hold on while I get Miss Ana and myself onto Roach, then we can go." He hoisted Ana heroically onto Roach's neck, and then mounted up himself, eliciting an oppressed whinny from the steed.

"Hey, if I had another option, I'd take it, alright? We'll go slow, stop at the next inn that will room a witcher, and I'll buy you a big bag of apples. Fair?"

Roach whinnied again, complicit, if not happy.

~~~~~~~~~

It felt like hours they were riding. Geeta asked a few questions here and there, but wasn't the chatty nuisance he thought she would be. It was mostly the fact that he was concerned for Ana that made the time seem not to pass. He needed to get to the inn, meditate, detox, and take another healing potion so that she could recover from the Bruxa venom.

Thankfully, he saw the lights of an inn just ahead, and picked up their pace, signaling for Geeta and Clove to follow.

The Drowsy Bear was a bit quaint and simpering for his liking. Everyone was a bit too friendly and clean. There were no brawlers in the corner. No lascivious couplings being arranged and sampled by the fireside tables in the dining hall. Just a couple of men, who were probably father and son playing dice, apparently for fun, rather than money. He couldn’t comprehend what that must be like.

He arranged the room, keeping an eye out the large front window at the girls and the horses until the affluent matron got his key ready and took his coin.

He didn’t usually trust his horse to stable boys, but under these circumstances, he felt he had no choice. He let the boy take Clove and Roach to the stables as he burdened Geeta with what she could carry of Ana’s things, and took the rest himself, along with the mage, still almost as limp as a corpse.

“Stay close to me, Geeta. These people seem kind, but something tells me not to fully trust them.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to people being nice to you.” She said, with wisdom beyond her short years as she smiled and waved at a portly old man at the bar. Well…she didn’t have to call him out quite like that. He just grunted back at her in noncommittal reply. They were finally at their room. Once inside, Geralt flung Ana onto the bed, unceremoniously, and went quickly to the hearth to build a fire.

“Why aren’t people nice to you, Mister Geralt?” Geeta asked, such true concern and confusion in her voice that, although his instinct would have been to brush her off or to snap back, he actually tried to answer.

“Witchers like me can be dangerous, Geeta. We aren’t like most humans. We’ve changed so much that we aren’t actually humans anymore. And for some people, for most people, just being different is enough to make someone scary. I’m both different AND dangerous.”

“People were scared of my gran. She could do magic. She’d make little straw dollies dance for me. The day she died I got so upset. I didn’t want to look at any straw anymore. Then the haystack behind our house caught fire while I was staring at it.”

“That must have been scary for you." Geralt sympathized.

"Not the fire. But my mum was. She started yelling and looking for where the fire came from. But I was the only one there. She took me inside. It hurt my arm how she pulled me. And she yelled at me so loud. She told me I mustn't do anything like that ever again or I might get taken away from her. So I tried to be good…to not be…like gran…but it didn't matter. Because mum got taken from me instead." she started to cry. Geralt let the fire kindle a moment while he pulled the child into his lap.

"It's alright to cry, Geeta. It's alright to be scared. But you won't be forever. Did you know, I was about your age, and even a bit younger when I lost my family?" he saved her the heartbreaking details of his abandonment. She looked into his eyes with curiosity putting a stopper in the tear ducts. "It's true. I learned about the ways of being a witcher when I was just a boy. And I wasn't very old when I became one, either. I won't tell you I was never scared and I never cried, because I don't want to lie to you. But I cried less and became less scared the longer I worked and lived this life. And you'll be taken in by lovely people just like you who know how to help you control that power in you, the same power your gran had, and maybe even use it to help people."

"I'd like to help people. Is that what people like me do?" she asked, hopeful.

"Yes, if they're good and kind. Miss Ana is like you. She's a mage. And a rather good one. And very kind. She was trained at the place we're taking you."

"Really?" excitement vibrated through her tiny frame.

"Yes, really!" he chuckled. "But right now, I've got to try to make Miss Ana feel better. And I need to rest to do that. Why don't you get out your pillow and blanket and rest, too?" she climbed off his lap and emptied his satchel of her belongings as he gathered ingredients for a few potions he wanted to replenish. About an hour of meditation would be enough to detox and set the new potions. Once everything was prepared, he knelt on a small cushion he'd pulled from the bench by the door. He placed his palms on his thighs, checked one last time that Geeta was alright, which she was, and already deeply asleep, exhausted from the eventful evening, and closed his eyes.

At first he saw the typical imagery of his meditations. Trees over-burdened with lush green leaves allowing sparse but cheerful bursts of golden sunlight to peek through. The warmth of early summer was just beginning to weigh down the late morning air. A spring at the head of a brook bubbled a lively water song, cold, refreshing, over its pebbles. His toes played in the cool, soft grass at the water's edge where he sat, clothed in linen breeks and a tunic. Both still dark in color, but the stiffness of his leather armor and boots was all but forgotten here in this place of revitalization and tranquility. Here he could cast aside the witcher and be that small nugget of Geralt that killing monsters hadn't yet managed to fracture or destroy.

It was at this point in the meditation that he often chose whether to swim in the spring or to just breathe in it's clean, crisp vapors. Today felt like a breathing day, he was thinking, when he heard a splash in the dark pool before him. His eyes remained shut, trying to stay his path. He heard a laughter that was part carefree and musical, and part mischievous and deep. It was familiar. He'd heard this chuckle flip it's switches in conversation…recently. He heard the sultry, rich, but still sweet feminine voice call to him.

"Geralt! Come swim with me!" he shook his head, knowing that she wasn't really there.

"Come on, witcher! It's cold, and I need warming up!" he felt himself stir at the thought of being close to her wet body, but resisted again.

"Don't make me use magic, Geralt of Rivia!" and he felt an inexplicable weightlessness fill him, hovering him above the ground about four hands breadth. His eyes opened at this and he sat up on the bed of air Ana had conjured for him…the Ana of his dreams, it seemed. He looked at her, wet hair, black against her warm olive skin, tanned from her travels and years of coastal living. Her eyes flashed him that mysterious misty green of precious stones, her pupils not quite threatening to overtake the color as they had the night he'd taken her virginity…just last night, he thought, although it seemed a lifetime past. He could see her bare shoulders above the rippling surface of the crystal clear water, and could tell, also, that she was nude. This was his dream, after all. He stood, removed his tunic, and unlaced his breeks to step out of them. She grinned at him. It was somehow both sly and shy, and he didn't understand how she pulled that off.

"You already are, and I don't mean the levitation." he replied to her before hopping in. He sunk like a stone, into the unknown depths of the spring, but came back up right in front of her. He held her body, chilled and riddled with gooseflesh, to his warm and solid one. She sighed, content. He did likewise. He ran his hands along her soft, smooth curves under the cold water, sending shivers through her that were entirely unrelated to the temperature, he flattered himself to believe. She held him tighter, her arms slung around his neck, their height difference neutralized in the deep water. She seemed to assess him in an almost tactical manner before beginning a series of gentle kisses all over his face. His cheeks and forehead, his nose and chin, even his eyelids, shut from the bliss of her soft, full lips against him. His mouth was relaxed in a grin that was just open enough for her to kiss gently, intruding teasingly with her tender tongue. He responded slowly at first, returning into her mouth with his own tongue, but as their grips on one another tightened, his kiss became more searching and desperate, craving her taste.

He felt himself twitch and swell as his yearning for her grew stronger. She wrapped a leg around his hip, digging a heel into his ass. As he moved to line himself up with the only part of her that felt truly warm in the chilled spring, she moaned his name.

"Mmm, Geralt."

~~~~~~~

"Mmm, Geralt." he heard her moan, in reality, back in the now overwarm room of the inn, one hour down from his meditation…all he had needed, but fuck, if all his meditations went like that, he'd go for hours. The stiffness from his fantasy coming back with him in his wakefulness. Great. He made sure Geeta was still asleep, which she was, thankfully, and he stood, erect now in multiple ways, and went to the farthest corner of the room to try to release some of the pressure he felt. He had never brough someone into his meditations. Not like that. It unnerved him. He calmed his thoughts, remembering the blood of the battle and the sour stench of the near abandon hovel Geeta was cowering in, and it was helping, until Ana called for him again, so wantonly that all progress he'd made had been lost, and he gave up.

He walked over to grab a healing potion from his kit, and downed it quickly. He needed her to be better. He had never been more sure of anything, especially now, after that dream. The terror he'd felt when she'd stepped out of the hovel offering herself to the Bruxa had been unlike anything he'd felt since he began fighting monsters. He sat next to her on the bed, waiting for the potion to work through his blood and transfer to her through the magic of the medallion. He felt that maybe, making his presence and proximity known and felt in some way might help her. He stroked her hair. Thumbing tendrils away from her face, her lovely, heart-shaped face that even now, dewey from fever and slightly twisted in a soft frown was the most beautiful he'd ever seen. He got up to get a cloth dampened with water from the nearby pitcher and dab it over her head and neck. She was still a bit grimy and bloody from the attack of the Bruxa, but she had healed fully. They were just waiting now on the potion to eradicate the venom inside her. It worked almost instantly on him…but it didn't have to go through a magical filter, then, either.

Just when he wondered if he aught to try another dose or another potion, Ana's eyes fluttered and she groaned, writhing against what he presumed was the ache of poisoned muscles and veins being freed and cleansed. He had felt it a time or two in his day.

"Anathema! Darling are you alright?" he caressed the side of her face into his body, now relaxed with releif.

"Geralt?" she asked, looking around the room, confused and a bit frightened. "Where are we? Where's Geeta? What happened?"

"Everything is fine. Geeta is here with us, and we are at an inn on our way to Aretuza."

"Aretuza?"

"What do you remember about the fight, specifically the end, Ana?" Geralt whispered, hoping not to wake Geeta.

"I remember being down to just the two Bruxa, and one of them bit you, but succumbed to the Black Blood. Then I remember something about them needing a mage's blood…Geeta's!" suddenly she seemed to remember and sit up like a bolt, wincing at the muscles that protested the sudden and unwelcome movement they were forced to perform in their delicate state. "They wanted Geeta's blood and that's why they attacked the city. And I went out to see if my blood would appease the last Bruxa--"

"Which you should NOT have done because I had things well in hand." he interrupted.

"I wanted to help if I could. But then, after my offer…and her charge at me…I can only recall snippets. It's hazy and very disjointed. And…Did you just sling me over Roach's neck like a sack of meal?" she asked, most annoyed.

"I…at first. But just to get you mounted. You try getting a lifeless body onto a horse with no one but a tiny child around. Geeta was no help at all." they giggled.

"So how did I survive a Bruxa bite, Geralt? What happened after I blacked out?"

"You killed the last Bruxa…sort of. You see this medallion of mine you kindly donned before the battle? I left it for you for a reason. You understand that it's more than just jewelry, but even more than you already know, there's a little piece of me in it and any potion I take affects the wearer of that medallion without harming them, as it would if they just took one  on their own. It filters the bad effects, but it also decreases the effectiveness a bit. So, Meena, the last Bruxa, wasn't immediately killed by biting you, only incapacitated, so I explained her error, and relieved her of her head." Geralt smirked at Ana, proud of his kill, even if he hadn't taken a trophy.

"Why didn't you tell me what the medallion would do to me if I wore it?" Ana was a bit frustrated now.

"I couldn't risk you not wearing it out of some silly pride or other noble notion you may have conjured. I did it for your own good, and for the safety of us all, Anathema." Geralt growled.

"No, I understand, the greater good, the lack of trust, perhaps? It's unfortunately a familiar tale with a familiar set of characters, Geralt." she hinted at his past deceptions as they'd spoken of before the Bruxae fight. They hadn't really finished that conversation, according to her, it seemed.

"Don't." he halted her.

"Is it not? Don't you see the similarities? I don't want us to tread that same path, Geralt. I'm not saying this is worth giving up what you and I have over. But it isn't so small that I think we should brush it under the rug, either."

"What is it you think we have, mage?" his anger at the comparison was clouding his judgement. Making him irrational.

"Don't you do that to me. Not after what we've been through over the last two nights." she grasped the medallion as if to hold him herself and the images of his dream came rushing back into his head. The beauty of nature and of her swirling all around him in the refreshing pool. The perfection of that moment. He knew he couldn't lie to her, but he didn't know how to tell her the truth, either.

"Geralt, you asked me before the battle what happy place I would go to in defense of the Bruxae song. I didn't tell you. I didn't want to make things too serious before the danger had passed. That was a mistake. I should have told you. If you had died without knowing that my happiest memories were made with you last night when we made love, I would have regretted it the rest of my days. You, Geralt. You were, and are my happy place, even now when you're being a deceptive, withholding, insolent bastard." she laughed. "It's sub-optimal, I know, our situation, but it is OUR situation, and we are…in it. And honestly, I'm very thankful that you're the one in it with me."

Geralt hadn't cried…really cried…since he was very young. But this woman, Anathema of Velena, made him well up as he couldn't remember ever doing. His traitorous manhood, having slackened during their argument was now waking again as his affection grew with the forgiveness that washed over him after the mention of the Yen situation.

He laid down, aligning his body next to hers so that he could look into the jade pools of her eyes.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Ana. It was wrong of me to handle that as I did. I see the similarities and I will endeavor to do better in the future." she smiled at his apology and promise. He continued with a confession to match hers. "Now speaking of happy places, I don't have a lot. Those that I used to cherish seem to be tainted now, some for reasons we've discussed, and some for reasons I don't want to get into yet because it's still too painful for me. But Ana, you gave me one of the most beautiful and perfect nights of my long life, and yes, that was my happy place, as well."

She nestled herself against his firm body, her head resting on his arm, and her arm wrapped around his waist.

"I had a feeling." she said, a smug giggle escaping her throat as her eyes fluttered shut to return to sleep, now that she knew her people were safe and they were out of danger.

He smiled back and thought to himself, I have a feeling too, little mage.

Part Three-Coming Soon!

[caps-lockdown]

Operation: Man Flu Part Five

Operation: Man Flu part five!

This is it folks the last installment of this fic! I’m constantly blown away from all of the kind words from all of you, especially since I’m new to this whole writing thing. I truly loved writing this, and even though I am SUPER sad to see it go, I’m really excited for what’s to come! Enjoy!

Pairings: Steve x Shield Agent Female Reader!

Words: 4,150

Ratings/Warnings: I’m going to put hard R here for the whole thing because there’s going to be cussing, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, physical fights, mental breakdowns. Jealousy, love triangles (sort of), and lots of crude humor. Just strap in.

Also no Beta so my mistakes are my only thing to claim, I don’t own any characters either, with the exception of the reader, a doctor, and some random characters here and there.

It is in Y/N (Your Name) L/N (Last Name) format. Enjoy!

Part 5

Monday 1130 Hours

“Where are they?” Sam questioned, tapping his foot impatiently as he and the rest of The Avengers sat at the table for their Monday morning meeting. Y/N was never “one to be late, and the fact that Steve “Mr. Punctuality.” Rogers was with her made it worse.

Tony sighed, clearly annoyed. “I’m sure they’re fine Wilson, take a pill.”

“But what if something happened to them last night? They never came back to the Tower!”

“Again, I’m sure they’re fine. If they were smart they probably ran far away from all of you man children when they had the chance.” Pepper added, sticking her tongue to Sam when he glared at her, before going back to staring at the large doors.

It was true, neither you nor the good captain were seen after you had left mid-afternoon the day before to get coffee. You were nice enough to have the rest of the team’s orders delivered, but even your phone went straight to voicemail when Sam and Nat tried calling you. It was beginning to worry your close friend, who had never expected you of all people to act this way. He just hoped you had a good reason.

As if on cue, you pushed through the doors that lead into the briefing room, a tired but elated looking Captain America at your heels. Everyone didn’t take long to notice your joined hands, and you felt a surge of pride when the room burst out in hollers and cheers.

“So sorry we’re late.” You quickly apologized, noting the glare both Sam and Tony were sporting towards you. “Traffic was murder. But we brought lunch!” You slammed the many paper bags on the table, Steve following suit with a case of soda.

“No, you don’t get to go M.I.A for nearly twenty four hours and expect us to just forgive you!” Sam huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You didn’t call! You didn’t come home! You didn’t even leave a note! Where the hell were you Y/N? You worried us sick!”

“I would like to add here that Sam was the only one really worried about you. But he was extremely annoying about it.” Tony deadpanned, glancing over to the food and eyes instantly becoming wide. “Wait…are those cheeseburgers? From Kay’s?”

“As an apology for ditching you all last night.” You nodded, noticing the brunette licking his lips and slowly making his way to the table.

“You’re not out of this by a long shot Y/N. Explain yourselves!!” Sam clucked his tongue and pointed his finger at the two of you.

“We didn’t mean to stay out so late, honest.” You started, looking at the ground before meeting your friend’s inquisitive stare. “We just went for coffee…” Your heart raced as Steve lifted your joined hands to place a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Which lead to a walk in central park. Which lead to dinner.” The blonde added, you feeling all sorts of fuzzy when he didn’t break eye contact. “And then a night in with movies. Y/N here overslept and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. You guys did run her ragged the last few days. “

“You spent the whole afternoon and evening together? Alone? And all you did was eat and watch movies?” Bucky stated, obviously in some kind of shock at his best friend.

“Hey we had to make up for lost time.” Came your quick remark, giving Steve a quick kiss while the ladies almost sighed blissfully at the two of you. Bucky and Sam still looked skeptical, but Tony had full on forgotten about the whole conversation at hand, pulling a cheeseburger and fries out of the bag and wasting no time stuffing his face.

“What the hell Stark?” Sam growled, you laughing as Tony looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Who’s side are you on man?”

“I got Kay’s Wilson, all is forgiven on my end.” Tony muffled out, bits of burger falling out while the rest of the team joined in on the laughter.

“Traitor.” Sam muttered bitterly as you sat down next to him, Steve taking the seat opposite you.

“I’m so sorry Sam I really am. I know I should have called or texted I just.” You sighed, forcing yourself to look at him straight on. “I promise to let you know in the future.”

Your close friend leaned in closer to you. “Annnnd?”

“Annnnd I’ll give you all the juicy details later.” You whispered. Sam wasted no time clapping his hands and nodding at you, opening a bag and grabbing his own food. Everyone else followed suit besides you and Steve, the two of you grabbing breakfast before you came in.

“We can be friends again then!” You snorted as he bit into a french fry, groaning at the deep fried perfection.

“Now that that’s cleared up, I’m happy for you two by the way.” You gave a small smile to the red head at the front of the room. “Y/N you did mention that you had some footage from this weekend you wanted to play for me?” Pepper asked, and you had almost forgotten about the video you had recorded using Sam’s phone. Quickly snatching his cellular device, you made short work of finding a way to cast the clip onto the large screen. Everyone erupted in chuckles and laughs as Pepper watched her husband in horror.

“Do you have a kiss for your favorite hero sweetheart, or are you going to make me beg?”

“I honestly don’t remember this happening at all!” Tony cried out, watching Nat slap him hard across the face in the video, it shortly ending because you couldn’t stop laughing.

“You don’t remember a thing?” Nat asked, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised at the confused man.

“No…but that explains why my cheek hurt so damn much the next day.” He mumbled, another wave of laughter coming over the room.

“Man it really does look better in HD.” Clint called out, everyone agreeing with him. Tony meanwhile was trying (in vain) to suffocate himself with one of the empty burger joint bags.

“I really don’t think that will ever get old.” Bucky chuckled, pretending to wipe a fake tear from his eye. “Y/N I really don’t know how to thank you for that. Or this weekend for that matter.”

“Yes that’s correct, we are in your debt.” Your eyes moved to the god of thunder, shaking your head. “No no we insist. Anything you wish, we must try to make it up to you. Handling all of us was a major feat, and we owe you.”

You put a finger to your chin, pondering for a few moments before looking at Steve with a mischievous smirk, “Well, there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do…”

One month Later, 1700 hours

Nat stared down at her outfit. “Laser tag Y/N? Seriously? What are we, ten?”

You giggled, bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet as you stood in the foyer of the arena. You could hear the techno music blaring through the walls, all of you barely able to hear the gangly teen as he went over the “Rules” of laser tag. You calmly readjusted the vest, looking to your group of friends and beaming at them. Tony and Pepper rented the whole place for two full hours, complete with a pizza party afterwards.

“Yep! This is what I wanted, so deal! Now who’s gonna be the team captains?” Your eyes immediately shot to Steve, who was buckling the rest of his vest shut. “I volunteer Rogers!”

“Then I naturally, must be the other Captain.” Tony cut in, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Sure Stark, whatever floats your boat.”

“Do I get to pick first then too? That would also float my boat.” Stark’s remark earned an exasperated groan from you. The absolute gull of this man was going to drive you to commit murder today.

“Sure, unless Rogers has any complaints?”

“None from me Doll, let Tony have his fun.” The blonde smirked to you, your face flushing when he gave you gave your hand a squeeze.

“Great! Then I pick Y/N!” You choked on nothing, whipping your head around to see Tony sporting the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Fine, then I get Pepper.” Came Steve’s cool reply, you suddenly feeling like this wasn’t a good idea.

“Bucky.” Stark pointed at the soldier, Bucky grumbling to himself about having his best friend ditch him for a Stark. The two of them continued picking until their teams had been formed. Team Tony consisted of Stark, You, Bucky, Clint, and Bruce. Steve had Sam, Nat, Pepper, and Thor. The teen signaled it was time to head in, you sidling up to Steve to wish him good luck.

“Take it easy on me out there? I don’t have as much on field training as Captain America.” You pleaded, the blonde shaking his head at you.

“Sorry Doll, no promises.”

“Can I give you a kiss for good luck?” Your eyes darted to his lips and then back to his eyes, Steve chuckling as he closed the distance between the two of you.

“Well I won’t say no to my best girl.” You leaned in, only to be ripped away from him by a cocky looking Tony.

“NO FRATENIZING WITH THE ENEMY Y/N!” Offering a small smile you were pulled into the arena, your team heading up to the upper level while Steve and his team stayed on the ground. Tony handed each of you your own communications ear piece, which you were more than thankful for, knowing Nat had brought enough for everyone earlier that day.

“Check check is this thing on?” You spoke into it softly, the static clearing out once everyone had theirs on.

“Hear you loud and clear sweetheart.” You smiled at Steve’s voice. At least you’d be able to hear him.

“Yea Y/N, prepare to lose!” Sam’s taunt crackled in your ear, you smirking as both Clint and Bucky took to perching on opposite sides of the room, giving your team a much needed advantage with Nat and Steve working together.

“Alright everyone, no cheating of any kind will be tolerated. This is your only warning.” Bruce threatened, all of you agreeing as the teenager outside began the countdown. Crouching low, you made yourself extremely small, fitting into a dark corner which gave you full visual access to both ramps coming up to the floor.

“Three…Two…One…GO!”

The loud techno music from earlier came as an assault to your ears from the sound system, the walls vibrating as the bass matched the beat of your heart. You could hear the sounds of other’s vest’s being hit, the game starting out with a bang.

“Is that all you got Rogers? I’ve seen better shots from seven year olds on Call of Duty!” Tony taunted, you watching as he ducked behind a large neon green barrel while your blonde boyfriend came running up the ramp to your left. A large flash of light to your right resulted in you bringing a hand up to your mouth to conceal your laughter. Sam had rushed the other side and caught Stark, shooting him square in the back.

“So you want to play dirty huh?” Tony asked before slipping into the darkness while his vest counted down the reset time. Well that can’t be good.

Meanwhile Nat was dodging shots from Clint and Bucky, flipping her way across the bottom floor while Bruce and Thor just kept shooting at one another from behind half walls. You could hear their laughter, happy that at least some people hadn’t been taking the game so seriously. Slowly creeping out of your hole, you made your way to the ledge, aiming your weapon carefully. Steadying your breathing you squeezed the trigger of the gun, pulling it when your target was in sight.

“What the hell? Who shot me?!” Nat yelled into the earpiece, you standing up to your full height and looking over the ledge.

“Gotta think faster than that Red.” Her eyes came up to yours, narrowing into slits as you blew her a kiss. Panic quickly set into your veins as she began making her way to the upper level, quickly scaling up one of the half walls and touching down maybe five feet in front of you.

“Fast enough for you L/N?”

Letting out a nervous chuckle you turned around. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Pepper and Thor grinned at your fallen face, Pepper not wasting time and shooting you.

“Nice shot Missus Stark.”

“Thanks Lightning bolt.” You flipped them the middle finger, stomping off to find another hiding spot before your vest signaled to the others you were fair game again. The carnage continued on for another fifteen minutes, everyone getting really into the trash talk.

“Hey where’s Stark at?” Sam asked, you realizing you hadn’t heard from your captain in a while. “Tonnnnyy…oh Tooonnnyyy…Come out come out wherever you are…” Sam sung quietly, jumping into dark spots of the arena in search of him.

“Please never sing again Wilson. My ears are bleeding here.” Came Stark’s reply, you laughing as Sam’s voice cracked in annoyance.

“And what the hell are you doing?” You jumped at Sam’s bark, looking around to see if you could find the two of them.

“Obviously I’m busy. Go get your own hiding space.”

“That’s CHEATING! YOU’RE CHEATING!” The two teams ceased in an instant, all of you looking to the far left side of the room, Sam with his hands on his hips in rage.

“Who’s cheating?” Thor inquired, sidling up to you while Steve called for a time out.

“Seems like mister billionaire couldn’t stop himself from upgrading his laser.” Sam accused, Tony looking up at everyone while the lights came up. You could see the laser had been partially disassembled, and the genius had very much been tinkering with it.

“Come on, seriously? It was a few simple rules and you couldn’t follow one? You’re supposed to be Captain!” Clint snapped into the comms link, you looking up to see him wipe his face with his hands. Everyone on your team were feeling extremely pissed off at the current situation.

“I say we throw him out of the game.” Bruce suggested, Sam and Nat nodding in approval.

“What?! No come on guys, I just feel naked without my suit!”Came the billionaire’s half-assed plea, Steve having none of it.

“Tony rules are rules. You’re out pal.” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you as Bruce and Steve hoisted the sitting Stark to his feet, Tony whining the whole way out of the arena. You shook your head, looking to the remaining members of your team.

“Well I’m not surprised, but who’s going to be Captain now?” Bucky questioned into the earpiece, Clint looking over at him with a shrug.

“I volunteer as tribute!” You raised your hand, Sam bursting into laughter while Nat shook her head.

“This isn’t hunger games Y/N. And you don’t need a bigger ego.” You pouted openly at Nat and your other so called “Friends”. Sam only nodded between laughs.

“She’s right Y/N. Not to mention the fact that you can’t seem to hit the broad side of a barn.”

“Hey now guys, let’s not be rude it was Y/N’s idea.” You beamed at Steve as he walked back towards the group, the music beginning to grow louder again. “You can be Captain Y/N. It’s not like you’re going to win anyway.” Amusement danced in his eyes while your face fell slack. “Sorry sweetheart. No hard feelings?”

“You’re going to eat those words Rogers, and I’ll be holding the fork when you do.” You growled, anger setting your adrenaline on fire as he gave you a playful wink.

“Promise?”

“Would you two please quit with the foreplay and get back to the game? Geesh. Save it for the bedroom.” Sam pushed you aside, heading back into the fray as the sounds of lasers and yelling became the background vocals to the room shaking music. You smirked at the tall blonde as the room began to darken, you using it to your advantage and running your hand up his left arm. You could hear him take in a sharp breath, closing his eyes while you lightly traced his muscles with your fingertips. You let your hand cruise up to his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before letting it graze along his back muscles, watching them tense under your touch.

“May the odds be ever in your favor, Captain.” You whispered hotly at him, rushing to duck into a small tunnel when he whipped around to grab at you. Covering your mouth you went back into stealth mode, managing to score a couple times by shooting Sam and Thor without them figuring out where you were. It wasn’t that you were a terrible shot, you just hated shooting without concentrating. You couldn’t fire on a whim, not that there was anything wrong with that. Just made laser tag very difficult.

“On your six L/N.” Your head snapped as Tony’s voice rang into the comms link, you narrowly avoiding a shot from Pepper and retaliating with a shot of your own, nailing her in the shoulder. “Sorry honey. I love you.” The female Stark only responded by flipping off the nearest camera, plunging back into the darkness.

“No interference Stark.” You squinted to see Nat’s figure coming into view, chuckling at how seriously she was taking this. “Time for some payback Y/N.” You didn’t have time to react as the redhead knocked your gun out of your hand, pulling up her own to take a shot at you. “Any last words?”

Smirking you brought your chin up to glare at her defiantly, looking above you. “Just one. Barton.” Moving within an instant you moved her gun out of the way in time for Clint to shoot her from the top part of the arena. Giving him an air high-five you ran the opposite direction, laughing the whole way. You could hear Nat screaming obscenities to Clint without using her earpiece. I owe you one Barton.

~~~Sometime later~~~

“Alright guys, your scores are nearly tied, you can still pull this win out Y/N. Just focus. And don’t get shot.” You rolled your eyes as Tony continued his commentary, the game getting to you and wearing you down. You couldn’t help but feel like your head was in a fog for some reason, your movements becoming slower. Trying to shake it off, you continued to hide in your safe space, listening to the others still battling it out.

“You gonna come out of your ivory tower up there Barnes and face me like a man or are you too chicken shit?” Your pulse began to pick up at the sound of Steve’s gravelly taunt on your comms link, you bringing a hand up to fan yourself. Jesus this man was going to be the death of you. Was it hot in here or was it just your gorgeous boyfriend? His “take charge” tone always did wonderful things for you physically, but you were honest to god glad this wasn’t directed your way. You’d surely turn into a puddle if it had been.

“Rogers you are only saying that to impress Y/N. We both know I’d kick your ass six ways from Sunday.” Bucky scoffed, “But if you insist on embarrassing your girl, then I will be happy to oblige.” Noticing movement above you, silently you began to scope out the best viewing point for the show that was about to go down.

“I’m calling a personal truce, just so I can watch this.” Sam said, placing his laser gun to his side, everyone else of both teams following suit. That didn’t include you. You kept to the right, staying hidden and watching from afar. Steve and Bucky met in the middle of the ground floor, only a few barrels and a half wall separating them. Steve had this look in his eyes that made you go a little weak in the knees. He looked so determined, jaw tight to match Bucky’s calculating stare. That’s the guy you were dating. And you couldn’t root for him right now.

“Let’s dance Stevie.” Bucky called before rushing forward, diving over a barrel and taking a well aim shot at Rogers. The blonde ducked to dodge the shot, and did so, but barely. He took to running to take cover behind the half wall, the one that was currently in front of where you were crouching. You took this moment to admire his amazing backside, thanking the big guy upstairs that for the last month you got to go home to that fine specimen. God bless America’s Ass.

“What’s the time left Tony?” You whispered into your ear piece, trying not to reveal your prime location of perverted real estate.

“Fifteen seconds. Both of your teams are tied. Someone needs to shoot someone already.” Tony complained, tired of watching the two men dodge shots and miss their own.

“No problem.” Was all you said, stepping out of the shadows and aiming your weapon carefully. Taking no time you pulled the trigger, nailing Sam, Nat, and Thor within seconds. Pepper was out of your range so you settled on your beloved blonde boyfriend, watching as he turned around as the clock counted down.

“Sorry sweetheart. No hard feelings?” Pulling the trigger you watched as he failed to move in time and the beam of green light hit him in the chest. The alarm sounding the end of the game was muted to you from your heart thumping in your ears. Not sparing Steve a second glance you walked confidently out of the arena, your team cheering for you. Tony clapped you into a one armed hug when you reached the main lobby, already having helped himself to some pizza and beer.

“That was incredible Y/N! That’s how you play laser tag! I’m sorry I doubted you.” Bucky congratulated you, your other teammates chanting your name. Taking a bow you laughed as a very sad Steve entered your line of sight, pouting and holding his chest like he had actually been shot.

“Come on it’s just a game sweetheart. I would never actually shoot you.” You cooed, but it came out a bit raspy.

“You alright Y/N?” His demeanor changed at an instant, taking in your slightly labored breathing with a worried glance.

“I’m…I’m fine Steve.” You coughed out. “Just different air than in the arena.”

“Don’t be getting sick on me.” He chided, you waving him off and going to load up a paper plate with breadsticks and stuffed crust pizza.

~~~Two Days Later~~~

“Gentlemen, seriously. I’m fine.” You got out in between sneezes, looking around your bed to find Earth’s Mightiest Heroes staring at you. “Doc says it’s just the flu. It’ll be over in a few days.”

“Then we shall help you recover!” Thor shouted, you wincing as the god of thunder took off out of Steve’s room. You had stayed over after your victory, waking up at two a.m with a fever and the shakes. Of course your boyfriend was nothing short of amazing, bringing Doctor Hooper to check on you. He got you whatever you needed after Hooper diagnosed you. Word had spread quickly that you had fallen ill and now you had to deal with these men all over again.

“Do you need your pillows fluffed?” Bucky asked, Sam running into the room like his ass was on fire.

“Does your grams chicken noodle soup recipe say two carrots?” You held up a weak two fingers.

“I picked you up the cherry medicine, I hope it tastes better than the foul purple liquid did.” Thor returned, handing you the small shot glass of medicine which you downed instantly.

“I brought fresh, cold water.” Tony chimed in, placing the bottles on the table. Your heart swelled with appreciation as Steve stood at your side, smiling down at you. You sighed as his hand brushed through your hair lightly.

“I’m not leaving you. I promise Y/N.” His voice was soft, filled with tenderness as you recalled saying those same words to the super soldier when he was sick.

“Thanks Steve. I don’t deserve you. Any of you.” You corrected yourself, the men around you smiling before breaking apart to help make you more comfortable.

“Just don’t ask us to make sure you don’t die in the shower Y/N. That’s officially Roger’s job.” Sam chuckled, walking back out of the room to check on the soup.

“Damn right it is.” Steve whispered, dropping down to kiss your forehead while you started to drift off. There were perks to being sick after all.

The End

Tag list: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts

[weaselle]

Dead Earth 3rd installment

Ringer had killed a couple men back in Quorum, and that was the problem. Quorum was pretty rough and tumble; those men he shot were mean and tough, and he figured it made him a real bad hombre.

He was tall and slim, and he fancied himself a gunfighter, wearing a pistol in a shoulder rig and another in a holster tucked into the back of his belt. Somewhere along the way he had joined up with Daily, a big beefy man who loved to hit things with his fists, and the two of them pretty much thought they were the toughest dudes to ever live. Geo, a smallish young man, was impressed by them, and latched onto the pair.

Breen only had two other crew members: Cee W., a copilot he’d met on a night the young man was fed up with his previous employer, and Hanah, an old ship hand who kept to herself, knew how to do her job and everyone else’s too. Breen’s ship The Grabbyelle was already warming it’s engines for take off by the time Ringer, Daily, and Geo showed up, late as usual.  

“They’re on, Cap’n” Hannah’s voice sounded in Breen’s ear.

“Lift it” Breen told Cee W.. Once they were on course, he turned over control to his copilot and called a crew meeting in the galley. Hex and Jackal would be there, Cee W. would listen in on the com.

_____________________________________________________________________

Breen did a double take as he entered the galley and saw Hex. She was wearing a kind of business suit in crimson and black, with plenty of gold jewelry, somehow managing to look like both a CEO and a pirate -- the pirate effect highlighted by the nine inch blade strapped to her left thigh and a long wool coat draped over her shoulders like a cloak. Jackal was beside her in similar if less flashy garb. His large foxy ears were plainly visible through a brimmed hat with two holes for them, but looked at first glance like they might be part of it, like feathers stuck in the hatband. Wearing a vest and no jacket, he had a sort of short staff slung across his back. It was the least number of visible weapons Breen had seen on them yet.

When Ringer and Daily came in trailing Geo behind them, Hex and Jackal had their interest right away. Ringer leaned insolently against a counter eyeballing Jackal, and Daily walked over and lewdly ran his eyes up and down Hex.

“Well well, Captain, what have you brought us?” Ringer said, looking at Jackals ears, then glancing at Hex. “Pets? Are they house trained?” Jackal’s eyes narrowed a little, and one ear flicked. “What do think Daily, she got a tail hidden away behind her? Aww, what am I sayin’, you probably don’t care if she’s human or not”

“Shut up, Ringer” Daily said flatly, leaving his eyes on Hex.

“You’re out of line, Ringer” said Breen, with more confidence than he felt, “You too, Daily, back off! Don’t be rude to our clients” Daily lingered a second, then moved to sit at the table with Hannah and Geo.

“Oh clients!” said Ringer, bowing sarcastically “So sorry, I didn’t realize.”  Suddenly ignoring Hex and Jackal, he dropped into a chair and faced Breen, who also sat.  “What’s the job?”

Before he could answer, Hex said “I’ve hired this ship and its crew to retrieve something of mine. A box my uncle left me.”

“We need a whole ship for that?” said Geo skeptically “Must be a big-ass box”

“Not so big,” said Hex, as Jackal brought her a mug of black caff and sat at the table, “it’s not the size, it’s the location. I hope you all are ready for a rough time -- we’re going down to the Old World.”

Well, they didn’t like to hear that, and with good reason. The Lunar Colonies had been established close to 200 years ago, and the Earth had been considered a dead and dangerous planet for most of that time. Oh, there were things living on it, but it mostly wasn’t a fit place for people to live. Some did anyway, such were the ways of humans, to claw existence from the barest chance of survival. They lived amid the wreckage left by a combination of environmental disaster and global warfare, an apocalyptic  wilderness considered uninhabitable by most of what was left of humanity. Many of those left on the planet were either genetically altered or cybernetically augmented, the progeny of laboratory creations during the last, war-torn decades of a fully populated Earth.

Called derogatory names like “grader” “shifter” “alter” and “mutie” (slurs short for upgraded, gene-shifted, altered, and mutant) people with cybernetic or genetic enhancements were not welcome in the lunar colonies. First generation Upgraded and Gene-shifted entities had been designed for war and terror, often mimicking horror story creatures such as vampires and zombies, or housing weaponry and programing for battle and assassination. Not just people, there were many human-created animals, some of which were quite intelligent. And there were micro-organisms and nanobots still swarming the planet, as well. When a last large-scale evacuation had finally been implemented, the Planetary Evacuation and Transfer Agency had screened for and denied entry to all Enhanced Beings, a policy meant to prevent “infecting” the supposed purity of the Lunar Colonies.

“I shoulda known a couple of damn shifters would try to get us down the well” said Daily, referring to the gravity well created by the planet. “Like hell I want to go there, full of vampires and borgs and nano-mites and who knows what.”

“That box of your uncle’s must have something worth a whole lot of money in it for you to hire a ship and land on that death rock,” mused Ringer. “What’s our share?”

Hex looked at him coldly “Whatever worth that box has is only valuable to me. There’s nothing in there for you. What you get is a working ship in operation, with its dock fees paid off and plenty of food and water, and your normal crew rates.”

Ringer scowled and looked over at Breen “That right, Captain? We working for zero percent of the haul? Doesn’t seem fair, that.”

“Can’t make money on a ship with empty tanks and unpaid dock fees, Ringer. I saw a chance and I took it. You’re getting paid your crew rate. Sometime in the next few hauls maybe we’ll find something that’ll earn you a nice bonus. Meanwhile, eat up, sleep tight, do your job, and draw your normal pay.”

“I don’t like it at all,” Ringer replied “and I know Daily and Geo don’t either. How ‘bout you, Hannah? You want to go down to Old Earth? Getting old to try that kind of environment, aren’t you? And I bet you don’t like to work a run and not get a percentage”

Hannah, never impressed by Ringer and his friends, shrugged “You ever shipped out on one of those big ol’ EA astroid miners? They charge you for room and board the whole time you’re on the ship, gotta pay it out of whatever you manage to mine while you’re out in The Black. If you don’t find enough ore to pay your bill, you don’t get to leave the ship when it docks, gotta head back out on the next run and hope your luck is better. Plenty of them miners never manage to get free, spend the rest of their lives working for that EA mining corp, never see a single kuai in their bank account. This here’s not my favorite deal, but it’s a deal, and a better one than I’ve had from some. Captain says we might get something extra later on, then I expect there’s a good chance of that, he ain’t lied to us yet.”

Hannah grinned nastily at the lanky troublemaker, “As for taking a trip down the well, you don’t worry me none with that talk, Ringer, what with you never even breathed the Old World air. You might be surprised to know I actually been down there before, an’ I ain’t so old I can’t go again. What’s more, I’m twice as likely to make it back as you are yourself, and that’s facts. That there planet eats up men think they’re tough like you, just plain eats ‘em right up; why, you oughta be scared more than you are, really.”

“Scared?” Ringer was outraged. “You keep talking, grannie,” Ringer bit out, “I’ll show you who’s tough”

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Breen, “In 52 hours we’ll be landing. It’s a dangerous world, but we’re just making a pick up, and taking off. No reason for everybody to get all wound up. Now you’ve heard the job, and that’s how it is. Everybody back to work. Hex, I’d like to speak to you on the bridge at your convenience” and with that, he walked out.

Daily stood up, looking at Hex, “How ‘bout it, lady, you want to come see me in my quarters when you’re done with the captain, I’ll show you a real man.”

“That’d be nice” said Hex, “I been looking for a real man since I got here.”

“Oh yeah?” said Daily, grinning lustily.

“Yeah,” said Hex, wryly, running her eyes slowly up and down Daily “and I haven’t seen one yet” and turned her back and left.

“Fucking bitch!” Daily exclaimed and leapt up to follow, but suddenly Jackal was face to face with him, fangs bared, staff out with the tip resting against Daily’s chest, stopping him. Ringer put his hand to his gun, but Jackal said “Daily dies if you do, Ringer. Daily, you better call off your buddy if you want to live. You know what a bangstick is?”

Off to one side, Hannah chuckled. “You boys sure went knocking on the wrong door. Better go easy there, Ringer. Bangstick is a compression gun, Daily, in case you don’t know. Just a pipe with a round loaded in, usually shotgun shell -- you jab it against anything and it hits the pin, fires the round. You’re mighty close to having a big hole right through you, boy.”

“That’s exactly right,” said Jackal “and your pal Ringer there could make me nervous, with his hand on his gun like that.”

“Let’s go, Ringer,” said Daily, slowly, “this is a bad start to a fight. We can pick a better time and finish it.”

“Anytime at all, cabronés,” said Jackal, as Ringer took his hand away from his holster and Daily backed away. “You try it anytime you want”.

Daily and Ringer left.

Hannah looked at Jackal. “You remind me of some folks. You ever ship with any of the Old Fleet?”

Jackal grinned at her and winked, touched the brim of his hat and left.

Hannah whistled soundlessly and looked across the table at Geo. “Kid, I never liked those two you hang out with, but you seem okay, so I’ll give you some good advice for free. If they go after these two, you just let them go and do it without you, I’d hate to see you killed. That there was a Galloglas, or I’m Queen of the Moon.”

Geo wrinkled his brow at her. “What in the diyu is a Galloglas?”

“You ever hear of the Old Fleet?” Geo shook his head at her. “The Council of Captains?” Geo shook his head again. “Well, you know how Sol Union got started?” Geo shrugged. “Por su madré, what all are they teaching people these days?” she said, “Well okay then, listen up, I guess this here is story time.”

“Back in the day, the Old Fleet was called the Station Supply Fleet, or the Service Fleet. A handful of giant ships created to service the seven space stations.

Life on these stations was secretive even back then, and from the beginning, their smaller populations tended to have a lot of brains and be in the top of their field. Then those folks raised a few generations of children who were certainly very, very smart, even if no one has ever proved they’ve been genetically enhanced to be extra intelligent, as rumor says.

Those stations, whole little worlds unto themselves, were busy developing goods and services in their areas of specialty -- those things they still produce, like robotics, medical research and narcotics, specialized food production, entertainment. But that wasn’t all they developed while floating around out in The Black. They also developed their own ways of life.

Sort of the same way, the Service Fleet was making their own cultures too. Most of those ships were crewed by several hundred men and women on back to back between-station journeys that could take three years or more each trip, and they naturally started their own way of living.

So anyway, it wasn’t long before the stations began to have differing opinions about what the law should be on-station. Different from each other, a bit, and very different than the governments that thought they controlled them.

More and more those opinions disagreed with the opinions of Earth and the Lunar colonies, and when one of those disagreements came to a head on Station Delta, the old Space Command  found out very quickly that one of the things all the stations had in common was an opinion that attempts at military boarding and take-over of a station would not be tolerated.

The long and short of it was, the few surviving members of the Lunar Military incursion team wound up reporting that yes, the extremely intelligent people of Station Delta had, in fact, thought to engineer quite well against armed intrusion. Planetary authorities were further caught with their pants down when the seven stations of Sol System immediately unionized and seceded en mass, announcing themselves an alliance of self-governing bodies. Looking back, they had to have been planning it for a while, secretive messages going back and forth in the dark for years. Anyway, that’s how Sol Union was born.

The days-old Sol Union then gave the Supply Fleet that serviced them an offer, which was simply: join us.

Now those ships relied heavily on those stations to supply and refuel. There was no way to land them on the Moon or on Old Earth, they were designed to dock with the stations. And I imagine a lot of those ships didn’t care for being ordered around by government folks who didn’t know what life in the Fleet was like, most of who’d never even served on board any ship at all.

On each ship of the Fleet, decisions were made about the Sol Union offer. On some ships, there were votes. On other ships arguments were more pointed. Explosive, even. Two ships were lost entirely.

In the end, the Council of Captains was formed (some of whom were very new to their captaincy indeed). They defined each ship as an autonomous entity, and unanimously offered an alliance with the Sol System Union, simultaneously offering Earth and the Lunar Colonies a peace-treaty with trade agreements. Once the Sol Union signed that alliance with the Council of Captains, there wasn't really any choice for Terran or Lunar governments; the station labs produced a lot of the best goods and technology: medical equipment and vaccines, personal electronics, as well as widely enjoyed arts and entertainment- that last bit was particularly tricky for Space Command to get around. It was extremely difficult to keep the support of the citizenry when the 'enemy' was so damned popular.

But mostly it was that the ships of the Fleet were almost all of the serious space-craft humanity had made up til then. There was no space navy, nor any kind of second fleet to provide shipping. In effect, the rebel Union, while refusing to trade any of their products with Terra, had agreed to sell to the Fleet, who was offering to sell those things to the Earth and Moon. And buy goods from them to sell to Sol Union, of course. Neither Terra nor Luna could afford to refuse, and indeed, the Delta Solar Treaty worked well for all concerned. Still does.

Now, one of those ships, the captain was a woman named Reilly Galloglas. Nobody is sure how or where, but her crew started buying or building smaller ships. They spread out some. Some of them turned Pirate. Some of them started raiding Earth, scavenging and selling black market goods. Some of them even left off shipping out and worked security for a station here and there, or started a business. Mostly they’re one big family, even if distantly related. They’ll adopt long time crew members, and I’ve heard tell some people marry into the family. But they never take in or keep anybody who doesn’t live up to their standards, born in or not. And there are three things you have to know about them Galloglas folk.

First, they’re honest and honorable, even if half of ‘em are criminals and pirates. I mean they might steal all your money, but they won’t lie about it, they’ll keep any promise they make, and they’ll only kill someone who’s armed and facing them. Second, they’re a hard, dangerous, deadly folk. They don’t run from a fight, you can believe it; there’s just no back up to ‘em. And third, they are loyal as fuck. They mostly handle their own business, but gods help anyone who backshoots one, or gets one too outgunned and they have to call for reinforcements.

I only ever heard one time it happened. ‘Bout sixty years ago, the Theta Station Mining Co. had a difficulty with one, and blew her ship up while she was on station talking to them about it. They musta figured to strand her there, or something. I don’t know if they realized that little ship had her husband and kids on it, but she sure made sure they knew it by the end. Every Galloglas near got involved, and that right there is why there’s only six stations left in Sol Union. The rest of them stations looked at shrapnel left where the station had been, checked their options, and allowed as how Theta had fucked up and got what they deserved. They sorta buried the whole story and moved on quick. They surely didn’t want to push the issue with that Galloglas crew. I reckon if it came to it, they’d all of them show up, and I don’t see how there could be less than 500 of them Galloglases, maybe two or three times that number, a bunch of ‘em with their own ships, and every one a demon in a fight.”

Son,” Hannah looked into Geo’s eyes, “you take an old lady’s advice, tell your friends to lay off - them two are a lot more trouble than Ringer and Daily can handle”

“I will Hannah, thanks” said Geo. And a couple hours later, he did.

But the problem was, Ringer had killed a couple men back in rough and tumble Quorum, and he figured it made him a real tough guy.

[anythingstephenking]

The Morally Grey Mile

Strap in for another grim tale. At least men are the ones getting fucked in The Green Mile, amirite ladies? No, still not cool? Ok then.

I suppose it is a disservice to call The Green Mile solely a “grim” tale, but because the core story focuses on an innocent man headed to the electric chair, it is pretty damn grim. If you haven’t read the book you’ve seen the movie but spoilers anyway - the innocent man dies and it sucks for the reader. It’s certainly more complicated than “bad wins” but a real bummer all the same.

Backing up a bit. The Green Mile was King’s first attempt at a serialized story release. In the book’s forward, King tells us it’s story of inception. Through a series of fortuitous events and a conversation with business associates about Charles Dickens, King concocted the idea to release a story in a series of “chapbooks”. Apparently Dickens released some of his stories that way, and they were so fervently popular that a band of dingdongs pushed each other off a dock and drowned while awaiting a shipment of Dickens into Baltimore Harbor. I imagine if the Harry Potter books were released that way I would have ended up in the harbor too. No judgement, zealous Dickens readers, I get it.

Logically, if it worked for 19th century Dickens, it would surely work for 20th century Stephen King, right? 

(cue Mr. Burns fingers). 

A single book released in installments monthly, garnering 3-4x the cost of a single paperback. Good for you SK, good for you. Cause turns out, the constant reader ate it up and bought ‘em like hotcakes.

Cause that’s the thing - this is a really really good story. Not because it’s beautifully written like Cujo or Firestarter or mind-bending like The Dark Tower books, but because it is a real page turner. I credit the format for that - you can tell it was written in a plot-driven, cliffhanger kinda way. In the same way serialized TV (before binging took this joy away) would leave you wanting more week to week, The Green Mile leaves each installment in a way where you can’t imagine not picking up the next one.

Per my contractual agreement with myself, I am required to reach each and every page of this story, but I’m a strange bird and the rest of the world isn’t a weirdo like me. At the end of the day, the narrative structure here really works and I plowed through all 6 installments in a day or so. Those reading in real-time (and not binging like me) waited a month between each publishing, from March through August 1996. There was no dock delivery in Baltimore in 1996 but I imagine if there was, the crowd waiting for each would be large.

So the narrative approach works, but what about the story itself? My analysis comes back slightly muddy but mostly positive despite some hard to swallow flaws.

I can’t claim to know what death row would have been like in 1932, but I’ve watched enough PBS documentaries to know what it’s like now. The group held at Cold Mountain are described as killers, yes. As rapists and wife beaters and arsonists. But they also come across like a rag-tag group of buds that should have their own reality TV show. One of the prisoners, Del, raped and murdered a young girl then accidentally killed a bunch of other people trying to cover his tracks by setting the building on fire. But he’s got this cute, somewhat supernatural mouse named Mr. Jingles that does tricks. Ain’t it cute? Then he fries and literally catches on fire in the electric chair.

I understand the intention of the tale - humanity lives in all of us. Empathy shouldn’t be reserved just for some. Death is final and it comes for all of us. What I struggled with was trying to understand if this was blatant reference to King’s personal stance on the Death Penalty (against it, obvs) or something more subtle. Should we take away that killing is wrong no matter what? Or that there is more nuance at play here?

Because there’s more happening on the green mile than just murderers dying (no matter how dramatically) in the chair comically nicknamed “ol’ sparky”. We’ve got John Coffey in chains, convicted of raping and murdering two 9 year old girls. JFC. I just can’t.

But he did, and he will die for his crimes. Here’s where the controversy around this novel begins. John Coffey is a large black man with magical powers. Spike Lee specifically calls out King publicly for this “magical negro” trope, which honestly I can’t disagree with. Dick Halloran from The Shining and Mother Abigail from The Stand fall neatly in this bucket as well. But even as I type this I know I am cherry-picking; I’ve read plenty of King stories with mystical beings and they’re mostly white (or more often other worldly). But King’s repeated use of the n-word and other racial slurs in his writing is real cringeworthy. As I move further towards his 21st century writing I keep hoping this will stop. It hasn’t yet, as of 1996. But King and writing about race is an entirely separate post for another day.

Back to The Green Mile; we learn that John Coffey has special healing powers when he cures the head guard, Paul Edgecomb of a UTI by grabbing his crotch. Normally this type of behavior will get ya thrown in the hole, but Paul’s so grateful he lets it slide.

Once we learn of the healing powers of Coffey, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to solve the mystery. While getting arrested he cries “I tried to stop it but it was too late.” Everyone involved in the investigation assumes he means he tried to stop himself from murder but couldn’t; anyone with half a brain can deduce that someone else killed the girls; he tried to heal them. He was too late.

We’re set off to learn who really murdered the girls, but this revelation takes a backseat, at least in my mind. For me, the big mystery is; will John Coffey get executed? I’ll be honest, I hadn’t seen this movie, so I didn’t know. The phone the governor used to phone in stays-of-execution was mentioned early, so my Chekhov’s Gun senses lead me to believe it was possible. Why bother if not? Well the phone is mentioned at execution time, only to say it won’t ring. And of course it never really was a question - Coffey is a black man in the south, convicted of murdering two girls in 1932. Of course no one’s coming to save him. It’s sad. Real sad.

We’re given solace in the fact that Coffey claims he’s ready to go - his powers are too much and he’s tired. This is a nonsense cop out that provides relief to all those that understand the truth, allowing them to go on living, loving their wives and kids and casseroles. John Coffey should not have died. The end. 

Things are wrapped up in a bow with the end stories of everyone involved and their timely and untimely deaths. I guess that’s it; life sucks, then you die; death can come for you in any way, without discrimination.

I earmarked what is one of my favorite lines I’ve encountered so far in King’s work.

“We had once again succeeded in destroying what we could not create.”

Executing anyone (murderer or not) takes a toll on most of the prison staff. I just loved this so much on so many levels; they are men without the ability to create life; they are not god; they are mortals stealing mortality. So beautiful.

So, it’s no stretch to call this the brother of Shawshank, but at least we get a female character in Paul Edgecomb’s wife. I don’t remember her name so that’s not great. But she was a woman and she at least was there, so it gets knocked up a few rungs from Shawshank IMHO.

I’d have to say this is one King novel that really perplexed me. I suppose I got into the routine of enjoying typical good-vs-evil tales where the good guys eventually overcome. For me, The Green Mile wasn’t green at all but a wavering shade of grey I still can’t see properly.

(Side note: As I sat down to write this, I thought to myself “I’m not sure what I’ll say about The Green Mile.” Turns out, quite a bit, this is probably one of my longest entries. Who knew?)

8/10

First Line: This happened in 1932, when the state penitentiary was still at Cold Mountain.

Last Line: I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long.

Adaptations:

Like it’s brother Shawshank Redemption, I had never seen this movie before. It made it’s run through awards season in 1999, mostly for Michael Clarke Duncan’s portrayal of John Coffey. Who later tragically died of a heart attack with his girlfriend Omarosa (of Trump WH fame) which I didn’t know, but good golly, that is another sad story for another day.

Listen, this is a highly regarded movie that’s on many top lists, so I won’t stab into it too hard. But it is SO LONG.

Frank Darabont got his panties all in a bunch when folks told him a 3 hour running time was too long, claiming that if 2 hours was the correct length of a film that cinema classics like Lawrence of Arabia were invalidated. Well guess what? I’ve seen Lawrence of Arabia, and yes that shit is too. damn. long. As is The Green Mile.

One would think that with 3+ hours of material, the character development would be on point. It’s not really; the prisoners are mostly glossed over (even more so than in the book) as lovable murders. Wild Bill is the exception (overacted by Sam Rockwell), and he serves as the sole real “bad guy”. 

Edgecomb and his other prison guards are painted as saints (again, minus one guard who takes on the “bad guy of the good guys” role). If the book was grey the movie is much more black and white. Tom Hanks for president for sure, the guy is a national treasure. But they were one step away from giving him an actual halo. As someone complicit in the murder of an innocent man, I just can’t declare his character for sainthood. The real Tom Hanks, a million times yes. Paul Edgecomb? Nah.

The movie is fine. I approve of Darabont’s relationship with King and have thoroughly enjoyed their previous collaborations. I was sad to see that he let his film rights to The Long Walk expire last year, picked up by New Line and James Vanderbilt (of Vanderbilt fortune... old money... sigh) who penned Zodiac, which leaves me slightly hopeful but assume it’ll trickle back into development limbo for the remainder of eternity.

I’ve already finished my next read, Desperation and after I slog through the 2.5 hour ABC miniseries (UGH) I will keep trucking. New Year, more pressure placed on myself to plow through the back half of King’s bibliography.

[divagonzo]

10 years

10 years ago today, it was my 33rd birthday. For reasons stated below, it's one I will never forget.

10 years and 7 days ago, on another Sunday, I was called to my Dad's house. He'd fallen and they needed my help. I rushed over and tried my best to help but due to his size and condition, we needed the brute strength of the fire department guys (whom to this day I still go out of my way to thank profusely) to get him back up off the floor.

I left and went home and was quite anxious that day. I was full of nervous energy, to the point of re-arranging the living room. Maybe I knew something was going to happen. I won’t spend time pondering this incident.

About 5pm, I got a frantic call to come over. I think I broke every single speed limit to get there, and possibly running the occasional red light, too. O_O I don’t recommend it - ever.

I walked into my nightmare. I had seconds to prepare, seeing the faces of the guys from the fire department.

That nightmare was that Dad died. He fell asleep in his chair and didn't wake.

My (former) step-mother was a wreck. There was no one else to help. I had to make snap decisions on what to do and how to go from there. I had to turn off the emotions, put them aside, and be an adult. That give-a-damn stayed broken for about 3 months.

My Sis, God love her, was willing to drive 9 hours to be by my side. I told her I'd need her desperately the next weekend.

I was a complete mess and had to strap on my dragon sized britches and make decisions, some of which were financially crippling for a time.

He had no will, no power of attorney, etc etc etc. 3 weeks before, he'd filed for bankruptcy, because of medical bills. (FYI - having a respiratory arrest when you aren't working will do it. He didn't tell me everything and I only found out these things afterwards. Call that another shock.)

That week, my SM was of little help. Everything fell on my head. So many decisions had to be made, so much to accomplish those days. I couldn’t fall apart. Too many needed me to be strong, accomplish too much, and not take the time to grieve immediately.

I called work and spoke to someone, explained I wouldn't be in for a while, and didn't bother with them again. There were banks to deal with, funeral homes, paying for everything, including the bankruptcy lawyer (caveat - those guys only take cash - not a check. No installment plans there, folks.)

Suffice to say, there wasn't much I really remember now of that week. I was drinking, sometimes heavily. This went on for months. Not at work. Not before 5pm. In the midst of intense grief, I kept some discipline. Go figure. I quit drinking heavily a week before Christmas. My Sis was there those two nights. I don’t remember them in my drunken haze. She can’t remember them either, thankfully.

What I do remember is my husband being my rock that week, including finding a way to pay for the funeral. (that wasn't cheap at all, b/c of SM insisting on some things.) I remember that my husband willingly gave his body to fuck me daily, so I could function with some normalcy. (We didn’t know ‘til years later he was Autistic.) That was the only way I could sleep - and he couldn’t.

I remember crying on my BFF’s shoulder for an hour the next morning.

I remember my Sis coming into town, and doing things that I couldn’t do at the time - grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, and cleaning the house. She saw a need and did it - unasked.

The visitation was on a Sunday night. Dad’s best friend drove 9 hours to be there. Cousins came up. Step-siblings were there. So many lives he touched over the years.

So many were there, including some I didn't expect, like my father's former step-mother. Growing up, he was bounced around between families, because his mother was a Jehovah's Witness and the parents didn't want her to have custody of him, taking him off on her missionary trip with her new husband to South America.

So the second wife of my grandfather abused him - horribly. Granddad was off in Korea, in the Navy. My father rarely spoke of those days but when he would, there was a rage that I didn't fathom or comprehend 'til I was older. Those abuses shaped him in ways I didn't understand 'til these intervening 10 years.

Dad’s former step-mother showed up to the visitation. This elderly woman, probably in her mid 70s, begged my forgiveness because she couldn't do it to my Dad. I could have been an asshole but I wasn't. I took her at her word and thanked her for it, and buried the hatchet on his behalf.

I realized only later that it was cowardice on her part, begging my forgiveness, when I wasn’t the one who was hurt, and wronged.

My grandmother wasn’t there. Alzheimer’s already took hold and she wouldn’t haven’t understood well enough. I made the hard decision that she wasn’t to be told.

It would have upset her greatly, with her not realizing why. I wouldn’t do that to her not in that condition.

My sis was there, along with my BFF. They are amazing, were then and still am.

Thanks to another Aunt... we had bar-b-que from a good place. I dunno how i remember that. There was also a huge birthday cake. There were a slew of birthdays to celebrate the night of the visitation. This included giving my nephew (with his parents permission) his first beer. I also let him cut the cake, reserving the only piece for my Dad, who had his birthday 1 month later. The nephew was turning 18. His younger sister, 11. My favorite Aunt (the following week) - 75.

Dad would have been 59.

The next day, I buried my father - on my 33rd birthday.

He always did make a spectacle of it, one way or another. And the last thing I could do for him, even if it was full of surreal irony - is that he always asked for a posh address.

I gave it to him, as his resting place. It’s nice out there. It was part of a dairy farm. The wildlife out there can roam. The feel safe that Dad doesn’t have a gun in hand, hunting impotently.

It went as best as I could manage things, including getting bent over a financial issue that the institution wouldn't bend on. I had to go back to work - eventually - and it sucked so hard for a week.

Out of his pride, he let others take financial advantage of him. When he did ask for my help, Hubs and I paid for most of their bills for about 8 months - gladly. That's how they kept the house and the lights on, and food on the table.

I tried to make amends with the financial institution, but to no avail. They wouldn't deal with me, only him. They were assholes. I relished fucking them over, like they did to my dad when he was financially bereft.

10 years...

And I've learned that I needed a second baptism in fire. I learned compassion, a little more patience, and that wrath is a poison that only affects you, not the one you are furious at.

He never forgave his abuser. That was his right, including never dealing with her. I still don't blame him for it. I blame her for being a witch to him, when he was a child in need of support and protection. I blame my great-grandparents, who (in their opinion) were protecting him from my grandmother, even if they abdicated raising him, leaving him for his absent father.

The step-family is gone, severed. Things happened in the intervening years. I don't miss them. I do miss my dad, only to have someone to bicker with. I miss his generosity - which he was almost too much with. His giving nature was taken advantage of repeatedly, but he still would open his door and his dining room table for anyone in need. He needed it, the validation of giving.

I still have my Mom - a pain in the ass sometimes but I actually like her. But the ones I cherish are my found family. They are the ones who have been there through the painfully thin, and the best of the thick. The Hubs. The BFF. The Sis.

Y'all ask how I can be so wise, sometimes? Because I lived through my nightmare and while tempered in fire, I survived it and am better for it.

My boggart changed after that moment. I will have other testing moments, which I don’t want to think about. Those boggarts have yet to come.

But ‘til then...

[jacewilliams1]

Back to basics: flying 727 LaGuardia shuttles

Flying 727 shuttles out of New York’s La Guardia Airport to Boston and Washington in the 1980s and 90s was a hands-on, back-to-basics operation: steam gauges, hand-tuned VHF navs, one or two low freq ADF, no FMS and an autopilot that had to be tended to get you where you were going. Planes were a mixed lot, gathered from various airlines with a range of engine and cockpit differences, but configured similarly in the passenger cabin. And since there were only about a dozen or so shuttle-configured planes, pilots who regularly bid shuttle trips came to know each one.

Excellent maintenance and well-stocked spare parts bins kept the 727s flying with remarkable reliability. Yet, their years in service were evident in subtle ways. Firm landings, turbulence and just the rigors of flight left their mark on the planes. Even with carefully balanced wing tanks and identical EPRs across all three engines, some 727s simply defied all efforts to fly exactly straight through the air without a tweak of rudder and aileron trim. In a way, those seasoned 727s were like senior skippers with their little quirks and preferences that crews tactfully accommodated.

Quick turns and tight schedules were the norm on the shuttle.

On a typical day, we’d operate four or five flights, either ending up back at La Guardia or at the Boston or Reagan National layovers. Except in unusually bad weather, it was common practice to alternate flying round trips. Usually the captain started the day. As a first officer and later captain, strapping into the familiar 727 cockpit seat, reviewing the dispatch paperwork, doing the repetitive preflight tasks, setting airspeed and altitude bugs, takeoff EPRs, the outbound departure radial, initial heading bugs and running checklists – it was like becoming one with the airplane.

Like New York City, La Guardia had its own frenetic pace akin to merging onto a busy highway. Just getting to work on the city’s maze of highways and local streets was good preparation for the flying to come. Pilots who grew up and lived within a car commute of LGA accepted the occasional road agita as just part of the job. To commuting crews involuntarily assigned the New York base by the vagaries of seniority and living in nearby crash pads, the city’s frictions and frustrations took some getting used to. Some never adjusted and bid out at the earliest opportunity. Others adapted, taking on a kind of New York patina, filling their logbooks with LGA, DCA and BOS trips and staying till retirement.

A New York edge was a necessary attribute, not just for getting to work on time but also strategically fitting into the flow on the ground and in flight. Copilots calling for taxi clearance on La Guardia’s frenetic ground control frequency quickly learned that waiting more than a millisecond to key the mic could easily translate into a quarter hour takeoff delay because others called more quickly, getting ahead in the line to take off.

And then there’s the story about a first officer named Tony who grew up in the bowels of Brooklyn in the 40s and 50s before it became the yuppie haven it is today. He tawked with a Brooklyn accent that should have been bottled for a Hollywood late 40s Brooklyn period flick. Lots of New York Center and Tracon controllers had similar accents but Tony’s was a standout. New York controllers working with international crews from all over the world are tolerant of English spoken in all sorts of accents and the same can be said of international crews trying to understand the local accents of New York controllers.

But Tony’s Brooklynese ATC acknowledgements were more than they could take and they wrote him up for mocking them. He was called to the chief pilot’s office for disciplinary action. After a short exchange, all was forgiven when it was apparent that Tony was just being Tony and shared a common language with his brother controllers.

Our shuttle base was at La Guardia’s Marine Air Terminal, commonly referred to as the MAT, and it deserves a mention. It opened in 1939 and was New York’s domestic and overseas gateway to Europe. Built with depression-era Works Projects Administration (WPA) funds, La Guardia was probably the grandest airport in the country and possibly the world at the time. In addition to two paved runways, its art deco Marine Air Terminal was Pan Am’s flying boat base where, on March 31, 1940, a Boeing 314 flew the first regularly scheduled trans-Atlantic flight to Portugal via the Azores.

The Marine Air Terminal was a wonderful base of operations, both beautiful and historic.

Inside the small round terminal, a 12-foot high, 237-foot long mural circles the interior. Painted by James Brooks, an abstract impressionist funded by the Federal Arts Project to support artists during the post-depression years, it traces the history of flight from mythical dreams to images of a Pan Am flying boat crew preparing for its trans-Atlantic flight. Post-war McCarthy era paranoia nearly caused its demise when a zealot at the Port Authority ordered it painted over in 1952 because of some perceived socialist imagery in the work. Thankfully, the hysteria of the times ebbed, affluent art lovers prevailed and the mural was restored in the late 1970s. As a Pan Am and later Delta pilot, I’d sometimes take in the mural between trips as passengers hurried by, rarely looking up.

The MAT’s location across the field from other terminals gave it the unique advantage of being next to the approach end of runway 4 for takeoffs and the rollout end of 22 for landings. Landing on runway 22, we’d commonly block-in at shuttle gates within a minute or two after touchdown. And to speed folks on their way, the 727’s aft stairs were lowered, allowing rear-seated passengers to alight onto the tarmac, and hurry through the terminal annex straight out to waiting cabs and limos. It was a New York thing.

From a flying perspective, not much has changed at La Guardia, although today’s planes are much more automated than our steam gauge 727s. La Guardia was and still is unforgiving of pilots on challenging days. High profile incidents and accidents keep the airfield in the news. Shortly before the presidential election of 2016, Mike Pence’s 737 charter flight made headlines when it landed beyond the touchdown zone on rain-slicked runway 22 and went barreling off the end. Fortunately, it was snagged in the overrun by the airport’s recently installed engineered material arresting system.

Then there was the Delta MD-88 that skidded off the left side of snow-covered runway 13 in March 2015. According to the NTSB, the pilot reversed too aggressively, blanking out rudder authority enough to impair directional control. The left wing took out 940 feet of berm fencing before coming to rest 5000 feet from the threshold with the fuselage resting atop the berm separating the airport from Flushing Bay. Twenty-four on board had minor injuries.

Twenty-three years ago when I was a shuttle regular, the flood protection berm at the rollout end of runway 13 got the nickname Continental Shelf after an aborted takeoff left a Continental MD-82 perched atop the berm with its nose teetering in Jamaica Bay’s tidal mud flat. Today, I suspect that nickname has faded along with the Continental brand. But even now with La Guardia’s on-going major terminal and road access improvements, the adverse weather challenges of its two 7000 ft runways remain.

Since shuttle routes to DCA and BOS were “canned,” varying rarely except in unusual circumstances of weather or perhaps a navaid outage, flying became a sort of well-rehearsed aerial ballet. Pilots knew what to expect and controllers knew that pilots knew the way. We’d cruise to DCA and return in the low FL 200s. Same thing to BOS except coming back we’d fly in the low teens, streaking along around 350 KIAS, just under the airspeed indicator’s barber pole.

Low on technology, and high on fuel burn.

The 727-200 came of age in the late 1960s when speed was a selling point, jet fuel cost 10 to 15 cents a gallon and global warming was only an academic interest of climatologists. With a .90 Mach MMO, it could outrun all of today’s medium-range and most long-range Airbuses and Boeings coming off the production line. But speed came at a price. Barreling by A320s, 737s and RJs if we could get over, under or around them, the 727 gulped Jet A prodigiously. On the BOS-LGA run, 10,000 lbs per hour was common.

Takeoff, climb and cruise were the most constrained flight segments dictated by air traffic control separation requirements. But on clear days arriving flights had more latitude and in the late 1980s, newly installed VSI TCAS displays allowed pilots to see the far off arrival competition. For example, a strategic crew descending from the north into Reagan National around 3500 ft/min with speed brakes extended might beat out an arriving flight coming up the Potomac by requesting a visual approach to runway 36, not too unlike an aggressive New York commuter muscling into heavy traffic on the way to or from work.

Like an artist working in the confines of canvas and materials, 727 drivers had their rules of thumb sculpting with space and energy. Slowing at idle thrust from cruise in level flight, the 727 decelerated about 10 knots IAS per mile and descended at idle thrust, 280 KIAS around 2500 ft/min on a three to one profile (nominally 60 miles from touchdown at 20,000 ft, 30 miles at 10,000 ft, etc.). Unconstrained by traffic and weather, pilots would plan to arrive 3000 ft above touchdown 10 miles out at 200 KIAS, gradually extending flaps in five increments as speed decayed. Ideally at 1000 ft above touchdown, the gear would come down, final flaps extended and thrust spooled up to stabilize at approach speed, usually around 125 to 140 KIAS, depending on landing weight.

Then came the moment of judgment, at least for the folks in the back. The flight could have been artful in every aspect, or the crew could have been unimaginative klutzes, bludgeoning through the sky, but in the judgment of most passengers, landing is the weighted grade. And no matter how routine or challenging the approach, the 727 had the final say. Unlike more forgiving airliners, most notably the 747 with its 16 main gear wheels spread over four bogies, the 727 had two stiff main gear struts, two tires each. No matter how consistent the landing technique, it simply never touched down exactly the same way twice. And flying four or five legs a day on the shuttle, we got lots of practice.

In my experience as a first officer and captain and what I observed in others, most landings were un-noteworthy light thumps, fewer were feather touchdown greasers. After a greaser I’d think I finally got the hang of it, only to bump down on the next one. Occasionally, for no discernible reason, there’d be a cruncher. Company tradition dictated that the pilot who made the landing stood at the cockpit door to say goodbye to passengers. After such definitive arrivals, departing passengers fancying themselves flying experts would sometimes look me in the eye and remark, “I’ll bet you were a navy carrier pilot.” I’d just smile and hope to revert to the light thump on the next leg.

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from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2018/05/back-to-basics-flying-727-laguardia-shuttles/