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artoni-arts · 2 years

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melody in static; chapter 2

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what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [late 1920s]

cw; idk nothing I can think of this is pretty much a 'calm before the storm' chapter

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The knowledge that he could return to the Underground at any given time made packing for the trip significantly easier. With Mina's guidance, he was able to compress things to a single satchel, easily slung over his back without weighing him down. From there, it was another set of tunnels, these deemed 'safe'.

Previously deemed 'safe', as it were, as Mina abruptly hauled him back with a finger to her mouth in a gesture. Her hearing must have been better than Victor's, for it took a few moments for him to pick up the tell-tale hum that heralded a Quintesson's presence; he held his breath, wondering if it would be safer for them to simply not be there. But Mina seemed more cautious than fearful, and he trusted her experience. The humming gradually grew louder, nearer, and he held tight to that trust...

...and, in time, it began to fade. But Victor dared not allow himself to relax until Mina eased her grip on him, and motioned for him to move once again. It was still some turns before she murmured, "They've never been that close, before."

Victor nodded, noting her worry and the way she looked back from whence they came. "I'll send word." She blinked at him as he fished out Aillard's electronic tablet, which the man had pressed into his hands right before they left after giving him a few instructions. No better time to try, he supposed, and while he always could simply open a spacebridge - he understood why a message system like this was vital. If he didn't know that he needed to open one in the first place...

But it was easy enough - much like a strange typewriter - and much to his surprise, after a moment another message appeared on its face.

Received, will pass along. -PRIMUS

Victor shook his head at the marvel of technology, only briefly wondering how long it would have taken humans to develop such on their own. The Underground was certainly no stranger to salvaging and reverse-engineering Quintesson technology, currently working on dissecting and understanding the (admittedly, somewhat decorative) armor he'd brought with him during his escape. But all these thoughts were a distraction from the matters at hand; he gave Mina a nod to affirm he was done, and she scrunched up her face for a moment before continuing to lead him through the tunnels.

They were following the Bakerloo line, from what he could recall; while there was quite a bit of pausing and doubling-back, his sense of direction stayed true. It was more recalling which specific station they were passing, or avoiding entirely - for there was another near-encounter with a Quintesson patrol, this one accompanied by bright lights that had Mina hiss in a combination of annoyance and, from what Victor could tell? Fear.

For that one, he did open Rhisling, his hands reaching into the strange dimension into which it had collapsed. Familiar four-pronged spokes appeared before him, anchoring a portal of sorts - Mina stared wide-eyed at the unfamiliar, but distinctly different surroundings just past the golden-ringed doorway. Victor led her through before letting Rhisling seal itself, and he wasn't surprised to hear a voice from behind him;

"It's rotten to leave without saying good-bye, you know!" Despite the situation they'd just left, he chuckled, turning to face the young girl. "Is it really 'good-bye' if I was planning on returning before you missed me?" he asked, reaching out in what had now become a habit to ruffle her hair. Sadie ducked beneath his arm with a giggle, quickly wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug that he freely returned. "But I'll make sure to seek you out before we go- Mina, do you think we should mention the activities straight to Magnes, at this point?"

The Beastwoman still seemed to be reeling from the spacebridge transport, looking about in startlement. To be fair, this was a part she'd never been in before - Victor's makeshift quarters, rough canvas hung on ropes to create a private 'room'. It was a rarity amongst the Underground - he'd only otherwise seen Pravda and Aillard's shared area just to the side of his own, though he wouldn't have been surprised to know that Magnes had one of his own. The rest of the resistance seemed more-or-less having grown used to the coed sleeping areas, but perhaps that was more from necessity and lack of supplies than anything...

Victor waited a bit longer for Mina to gather her bearings, then offered, "We can pick up right where we left off after you're done. Shall I meet you where we departed?" "Ehm..." She shook her head, finally seeming to dispel her wonder. "Yes, alright. Just give me a few minutes to report." With that, she ducked out, and Victor gave her retreat a wan smile before turning his attention back down to his ward.

Sadie was a girl somewhere in her early teens - she'd never told him her age, and he suspected she might have forgotten, herself, during her life on the streets before he'd found her. A child growing up without parents during this time was a child either under 'care' of the Quintessons, or one constantly looking over their backs - neither of which gave them much cause for ease. But an impulse 'claim' of her before a Quintesson had led to him more-or-less adopting her, and though she'd taken some time to warm up? At this point, he'd fight for her without hesitation, and it was clear Sadie would do the same...though in her own ways. Indeed, that impish look in her eyes promised endless mischief, and she gave him another quick squeeze before letting go. "So you are gonna come back here every day?" she pressed him, to which he shrugged lightly.

"It should only take a few days to get there," he explained. "Mina says it's hardly a night's flight, but she hasn't walked it. But yes," he added, seeing her look, "I'll be returning often." At that affirmation, Sadie grinned. "Does that mean you could, say...take me with you for a little bit?"

Victor's response was an instinctive 'no'; however, he paused, actually giving it some thought. Once they were outside of London, it might have been possible, especially with the knowledge that they could easily escape just as they had back there...but Sadie, would no doubt, want to explore, wouldn't she? To say nothing of the most pressing matter; "I'd have to ask Mina," he said, and, somewhat more softly admitted, "I'd prefer you stay here where it's safe."

To that, she rolled her eyes. "It's not safe, though, or you wouldn't be doing this."

And, despite everything? Victor had to reluctantly agree she had a point.

—--------------

"You're kidding."

Except Magnes knew she wasn't; Mina wasn't the type to make light of this kind of situation. Her expression was grim as she folded her arms across her chest, wings draping like some sort of leather cloak as she hooked her thumbs. "About their numbers, or how close we were to being caught?" she asked, voice humorless.

Sighing, the de facto resistance leader - everyone more or less just followed his lead, it wasn't like they had a formal election or even a ranking structure - resisted the urge to slam his fist into the wall. Instead he reached up to remove the closest thing to a sign of office that he had; a great beast of a gun, pilfered from the Quintessons and modified into something a human could actually wield. And while Magnes was already a strong man, having been a laborer most of his life, it was only thanks (and the term was used loosely) to the Quintessons that he could heft it in the first place. The thing was heavy, even with his enhanced strength, and he set it on the desk with an only-so-muffled WHAM that Mina couldn't help but startle from. Not bothering to offer an apology, he ran his hands over the familiar metal as he thought.

"We're going to need to start packing yesterday," he muttered to himself. The Underground already moved light, but he had hoped for at least another week of safety before they had to move...and a second option in terms of where to move to, with Prentiss still being unsteady. At least Mina, now, could also attest to his ability to move people, but the question was - was there a limit of how many he could move? How long could he do so at a time? Too many unknowns. "And pull back the other scouts. Can't risk one of them getting caught at this point." He glanced back up, frowning. "Are you the only one who knows the route, or are you able to stay-?" Her unique abilities that came with her extensive modifications, that sonar for one, would make her indispensable...

But much to his displeasure, she shook her head. "I'm the only one," she grimly answered, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm also the only one who can find him a route as quickly as possible." "And you're sure this isn't because you're trying to avoid a squiddie encounter."

She gave him a flat look at that, but it wasn't the first time he'd dropped tact for bluntness. Mina was used to it, at least, and knew not to take it as an accusation; still, she looked away after a few moments.

It was enough of an answer. Amongst all of the Underground, Mina probably had some of the harshest memories of Quintessons, due only in part to her physical alterations. Magnes grunted, pulling out a heavy strap and securing it onto the rifle. "Can't blame you, at least - and you are the fastest scout. I'll spread the word - get back to moving. Push him all night if you can; I'll leave someone behind if we move." And that was enough of a dismissal for her to head out, leaving Magnes to sling the strap over his shoulders and adjust its weight to something he could manage.

He stepped out of the room, paused, and then looked to his left. "How much of that did you overhear?"

Pravda shrugged slightly from her position against the wall. "Enough," she said, eastern accent clear even in a single word. "Do you want help finding your scouts?" He rolled his eyes. "No, but you want to talk, so come on." Turning his back before he could see her expression, he didn't wait for her to start following, either; just as he thought, she caught up quickly enough, falling into step beside him as he began to bark orders. A few of the younger ones, he outright deputized as runners; "I want everyone ready to move at a minute's notice. Make sure everyone knows." Perhaps the old London would have utilized those boys as criers, but sound carried in these tunnels - or it would have, had they not already managed to rig up some devices that served to dampen those noises.

More 'thanks' for the Quintessons, though it was their fault in the first place. He paused at one nonetheless, making sure it could be quickly packed up, and Pravda took that moment to speak;

"You will need a rearguard."

"I'm aware." He didn't look up. "Why do you think I'm already armed?"

There was a frustrated snort, and then Pravda went on, "I want to join it." To that? To that, he actually gave her a sideways glance. He knew Pravda could fight, of course, and had some interesting modifications of her own; he himself had seen white pulses of light during her escape, which seemed to be a byproduct of some sort of explosion. They'd spoken briefly about it, but he hadn't really understood what she was describing - even with Aillard's help. Speaking of...

"Both of you?" he asked, cocking his head.

Pravda shook hers in a 'no' gesture. "Aillard is better suited to...other things," she explained with a thin press of her lips. "He can fight, but not like you or I. And," she added, with an odd spark in her eyes - something bright, but something not quite the radiance that most humans had nowadays, "I am eager to repay the favors both you and the Quintessons have offered."

It took him a moment to understand she was talking about a different set of favors - but when he did, he couldn't help but manage a sort of 'hnh' of a laugh. Sure, he'd planned on using her at some point of time, but far be it from him to discourage someone from pulling their own weight. "Fine," he agreed, before something else occurred to him. "And Primus...?" "Will be accompanying Aillard." Pravda cast a brief glance back towards whence they came as Magnes began to walk once more. "They are still..." She paused, frowned, muttered something, then tried again. "Their programming. It is difficult, and Aillard is needed to help."

Right. Programming, with Primus being something completely inhuman. The skin on the back of Magnes' neck prickled as he opened his mouth to once again ask a question that Pravda was already answering with a stern look;

"We will not let them hurt."

That was phrasing he couldn't attribute to her lingering difficulties with English. Magnes filed it away for later consideration.

—-------------------------

It was easy enough to pick up where they'd left off, and by then, the signs of patrol had grown cold. And while Victor had promised that he'd bring up the idea of Sadie accompanying them, a look at Mina's clouded expression made him decide to hold it off, at least for now - at least until they were out of these tunnels. Which was only so much longer, for eventually they were climbing a set of crumbling stairs towards the light of day. Victor squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes and help them adjust, silently wondering just how long it'd been since he'd seen the sun - but a few thin white lines on his arm served as a reminder, a stain of his stay with Inquirata and the 'reward' of a 'walk'.

Still. Others had been down yet longer - and it led him to ask, "Mina, how often are the others able to come to the surface?" Mina glanced back at him, then forwards once more before answering. "It depends on what they do. Magnes tries to mix everybody's turn at tasks, whether they're running supplies or something else - but not everyone even wants to go aboveground, these days."

"Should that change? It can't be healthy." Perhaps he'd grown used to the lack of sunlight, but it felt like he was too used to oil-lamps and torch; just standing out here, at a platform that nature was starting to reclaim...it felt good, far better than being above ground in London, he realized. The air was crisp and clean, and while there was an overcast to the sky, it was still a natural light that he greedily drank in.

Beside him, Mina chuckled, briefly stretching her arms before leaping into the air. Literally leaping, those hanging flaps of skin quickly displaying their use as proper wings as she propelled herself onto the top of the platform's awning. Victor startled in surprise, quickly moving about to try and keep her in sight, but she thankfully didn't go further than that - merely peered about, emitting a few of those odd clicks before looking back down at him.

"It's the easiest way to hide - in London, at least," she explained. "Where we're going also has some tunnels, but they're not as complex - and it also has forest nearby, which should help keep us hidden from air patrols." At his nod, she continued, tapping a claw-like finger at her chin. "The biggest problem will be supplies, but if we can get back to London in a moment..."

"...I'm not sure I'm comfortable being relied on so heavily," Victor admitted. "Especially with...some recent news that may have me leave." "Hm?" She peered down at him, then shrugged. "Well, you can keep in contact with that pad, can't you? Then even if you do go, you could come stay for a few days without losing your spot, right?" Considering he'd more-or-less demonstrated such, albeit on a smaller scale...he gave her a wry smile. "You have me there," he admitted, though he didn't feel any better for such. The idea of being so essential...it was not a burden he looked forward to bearing, having already tasted it and found it not to his liking. Nonetheless. They had ground to cover, and after a short rest, they were back to hiking. Or, rather, he was - Mina took to the sky at that point after giving him a heading, and only occasionally came back down to land and draw a crude map of the terrain up ahead. Other than that it was...

...quite lonely, really. And so, the next time she landed, he brought it up; "Would you be against me bringing Sadie to join us?" She frowned at him, taking a moment to place the name. "Your daughter?" she asked, which Victor decided was close enough to not correct. "Can she keep up? We still have a long way to go."

"I don't doubt she can. If she falls behind, I'll have her rest back at the tunnels." Mina still seemed doubtful, and so Victor brought in his trump card; "It'd keep her from getting in the way of everyone else." "Assuming she has the gall to do that in the first place," the woman muttered, before sighing and waving a claw. "If she slows you down, she goes back. Fair?" More than fair, by Victor's estimation, and by Sadie's as well once he went back to collect her. A few cautionary words to keep silent and not wander off further than he could see her, and they were back on the metaphorical trail. Sadie was practically buzzing with energy, flitting about like a butterfly as she took everything in with wide eyes. But it wasn't just her, to be fair.

Indeed, the rustle of wind through leaves, the taste of the breeze itself...even the smells were practically overwhelming to Victor, and were it not for Mina above, keeping a watchful eye even as she scouted the way forwards, he would have thought himself completely unprepared for any sort of trouble. But with her keeping watch, he was able, for the first time in a long time? To simply relax and enjoy himself even as the blue sky took on hues of orange and pink.

Which, of course, made it inevitable when it became too dark to continue and they were preparing to return - the pad made a soft sound, indicating there was a new communication. He pulled it out, then felt the blood drain from his face as he read its glowing message.

"Victor?" Mina's eyes were a dim red glow in the dusk, and Sadie's own amber peered up at him in concern. "What's wrong?"

"...we're out of time."

#verse; ttb #humanformers #transformers #maccadam #artoni writes stuff

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wh-da-backup · 5 months

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lyric scraps 8/1/13

5/23/13 you went to saturday night's party and woke up on sunday's floor

5/14/12 i expected you to speak as i dream i'm sorry understand i say things as a friend and sometimes more than

my noose was your tongue the words were sending out but the connection hung

5/16/12 four years down the road or four years down the drain drawing blood from my veins and pictures of my brain

4/25/12 i'm sick of society how they try to measure sins by how great the tragedy and how small the violins

4/26/12 i'm not the favorite anymore and maybe with good cause i sensed you pulling away from me and i took out my claws

6/6/12 i'll drown in your deluge i'm acting like a stooge got nothing left to lose this point in time

5/20/12 when you feel like you need a brother and the mirrors tell you to kill know that tears run thicker than blood and always will

5/28/12 they call me a fool a inconsiderate ass ya know i go to school but i ain't got no class

4/2/12 i'm going to visit the boy i love he speaks to me through he speaks to me through old sound waves not yet rotten i'm going to visit the girl he loved she speaks to me too she speaks to me too dead voices not forgotten

we killed them slowly as we took over we need their bodies it's only instinct they couldn't handle the situations what killed them slowly and scarred their bodies we have their memories

6/1/12 high school queen bee bitch honey has she seen me? does she think it's funny?

7/5/12 i can feel something restless and waiting inside of me maybe it's anxiety or anticipation or maybe it's pee i count all the liquids in my life face moisturizer and water and key lime juice and an aqueous solution of coffee in the morning

5/30/12 you can say i'm old even without you you smell like a dissection your words are cutting too

5/31/12 our cage arcades our cage arcades

10/5/12 parlons, parlons c'est interdit car il n'ya pas de mots ici

reviens, reviens, c'est vrai enfin que les vrais mots n'importent rien

5/10/12 i wanna be your test drive don't forget your gasoline you can rule what hearts you want to let me be your blueprint scheme demo queen

1/11/13 the sound of your voice can disarm me a cat been picked up by the scruff i've known all along you'd never harm me but i guess it just wasn't enough i guess it wasn't enough

10/9/12 you are not my love you walk around in his clothes you walk around in his face but you are not my love we're dying trying to replace

1/13/13 hey dad too bad your rules are made of bread not iron clad

i heard you don't like my hair too much here, wrong color there well guess what, i can still go anywhere, sit in the boss's chair

5/30/13 pomme empoisonnee je vais te faire rester chante pour moi dans la claire de l'une de tes 8/1/13 reves qui sont vrai

4/8/12 he had it figured out in terms of fairytales

and when he tried for wonderland he didn't think of you

and when you tried to understand

and if you try to follow him you'll just be split in two

4/30/12 she's bleach, she's ice, she's milk and candy queen of tragic hearts like yours she never asked for any trouble shredding flowers on all fours

pills and poultice kicking stomachs underwater leaden petals bite if you dare but make it swift bite all you want but only if

drawing faces everywhere, an audience of millions' stares

6/4/12 i feel like the past year's a waste i know i've traveled the world but i'm worse or the same

i'm sure you've heard that there's plenty of fish in the sea but i hide in my shell; you're allergic to me

3/21/13 sleeping like a beauty queen found the spindle at age 16 decided she would join the team said this is better than any dream

4/6/13 all calmed down and jaded and my scars already faded should i make new what should i do?

4/6/13 music is her sustenance she lives on jupiter and mars

2/18/13 i showed up and the entire party was passed out- now that's what i call the collective unconscious!

april/13 "ex box" i'll put you in a box with my mistakes love letters, memories, old tapes and hopefully in 10 more years i will not sit here playing couldabeen

3/17/13 fall apart but don't fall off

3/18/13 i knew all your favorites and i thought i made the list

you gave me so much but i have nothing left of you

you don't have a clue you don't give a shit do you not even about the few who even deign to talk to you

3/28/13 trust your instincts if he seems like bad news then you better call the papers on him

4/10/12 my body's wooden and man-made am i ripe for the fire am i meant to be saved when i lie there is consequence i lie against my will but i don't want to be a real boy real boys only kill

1/3/12 (poem thing- it was on my phone and i kept forgetting about it)

what drives this endless cycle in our lives? sleep deprivation all work and no play it's only survival in a way

what gives? the story is sad but true my friend it may seem crazy but in the end the lunatic is the one that lives

7/25/13 when i say i've lost my mind can't tell if it's gone or just something i can't find

7/22/13 say so many things at once that for a moment i can forgive and forget myself

6/27/13 and to be honest i think i'm kind of ugly but i don't care and to be honest i think i'd probly kiss you if you were here

and now you're 19, it seems so strange how we would freak out all the time and talk to ease the pain and when we're 30, please don't forget me

5/26/13 sharpened pencil and liar's skin i tried to fight back i got all the guilt you lack i've been taught to let people like you win fuck that

1/21/13 take your medicine (take it with a grain of salt)

your voice of reason doesn't talk here comes the lady made of clock- work, time for your electric shocks

2/13/13 and our time wasn't wasted like i wish i were tonigh

2/17/13 you grew and clipped my wings time and time again you made me learn how to get by on my own mind just far enough to be alright i'm ready

the change will come and will occur and i will learn from changing

5/22/12 i wanna sit in a room for hours and play you all my songs especially the ones about you but not even my closest friends pay attention for very long

3/6/13 the sight of the pacific- california i wrote some words specifically for ya

3/10/13 i refuse to comb my hair more power to my righteous mop i'll put a sign says please don't stare right over your sign says i must be stopped

3/15/13 stripped of the words you hear and now my teeth are bare 3/12 offend because it's there

3/14/13 empty stomach sleep 3/15 i choke on wool, lose count of sheep

3/15/13 i make my promises to break… they're not your dreams to take

lay and lose my head i fall, land screaming in my bed neurapparatus, nightmare plague the cause is rather vague

3/23-24/13 "waltz time" my parents are pretty my sisters are pretty my weird friends from school grew up normal and cool

how come i have to live with my failures, my faults it's like life is in 4/4 and all i can do is the waltz

5/25/13 i stepped on a rose and sprinkled the sidewalk with blood from my toes

3/8/13 "home groan" i dreamed that someday i'd get to walk in the sun but i wasn't even playing outside when it went down

6/16/13 you taught me every lie i've ever known you told me to fit in or be alone but look how i've survived and how i've grown in spite of you

you said i'd reached developmental halt that all the crimes against me were my fault so i became numb bleeding out my shame with only me to blame or so i thought wrong

i will flourish free of your flaws your flaws are not my problem my flaws are not yours to harm me with

6/26/13 i wouldn't call it small talk because you're all talk

let's light up some neural circuits

6/7/13 i had to jump ship, it got too weighed-down to float i took off in the dinghy with the songs that i wrote…

i had to jump ship, it got too heavy to float and maybe we should kiss just to shut up our ghosts i don't care one way or another, but we came so close all those years ago

we'll report back to captain karo on our empty boat

(cause you know whatever happens you know we got her vote)

4/22/13 in this great ablation nation

4/28/13 no one appreciates so we inondate run out and replicate,

overcompensate

cry exterminate

we've run out of things to say you're full of air,

flatten like souffle

- if you don't, i may

mere exposure, love you cause you're there

4/23/13 changes of mind come in liquids and pills

you can't even start to tell the difference between a change of mind and a change of heart

6/11/13 we've got lines upon lines of no sleeping and papers for the final review you just seem to keep on keeping but me i just don't know what to do i have no clue

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 1 year

Text

There I was, having a really rotten, no good, super stressful day, and I thought “I know, I’ll make a pizza!”

I still had ingredients for it. It would be like one last blow out of something nice as I launch into my “No groceries!” month. Money is, well, a serious problem, so I will have about $50 for groceries all month. It’s gonna be survivable, but hardly fun. And I absolutely won’t be buying mozzarella on this budget.

But hey, this will be good, I will have something yummy I can slice up into pieces that will last me a week! No cooking or stressing over what to fix for a while!

So I spent an hour just making a sauce, then while it cooked made a dough, then chopped up my last fresh veggies for a topping. But it was going to be soooo worth it!

The first slice was.

Once the pizza cooled enough I was going to wrap it up and put it in the fridge. And that’s when disaster struck. The exact mechanics of what went wrong would take too long to dissect, but suffice to say I have NEVER gotten the hang of plastic wrap.

The pizza started to fall, sliding down the front of the stove. I caught the pan. I didn’t catch the pizza as it slipped right down as I cried out over and over “Not my pizza! NOT MY PIZZA!”

It landed face down, on the floor. And it was not a clean floor, right in the path of where I walk into the house in my grungy boots. I never eat food off the floor. Ever.

But this was pizza that was supposed to hold me through the weekend. This was my food ration for days! I started doing the math on the veggies, the spices I used up on it, the can of tomatoes, the mozzarella, the ….

And I just couldn’t stand it! I can’t waste food! I never have ANY food waste. I can’t afford to throw things out, and have always been super careful to never let it come to that. I simply don’t have the money to throw that pizza out.

Plus, damn it, it’s my first pizza in months and will be my last for months and I LOVE pizza.

The crust was fine, of course, but what’s a pizza without any toppings? A bit of flat bread?

I did the unthinkable. I scooped up the toppings from the floor and rinsed them in the sink in some insane attempt to clean it off, this pile of scrambled pizza. Bits of twigs, leaves, hair, and such floated out. I rinsed and stirred and rinsed again..

And dumped it all back on the crust!

I cut myself another slice of pizza with, I hope, not quiet toxic toppings mounded on top. I won’t eat it for six days now, but maybe just two more so as to cut down growing time for the horrors that may lurk in that topping. The fridge freezes everything, so maybe that will help.

Well, It tasted fine, I’m not throwing up yet, and I only had to fish one hair (possibly dog) out of my mouth. That’s promising I guess. It probably won’t kill me.

I still can’t quite believe how my life has gotten. Most of my life food on the floor meant I wouldn’t dream of eating it. Now I am fucking eating scraped up floor pizza!

**sigh**

I wish I weren’t so damned poor! This pizza may still be the best thing I have to eat for the rest of the month….

#my day #pizza #poverty #food #food disasters

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boxboysandotherwhump · 3 years

Text

Alice and Harvey

@whumptywhumpdump @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @redwingedwhump

Alice can’t sleep and suprises Harvey late at night :3

CW: violent intrusive thoughts, past murder mentioned (very briefly), abuse survivor hoarding food and other resources,

„Is that an electric kettle?“

Harvey tensed, hand cramping around the spoon he had fished from the dresser drawer, stacked full with all kinds of instant foods. Noddles, soups, even some cups of mashed potato and crackers. All of them spicy enough he could feel the evidence of having eaten burn on his tongue, long after the last remands of his meal had vanished down his throat.

The kettles treacherous bubbling filled the silence hanging heavy over his room. Alice leaned against the door frame. Curiosity glittered in his stupid honey brown eyes.

You could scrape them out his scull with your spoon. He‘d never look at you again.

„It‘s mine.“ Harvey stuck the silverware into the potato-powder filled plastic cup, pushed the drawer shut with his hip and turned to fix Alice with a hard stare.

„Oh that‘s so cool.“ Alice grinned so wide Harvey‘s face ached just from watching. „I didn‘t know we were allowed to actually posses something valuable, you know.“

„My master is dead. I don‘t care for anyone‘s permission.“ Harvey all but spat the word. A rotten thing withering in the space between them, drenched in disdain. „I take whatever I want.“

Alice only hummed. Eyes wandering over the plant filled shelves of his room. Drinking in the books and strewn about tools hidden among them. Halting at the small hammer behind his Optunia basilaris, the duct tape next to his Hatiora gaertneri and the screw driver half hidden by his struggling Aloe vera.

Harvey‘s gaze flickered to his spoon, just for a second, than back to this insufferable intruder nosing around his room.

He was just about to kick that pretty faced nuisance out of his fucking space, when Alice snickered.

„Well I guess Ariel liberated herself, hmm?“

Harvey blinked. Very slowly.

„What?“

For a second he forgot all about the spoon or the steak-knife taped under the drawer bottom. To perplexed by the utter nonsense coming out of those soft, still smiling lips. Most people stopped their nervous, desperate to appease smiles after being pinned by his stare.

Kou once told him he had the peculiar ability to reduce his targets to insects, dissected under the sharpness of his gaze before his knife ever cut skin.

Alice however, didn‘t seem bothered at all. Either he was even more tone deaf than Harvey himself, what should hardly be possible according to every social interaction he ever tried to have since Kou and Mari had dragged him here, or Alice small broken body betrayed the courage hidden within.

Alice gestured about the room, hands flying wide. There was a musical tilt to his voice, almost playful.

„I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty. I have whoozits and whatzis galore.“

Alice eyes sparkled expectantly. His brows raised so high they nearly disappeared under his curls and the bandages wrapping around the left side of his face.

Scratch courageous. The kid had just lost all his marbles.

And people called Harvey insane.

The sparkly smile fell, gave way to a small pout. Alice lip jutted out, revealing the tiniest flash of the soft glistening inside of Alice mouth.

„You don‘t know it?“

„No.“ Harvey stated flatly.

A long forgotten part of him squirmed somewhere deep within his ribcage. A moth larvae yearning to fly into the light of social aptitude, to burn in the warmth of inside jokes and die in a moment of heat brought by an emotion other than boiling rage.

But larvae had no wings no matter how desperately they dreamed of flying.

#whump #whump writing #boxboy whump #box boy whump #boxboy #box boy #boxboys #box boys #recovering whumpee #harvey the mysterious murder bean #alice daydreams #angry whumpee #soft whumpee #grump and sunshine #harvey the ex guard dog only guards his food #guard dog box boy

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myidlehand · 3 years

Note

Oooooh, prompts? Don't mind if I do. I know you love Eskel (and so do I). So I was thinking some G/E/J where they get up to some sort of shenanigans, preferably when two team up on one. But your real challenge is to incorporate the word monsterbutt into it. Thank you so much for doing this ♥️♥️♥️ I really like your writing, as you know.

Alright, for those who don’t know I asked to be sent prompts because I’m very closed to hit 1000 followers on this blog and I wanted to celebrate.

This is gonna be the first answered prompt of my “Road to 1000 followers celebration prompt 1/7!” Every time I get one new follower I will post a prompt until I reach 1000.

Now to the prompt!

I didn’t quite get the two team up on one, forgive me, but(t) the idea cracked me up too much and I kinda took the monsterbutt idea and just WENT WITH IT. My apologies 😂

The Butt Of The Joke

“A monsterbutt?”

“A monster’s butt,” Jaskier says nodding again very seriously.

“A… monster’s… butt…” Eskel repeats slowly.

“For the fifth time, yes, the BUTT OF A MONSTER.” Jaskier answers, exasperated.

“Why a monster’s butt?”

“I don’t know Eskel, I'm not in Yennefer’s head!”

“Hum…”

Jaskier pushes off the table he was resting against and starts pacing in the room. On the bed, Eskel scratches at his scars, perplexed, his shoulder brushing lightly against Geralt's arm when he moves to sit more comfortably at the edge of the bed.

“Do you-” Geralt catches his hand to stop him from scratching “-know if she needs a specific kind of butt?” Eskel doesn’t recall ever asking something this ridiculous.

“I…” Jaskier stops pacing and turns towards them. “Well, she just screamed a lot of things at me, so maybe? I don’t know, I was mainly trying to avoid the stuff she was throwing at me. All I heard really was ’I need monster butt’ while I was running away.

“Maybe you could go back and ask, so we get the right one?” Geralt proposes hopefully, letting go of Eskel’s hand and getting up to find a clean shirt to put on.

“I have another proposition. Since you and your big… Well everything, were the reason Yennefer’s dresses got all stretched AGAIN last night, YOU go ask her how to redeem yourself while I go back to bed and Eskel makes it up to me for making me go see how mad she was this morning all by myself.”

“Sounds good,” Eskel says, catching Jaskier by the hand and making him fall forward, catching Jaskier gently before quickly rolling them both on the bed, pinning Jaskier under him.

“Oh hello there,” Jaskier says quietly with a playful smile, looking up at two beautiful amber eyes. His hand immediately go under Eskel’s shirt, to stroke his flanks gently.

“Sorry for asking you, that was cruel,” Eskel says, before lowering himself to put a kiss on the side of his nose, then finding Jaskier’s throat to give him gentle kisses that send a shiver of pleasure all along the bard’s spine.

“It was very cruel. Indeed I’m going to need lots of those kisses to feel better.”

Eskel chuckles but obliges.

The spell breaks when a pillow comes to hit them both in the face. Eskel let his arms go and flop against Jaskier's side, burying his face in his neck, his arm possessively around Jaskier’s side.

“Focus!” Geralt growls, not very mad but getting a little distracted himself by the sight of Eskel and Jaskier together on their bed. “We need to figure this out,” he says, putting his shirt on.

“Oh, WE do, do we? Why do I get included in this when I wasn’t even there in the first place?” Jaskier says incredulously.

“It’s not our fault you passed out before we decided to try that again.”

Eskel mumbles something against Jaskier’s throat.

“What’s that love?”

“I said,” Eskel raises his head just enough to speak “You would have looked damn good in a dress.”

“I look good in everything, but I appreciate the compliment,” he answers, planting a kiss on top of Eskel’s hair. His fingers come up automatically to start stroking his head and Eskel answers with an appreciative little sound that makes Geralt wonder why he’s up and wearing clothes anyway?

“Why do Lambert get to be excluded from this ridiculous conversation again? Seems unfair, mainly to me”, Jaskier says dramatically.

“We’ll get him once we decide what to do, get dressed Eskel.” Geralt answers, shoving at Eskel’s legs a little to make him move away from Jaskier, which he does reluctantly.

“We should go before Yen gets really mad.”

“But what are we going to hunt exactly?”

“I don’t know! I heard Vesemir say there’s a couple of young forktails up in the mountains.”

“Lambert’ll never trek the mountain for half a day by this temperature just to bring back a dead forktail for Yennefer to dissect or whatever she’ll do with it”, Eskel answers, with a snort while putting on his clothes.

“Do you need an entire forktail? I mean maybe just the… er… rear area would be enough?” Jaskier asks, sitting up.

“You know I might be mountain folk, but I don’t fancy going up the mountain by this weather either.”

“We could go to the mines?” Suggest Geralt.

“Do Kikimores even have butts?”

“I don’t know I’m not a butt monster specialist Eskel, you’re the one who likes to study anatomy!” Geralt answers, getting more and more frustrated.

“Alright, alright! Don’t be grumpy!” Eskel answers, putting a light leather chest plate on top of a heavy chemise. “Tell you what, we’ll go to the stream down south. I’m sure we can find a couple of drowners there. It’ll be easy. They have human-shaped bottoms and they aren’t too heavy to carry.”

“Hate hunting drowners,” Geralt mumbles irritably, putting on his armour.

“I know,” Eskel says, giving Geralt just a small peck on the lips, amused

“Haven’t even got breakfast yet”, Geral grumble.

“Come on, we’ll eat on the way,” Eskel says, grabbing both their swords and tugging at Geralt’s sleeve with his other hand. Geralt goes unwillingly.

Jaskier smiles at his Witchers and decides to just go back to sleep. The bed is still a little warm from the night before and smells like all three of them, it’s lovely.

Two hours later he’s startled awake when frigid water comes splashing down on him, dripping from a very soaked, very grumpy Geralt, looking at him from above and smelling strongly of rotten fish.

“Monster bile Jaskier. She needed monster bile!”

***

I’m sorry it was so stupid but I found it funny? I hope you did too

#geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #the witcher #the witcher fic #crack #Tumblr fucked the formating sorry #its on ao3 too if you'd rather read there #geraskiel #tumblr prompt celebration

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sparrowmoth · 3 years

Note

jaybird 💙❤️💛

@daggery Jaybird!! 🥺 Thank you, hun! 💖💖

First impression: I liked him a lot, but mostly because I thought his dynamic with Carlos had a lot of potential. I didn’t care about him as much in his own right, which had a lot to do with how I perceived him based on D1. He came off as an arrogant dick with some toxic masculinity issues, so I was kinda like “hmm sus, but that hair though” lmao.

Impression now: I LOVE HIM, YOUR HONOUR. I would go to war for him. I’ve spent the last year and a half dissecting his character through fanfiction, both my own work and others’, and I found it’s helped me a lot to work past certain biases and such things that were keeping me from seeing past his D1 front. Having over-analyzed everything, I’ve arrived at the conclusion that Jay is made of sunshine and sinew and freshly baked bread. No further questions at this time.

Favorite moment: The iconic “we don’t need swords at the waffle hut” scene. The way Carlos looks at him as he’s already melting from his own shame is everything to me. On a more serious note though, his “girl talk” moment with Mal is *chef’s kiss* (Jal has so many rights, whether platonically or romantically, I just think they’re neat).

Idea for a story: Oh, so many. Too many lol. I like to dream up AUs that I’m probably never gonna have time to write. Off the top of my head, one of those AUs has Jay working on his father’s fishing boat. One day, instead of the usual load of fish, their nets snag a merfolk (Carlos), and a greedy Jafar won’t let him go since all he sees is the potential profit in having a live mythological specimen. Jay is conflicted, because it feels to him like they’re keeping a prisoner, but he’s hesitant to go against his father.

That night though, while he’s sitting on the swim platform at the back of the boat, lost in thought, he’s dragged into the water by two mermaids (Mal and Evie) who threaten to drown him if he doesn’t release their friend unharmed. He tries to explain about his father, but they’re not hearing it, so he promises to try and they give him until the next night (or else). He ends up managing to get Carlos free, but not without getting caught. Jafar, in a fit of rage and desperation not to lose out on his dreams of money, ends up jumping into the water on Carlos’ tail.

Unfortunately for him, merfolk are carnivorous. He does not survive. :)

Unpopular opinion: Jay and Gil felt like a consolation prize. No, I will not elaborate. I don’t like to engage in discourse about it because I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but suffice to say my mind’s made up about this.

Favorite relationship: JaylosJaylosJaylos. I love Rotten OT4 near-to-equal amounts, but Jaylos was the first dynamic I fell in love with and it’s always going to have the biggest piece of my heart for a thousand and one reasons.

Favorite headcanon: I think it’s the one you referenced in this ask. ;) I love the idea of “Jaybird” as Jay’s nickname. I elaborate on that in this post, but the roots of that headcanon are in some of my favorite lines from 1-Subject Notebook:

You’re black and blue like a Jaybird, sprouting all those feathers again— Wish you wouldn’t try to hide them. I can feel the bumps when we touch, and I know what cut wings feel like, Jay. We’re not going back there to that. WE PROMISED EACH OTHER—

Send Me A Character

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Stay Ch. 17

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Violence, death (background character), wee bit of fluff

A/N: Y’all are the most patient readers a writer could ask for. Like you literally just send me nothing but love and support and never get rude or pushy like I know some folks have to deal with. Tbh I feel so lucky to have all of you in my pumpkin patch.

I know it took a while but Budapest... well so many things start happening here and that’s all I’m gonna say.

I hope it was worth the wait!

Tags are open!

January 2008

Budapest was cold as fuck in the winter. Miserably cold. The kind you swear just makes you stupid because you feel sluggish and irritated constantly.

Or… maybe you just tried to convince yourself of that because it would make the absolute shit show this job had spiraled into easier to stomach.

“Hey!” You scream out into the empty corridor from your tight cell. “Y’all won’t get shit outta me if I freeze to death.” Silence is your only answer. You send your sixth sense out to try and find anyone but come back empty. You’re either completely alone or they’re just too far away.

Groaning you huddle against the cold concrete wall, shivering. You were a tough bitch but… three days of this shit with next to no food or water was getting very old… and maybe a smidge more dangerous than you anticipated.

With nothing else to do you run over everything in your brain, hoping backtracking will lead you to some kind of solution.

This gig was low level, small crime syndicate looking for a way to infiltrate their larger rival. Honestly, standard stuff. You took it because you wanted something quick to kill time while you plotted out your next move. The more you dug though, the more you realized the syndicate that hired you was like an iceberg and you were apparently the fucking Titanic.

On the surface they were small, unassuming, nothing immediately indicating danger in any way. Only once you were drowning in the freezing water did you start to see the scope of something much much larger. The rival you were supposed to be looking into had nothing on these guys.

So far you had found threads leading to everything from paramilitary groups in the Balkans to human experimentation and trafficking. Each thread led to something new but what you couldn’t find was who the hell was spinning them. Sure, these groups were good enough to sort of stand on their own but they were far too stable to be doing so. There was a source point somewhere, you just couldn’t fucking find it.

Being able to suss out even the toughest answers was your thing. When you couldn’t it drove you crazy. And maybe it made you a little reckless. If you had been sensible you’d have walked away, or at least just done the job you were paid to do. But no, you couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“And now you’re gonna freeze to death in a fucking cell in Hungary.” You say out loud to no one.

You can see the sunrise through the window at the end of the hall, thankful that you can at least track the time you’ve been here. Your head is foggy from hunger and dehydration. How many days was it before you die from lack of water…

Hours pass and you let yourself drift off, unable to dissect the situation any further. After a bit, you hear someone… running. Your eyes creak open to see a burly man at the door to your cell.

“Get up!” He hisses in heavily accented English.

“Why?” You drawl. This is clearly not the response he was anticipating.

He tosses a black cotton sack into the cell, “Put it on if you want to get out of here. If not I leave you to starve.” You note the gun in the front of his waistband, unsecured.

“I’ll die of dehydration before starvation but,” you slip the sack over your head, “whatever.”

With a grunt, he opens the cell and jerks you to your feet. His fingers dig into the flesh of your upper arm as he pulls you from the cell. Under the hood, a smirk curls your lips.

You raise your hand to your mouth, feigning the sound of a yawn. Then, you blindly reach up for the man’s face. When your fingers feel the stubble you force your power into him. Images flash but you try not to hold them. You don’t give a fuck about his information you just need him down.

He cries out and stumbles to his knees, flinging you away from him. Immediately you rip the sack off your head and spin to face him, his nose is bleeding but he’s not dead. You run at him and land a hard kick to his face, sending him to his back and pluck the gun from his belt. Before he can attempt to regain any balance you fire one shot into his head.

The crackle of a walkie-talkie meets your ears. You fish the device from the dead man’s pocket.

“Heinen?! What’s happening? We need to move now. Where is the asset? Heinen, come in!”

“Cheers, Heinen.”

You have no clue where to go but you can’t just sit here and wait either. Carefully you make your way through the building, all senses on high alert. There are a few other empty cells and some storage rooms. Cautiously you head up a shallow flight of stairs, aware that you could be met with a gun to your head at any moment.

It's quiet… they likely didn’t waste many resources to guard one unsuspecting woman. You can just make out the front of the building, afternoon light streaming brightly through the barred windows when you begin to sense others. They’re outside… blocking your damn exit.

You’re trying to sort out how the hell you’re going to get out of here when something like a small explosion sounds outside. There’s a cacophony of curses from the men. Distant shots meet your ears.

The front door clicks open and three men stumble inside as bullets ping off of the thick glass. Immediately you duck down a short hall and into the doorway of a reeking bathroom.

“How the fuck did they find us!?” One of the men bellows in German.

“Does it fucking matter?! You, go find that lazy fuck Heinen, maybe we can use the woman.”

Over my dead fucking body, you think. The third man grunts something you can’t quite make out and you sink further into the stink.

“Heinen!” He yells out, “You better not be fucking that bitch!” You can’t deny the sick satisfaction that rises in you.

Another small explosion rattles the glass and you try to think of who the hell is firing at these guys. Regardless of who it is you curse them because they are making a shit situation so much fucking worse.

After several minutes you hear the walkie in your pocket crackle. Fuck. Frantically you shut the device off, breath caught in your throat. Suddenly unbothered by the rotten sewer stink you retreat to one of two stalls and press your back against the wall.

You can just barely hear the other two receiving the news that Heinen is dead. A beat passes and one of them, the second man to speak earlier you think, calls out, “Remember alive!” Small victories you guessed. Though… alive could sometimes be worse.

It takes a while for the two men to finally head down the hall to the bathroom. Anxiety and fear swirl in your chest. You let it. The feeling rising, getting worse and worse, threatening to cut off your air supply with panic. You allow yourself think of every terrible thing they could do to you, let yourself be inspired by the things men like them had done to you…

This is still new, still something you’re feeling out, but when the men finally make their way to the bathroom you release your emotions like a wave. An almost numb sense of relief floods your body, your mind crisp and clear.

One of the men begins to wheeze in a panic attack. You peek around the stall as the other man turns to his companion, flustered and unsteady himself. This is the only window you’re going to get. Aiming you fire at the man with his back to you, planting a bullet in his neck.

Gurgling he hits his knees. The other screams, his own emotions mixing with the ones you slammed into him, causing him to truly lose it. You fire as he bolts catching him in the back.

As you stalk out you look down at the man you hit in the neck, flopping like a fish, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding. Without a second thought, you kick his head hard to the side. A sick popping noise and he stops moving.

Slowly emotions trickle back into you, your body seems to warm with them, heart starting to pick up a rapid tattoo rather than the calm steady thrum from after your release. Good. This wasn’t over. Once again you try to pull on anything that will make your emotions rise, fears, memories, the whole lot. When a bullet hits the wall beside you, you don’t have to try anymore.

Blindly you fire back down the hall and fling yourself behind a desk. Another shot ricochets of the top and you flinch. Balling up the terror rising in you, once more you force it from your body.

There’s nothing for a moment. You notice the commotion outside seems to have quieted. A muffled sob comes from your left and then the thud of a punch. You don’t dare move.

The sound of shuffling meets your ears. Just barely you lean around the desk. The third man isn’t as offset as the other two had been but he’s certainly dazed. You fire at him and miss. He takes cover and fires back, just barely grazing your arm.

Before you have time to register the pain there’s a blinding flash and the door falls in with a crash.

Your ears are still ringing, dust and smoke filling the air, as you lean to see if the men are still there. The third man pops up to fire toward the door and you take your shot. You don’t even wait to see if it lands before crouching once more.

A bullet hits the wall in front of you before you hear a bevy of shots ring to your left. You’re almost ready to try forcing this new wave of emotion out… not quite though. Without aiming you fire behind you, trying to get a feel for the direction of this new threat.

Instead of being met with bullets an arrow plants itself in the wall, a light pulsing near the tip. You have absolutely no time to think before the flash bomb goes off.

Temporarily you’re blinded, ears ringing, and immediately in the shock the emotions you’d been planning on weaponizing flee from your body. You lay, stunned, and drained behind the desk. All you can manage to think in your stupor is that arrows were significant.

Something soft, warm, and somehow familiar presses against your lips. Automatically you feel your mouth open in response, returning the kiss. That warm thick feeling of love snakes through your limbs. Slowly your eyes open, still out of focus from the flash but it’s Natasha.

“Y/N?!”

“Am I dead?” You ask as she pulls away.

A tense laugh bubbles out of her, “Not yet baby.” Gently she helps you up, leaning you against the wall.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Clint says collapsing next to you. “Didn’t know it was… well, you.”

His thigh is bleeding you note, “Pretty sure y’all just saved my ass. So we’re square.” You look over to see the man your shot in the bathroom seizing from one of Natasha’s Widow’s Bites.

“Friend of yours?” Clint asks catching your stare.

“Fuck no.”

“Then what the hell’re you doing here, Y/N?” His stare is intense.

“Could ask y’all the same thing.”

“Come on babe,” Natasha gives your hand a squeeze.

“Personally, I was being held in a cell downstairs.” Nat and Clint exchange a look. “Your turn.”

“We were tapped to take out this syndica-”

“Nat…” Clint’s voice holds a warning.

“What? If she’s here she probably already knows more than we do.”

“Likely true.” You agree.

“Anyway, they were getting their hands in some high-level stuff. S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it would be best to weed them out before they got too big.”

You snort, “For being one of the world’s foremost intelligence agencies, S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to miss a lot.”

“What’s that mean?” Clint’s brows raise.

“Lot’s,” you groan a bit pushing away from the wall. “Can you walk?”

“Yup,” he stands, slowly.

“I’ll happily give y’all the skinny on everything. Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

Natasha glances at the man on the ground groaning. “Sounds good. First though… wanna help us out?” She flashes you that sultry smile you can never say no to.

“Fine.” You kneel next to the man’s head and lay a hand on his forehead. He’s mostly unconscious but you can pull information from him anyway. Though he doesn’t have much.

When you’re done you stand, “Got it. I say leave him, he’s no one.”

They agree and you take the guns off the other man and the three of you make your way via back alleys to the rundown hotel they’ve set up in.

“Budget cuts?” You ask, plopping down on the creaking bed.

Natasha laughs, “Cover.” She pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and you catch her hand, kissing her leather covered knuckles.

Clint clears his throat. “I’m gonna shower. When I’m done, Y/N, you’re going to give us the rundown before-”

“Clint-”

He cuts Nat off. “Look, I almost took more bullets today than even I’m comfortable with and I’m not about to lose my pension because Fury thinks I’m sheltering a fugitive. No offense, Y/N.”

“None taken.”

“Good.” A smirk curls his lips, “I’ll make it a long shower though,” he winks and closes the door to head to his room.

“He doesn’t think you’re-”

“Honey, I know.” She sits beside you and kisses you hard before you push her off. “God knows I fucking missed you but… I’ve been in a cell for three days. I really need some water and a shower myself.”

“Oh! Shit! Yeah.” She blushes a bit and you can’t help but smile.

She stands but you tug her down for one more kiss, “I love you, Natasha.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

That water is the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted. Once you’ve downed two bottles you both get in the shower.

Cramped though it may be feeling her skin next to yours, hearing her gasps as you make her come, it’s feeding you more than any meal. Hours ago you thought you were about to check out. Now, this… Fate was a funny cunt, you’d give her that.

When Clint knocks you’re on your second protein bar, the only food Nat had in the room. You tell them about the job, what you’d found out, how you couldn’t find the source point. As you run everything down you can see the wheels spinning in both their heads, connecting your info with what S.H.I.E.L.D. had given them.

“Guess that’s why they sent us in,” Clint taps his fingers on the table thinking. “Thought we could take this one out and scare whatever bigger entity is actually running shit.”

“Nah,” you can’t buy that. “Taking them out will just drive the rest deeper underground. If they thought this group was the source point maybe…” Or maybe taking this group out was a message to the other satellite groups you found… Something churns in your gut but you can’t name it… yet.

“Maybe we got bad intel.” Natasha chimes matter-of-factly. “Not the first time.”

“Not the first time?!” You don’t try to hide your frustration. “How many times have you been sent into a gunfight with shit information, Natasha?” Your blood boils at the thought.

“Babe… I’m a spy… Shit happens.”

“Shit doesn’t have to happen. Not if your intelligence people-”

“You’re the best intelligence person there is and you ended up in a cell.” Clint’s voice is level but there’s a hint of reproach. “It happens.” You shake your head and stare at the wall, unwilling to argue.

“Well,” Clint sighs, “we still have a job to do.” Natasha nods in agreement. “You want in Y/N?”

“Hell yes.” You’d be more than thrilled to burn the assholes that kidnapped you.

Burning them… isn’t really how things go down.

“By the way,” Clint is huddled next to you behind the smoking hulk of a car while the assholes shooting at you reload, “if I die here, I’m going to haunt you.”

“Why me?!” You pop up and let loose a few well-placed shots to flush some of them out.

“Because I need to fucking blame someone!” He nocks a bomb arrow and aims for the now repositioning attackers. It goes off, taking out two of them.

“Nice.” You bump knuckles before fleeing for new cover.

“Also,” you crouch next to a reeking dumpster, eyes on the roofs above you, “blame your boss. He’s the one with bad intel.”

The two of you head up a rusty fire escape and look at the roof across the street where Natasha is fighting two men. She’s holding her own well enough but still. You lift your gun, gauging if you can make the distance.

“I got this.” Clint pushes your hand down and a shock arrow flies from his bow, lodging it in one of the men’s backs. This distracts the other man and Nat kicks him off the roof.

“Thanks!” She yells. Your coms are busted.

Five hours and a hell of a lot of collateral damage later and the three of you limp bloody and bruised to a rendezvous point they’d been sent earlier.

From the outside the building looks like a long empty shop front, windows looking into nothing but a dusty abandoned space. As soon as you’re in the front door though it’s clear this place is reinforced like a fucking bunker. The steel door clangs shut, the windows are clearly some kind of tech as they don’t even exist from the inside of the space. The interior is actually clean and sterile with a few uncomfortable chairs, cots and some kind of med station toward the back.

Sighing Natasha pulls you into her arms. Both your lips are bleeding, faces bruised, you just can’t be bothered enough to care. You took those fuckers out, none of you died, and she’s here in your arms.

“You two are gonna make me barf.” Clint collapses into one of the chairs.

“Oh come on,” Nat smiles at you. “This wasn’t so bad.” He doesn’t respond, just flicks her off.

“Well,” a familiar voice chimes from the back of the room, coming from an unseen entry point. “That was a mess.” Nick Fury looks you all up and down with one judgmental eye.

“Jobs done though.” Clint doesn’t bother to stand.

“Yeah. With how much damage.” His gaze holds yours. You feel your back stiffening in defiance. “Any chance you’re the reason what should have been a simple clean up almost took out a quarter of Budapest?”

“Aww, you must think I’m something real special to be worth grenade launchers.” Natasha squeezes your hand in warning. “But no. This would have been messy regardless because whoever fed you your intel doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It was no small syndicate and with a whole hell of a lot more firepower than these two were prepared to handle.”

“Honestly, Fury,” Clint limps over to your side making the three of you a united front, “if Y/N wasn’t here to warn us what we may run into we’d likely be dead.” Natasha nods in agreement.

Silence hangs while Fury processes. “Huh. Well, I guess a thank you is in order.”

“Oh, more than a thank you will be in order,” he looks taken back by your tone. “I’m thinkin’ you’re gonna be obliged to cut me a fat check after the intel I’m gonna hand you.” You can feel Natasha’s stress but Fury looks amused.

“Any chance we can negotiate? I do have a budget to think about.” He actually almost smiles.

“Well… you could pay… or you could take it as a goodwill gesture and pull back on the terms you laid out at Barton’s place.”

Now Fury does smile, “As if either of you listened to me anyway.” You return his smile. He was good.

Natasha looks like an embarrassed teenager. He laughs, “I may have one eye but I see everything, Romanoff.” He turns to stride back, “Get cleaned up we’ll talk after.” He disappears into a previously unseen room.

“Told you he’d warm up,” Clint says with a smile elbowing Natasha.

Even if you’re on decent enough terms, sitting across a table from Nicky Fury is intimidating. His presence effortlessly commands respect in the way only someone who’s more than paid their dues can manage. You’d likely never admit it but you genuinely liked this man and despite not being able to read him… you maybe trusted him.

“And you’re sure all these factions are linked in some way?”

“Positive.” You hold his gaze, unwavering.

Sighing he stands and paces the small conference room a few times. You remain seated, staring at the assorted diagrams and notes you had whipped up to demonstrate what you knew to be true. Something big lurked in the shadows…

“Look,” his voice is low, heavy with something you can’t quite name, “I’ll deny this if you ever tell anyone but we could really use someone like you and-”

“No.” Hearing those men refer to you like you were nothing more than a tool to be used had been a reminder that you didn’t need. You’d never be someone’s dog again, no matter how good they seemed.

“Not even gonna hear me out?”

“It’s nothing personal but… I just can’t.”

“Not even if you can have a nice set up with your girl?” You glare at him, angry that he’d use her against you. “I may not necessarily approve as far as national security is concerned but it’s clear you two have something.”

“Not even for her.” You gaze is ice. Not wanting this to continue you let the mix of terror and conviction burning in your veins seep from you just a touch, trying to aim it right for his chest. Fury coughs, expression surprised, to say the least.

“I can’t… I won’t be on a leash. Plus… I need to follow this through. Something about it…”

“Understood.” He rubs his chest setting down and a small bit of satisfaction sparks in you. “How about freelance?”

“Well, now you’re talkin’ my language, sir.”

His mouth ticks up just a touch. “You find any information that may be a threat to American citizens, involve my organization, or my people you come to me. No one else.”

Your brows raise. “Don’t trust your own?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

You nod in understanding. “That it?”

“And I may have a side project come up soon that I think you’d be good for. A little initiative… Nothing solid yet but may be worth considering in time.”

“Alright. You got a deal.”

Both of you stand and shake. Before you can open the door though Fury’s hand reaches out holding it closed. You turn to him, questioning.

“You ever read Moby Dick?”

“Um… yeah?”

“When you’re hunting monsters remember, it’s easy to become an Ahab. Don’t let it happen.”

You nod somberly, dread suddenly curling in your stomach.

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen @yanginginthere @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf @itsqueenofchains

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow #marvel fic #queer fic

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queermediastudies · 5 years

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Identity, Infidelity, and iPhones: A Critique of “Tangerine”

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Tangerine, set in Los Angeles in 2015, follows the journey of two black transgender women through the streets of West Hollywood the day that one of them is released from jail. The main character, Sin-Dee Rella, learns from her friend Alexandra that her fiance, Chester, has been cheating on her while she was in jail for a month. Sin-Dee sets off to seek revenge on Chester and the “other woman”. The film, which takes place over the course of Christmas Eve, depicts sex work, infidelity, drug use, singing performances, transphobic violence, and more. The plot comes to a peak with all the main characters in one donut shop, where the biggest secret of the film is revealed. Part drama and part comedy, Tangerine is a story of revenge, friendship, identity, sexuality, and love.

The reception of Tangerine was rather mixed. The film was highly acclaimed for its methods of production, as it was shot entirely from three iPhone 5s smartphones. It was also praised for its casting: the two main characters, Sin-Dee and Alexandra, are played by Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor, two openly transgender actresses. Taylor won several independent film awards for her role (Shawan, 2015). Today, the film has a score of 96 on Rotten Tomatoes. However, the film has also received criticism about its portrayals of trans characters.

While Tangerine exhibits themes that align with aspects of queer theory, it also has some problematic elements within its production and content. As a viewer, my personal subject positionality impacts my interpretations and criticisms of the film, and my identity informs how my reading of the film differs from others’. Overall, Tangerine is a complex text that requires many different perspectives to dissect.

One of the major themes evident in Tangerine is intersectionality. This film follows the lives of two transgender black women who are also sex workers. This represents an intersection of marginalized gender identity, race, and class, all of which overlap and inform each other to create experiences unique to these particular positions in society. The intersection of these many marginalized identities is not often represented on screen, and this film was made in the 2015, pre Pose era.

Other apparent themes in the film include trans identity and gender performativity. In one scene, Sin-Dee drags Dinah, the “other woman” to Alexandra’s performance where she sings Doris Day’s Toyland in a club. Dinah later refers to the performance as a “drag show”, to which Alexandra sternly replies “I am not a drag queen”. This exchange challenges Dinah, who, rather than deconstructing her ideas of gender, still thinks of Alexandra as a man performing as a woman. Although Tangerine includes trans characters, the film does not give Sin-Dee or Alexandra much more background or storyline other than their trans identity, a critique that will be explored more in later sections.

One of the most common praises for Tangerine is for its method of filming: the entire film was shot using iPhones and a four dollar editing app. This cheap, user-friendly technology exhibits a queer approach to production. As Scott & Fawaz point out in Queer About Comics, “low-tech quality makes comics either fundamentally democratic or especially available to democratic practices” (Scott & Fawaz, 2018, p 201). This idea is reflected in Tangerine, as the groundbreaking use of iPhones showed audiences the endless opportunities available with more readily accessible technology. The editing of the film also exemplified some nontraditional techniques. The footage was edited to be quite oversaturated, giving it a slight orange hue, thus the name Tangerine. These film choices deliberately broke cinematic norms.

Tangerine mirrors Pose when it comes to some of its criticism. Because of the casting of two trans women of color, the film was able to deflect a lot of criticism. Dr. Martin makes this argument with Pose, saying that “These gay and trans actors of color function as a shield for Pose’s problematic representational politics” (Martin, 2018). While the casting of these two actresses seems groundbreaking, the film itself was created and written by two straight, white, cisgender men, Sean Baker and Chris Bergoch. These two men received the praise and profits from Tangerine even though there were many problematic layers within the casting, production, content, and intended audience of the film.

For one, although Baker and Bergoch may have had good intentions by trying to cast black trans actors, their methods for finding actors were questionable. Their desire to create this film came from Baker’s “fascination” with a particular Los Angeles intersection that was known for sex work. “As straight, white, cisgender men, he and frequent writing partner Chris Bergoch knew they needed a collaborator familiar with the area’s culture. Approaching people on the street proved futile, so they wandered over to a nearby LGBT center. There, Baker instantly “gravitated” toward a transgender woman named Mya Taylor, an aspiring entertainer who had never acted before, but was game for whatever Baker and Bergoch wanted” (Jacobs, 2015). The intense interest in a community that Baker is not a part of seems voyeuristic if not intrusive. Also, the way that Baker found Mya Taylor shows a situation where Taylor has very little power in the creation of this film. While Baker did intend to get an “inside perspective” of the area’s culture rather than relying on his own perspective, his casting of Taylor seems to be solely based on the fact that she is a black trans woman and was willing to participate. This has some connotations of tokenism and performativity that must be looked at more closely.

Secondly, the film itself has many issues of representation of trans lives. Overall, Sin-Dee and Alexandra have been propped up as “window dressings” of the film. As Rich Juzwiak states in a critique of the film, “We get virtually no sense of Sin-Dee’s interior life, and the sense we get of Alexandra’s is eye-rollingly trite (she wants to be a singer)” (Juzwiak, 2015). We do not get much of a sense of these characters’ lives outside of sex work, such as their backgrounds or even where they live when they are not on the streets. Instead, Baker and Bergoch rely heavily on tropes and stereotypes of black trans women as well as sex workers. On the other hand, they show the family and home life of Razmik, a cab driver who is a regular customer of Sin-Dee and Alexandras. This makes sense with the later plot, but the stark distinctions between these characters are clear.

The obsession with anatomy in Tangerine presents another layer of concern. For one, the fetishization of trans women was a major component of the film. Razmik consistently objectifies and fetishizes trans women. We see this when he unknowingly picks up a cis woman, then proceeds to kick her out of his car when he realizes she is not trans. This fetishization is dehumanizing, as it portrays trans women as objects of a straight male’s gaze rather than people with complex identities. Cavalcante (2017) criticizes films such as Boys Don’t Cry and TransAmerica for “scenes in both films that fetishized genitalia” (Cavalcante, 2017). This obsession with the anatomy of trans bodies is also shown when Dinah calls Chester “homo” for wanting to marry Sin-Dee. Selena, the woman that Razmik picked up, also called him “homo” when she realized he was looking for a trans woman. This implies that Sin-Dee and other trans women are men, invalidating their female identity. There are also consistent references to Dinah as a “real” woman or a “fish”. This reference implies that, as a cisgender woman, Dinah’s biology is what makes her a woman, and that trans women are not real women. While the trans characters use this reference themselves, it is still problematic to use biology as the determining factor for womanhood. Rather than challenging this implication, Tangerine consistently perpetuates transphobic language and ideas.

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As viewers, it is important to recognize our own subject positionality when critiquing films. Personally, as a young queer woman of color in college, I often tend to have a critical, almost cynical lens with many texts. For one, as a mixed-race person, I rarely see images of myself in the media, so I understand the importance of representation. When I do come across characters that I identify with, I often will fall prey to the trap of representation without considering larger structures within media.

Because of my subjective experiences as a queer woman, I would say I am also sex-positive and sex work positive. I had trouble with some criticisms of Tangerine that I found online because many people took issue with the portrayal of Sin-Dee and Alexandra as sex workers. The particular editorials I came across used a lot of anti-sex worker language. While I agree that “trans women as sex workers” is a trope that must be challenged, my own positionality tells me that there is nothing inherently wrong with sex work. Sex workers deserve to have their stories told and they deserve respect and dignity. While there is a lot of questionable material in Tangerine, I don’t think the presence of sex work alone is inherently problematic. However, the portrayal of sex work as indecent, as it was sometimes portrayed in Tangerine, contributes to the stigma against it. My personal experiences and views further complicated my reading of this film.

At first glance, Tangerine seems indisputably groundbreaking based on its cast and the characters it is representing. However, a closer look behind the scenes reveals that the features praised in the film are a veil for some questionable processes. A close examination of the text recalls Tourmaline’s Teen Vogue piece: “Too often, people with resources who already have a platform become the ones to tell the stories of those at the margins rather than people who themselves belong to these communities. The process ends up extracting from people who are taking the most risks just to live our lives and connect with our histories…” (Tourmaline, 2017). If we truly want a raw, real look at the lives of trans people of color and sex workers, we must leave the storytelling up to them, rather than approaching these communities with nosy voyeurism as Baker did. However, Tangerine revealed the possibility of a full-length film created with very limited technology. Perhaps the next breakout film will be a story created by trans women of color using nothing but iPhones.

Works Cited

Critique by Lucy Briggs

Jacobs, M. (2015, July 9). Tangerine may have had a tiny budget, but the film's heart is bigger because of it. Huffington Post. Retrieved from https://www.huffpost.com/entry/tangerine-movie-transgender_n_559bc990e4b05d7587e22881.

Juzwiak, R. (2015, October 17). Trans sex work comedy Tangerine is the most overrated movie of the year. Gawker. Retrieved from http://defamer.gawker.com/trans-sex-work-comedy-tangerine-is-the-most-overrated-m-1717662910.

Martin, A. L. (2018, August 2). Pose(r): Ryan Murphy, trans and queer of color labor, and the politics of representation. Los Angeles Review of Books. Retrieved from https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/poser-ryan-murphy-trans-queer-color-labor-politics-representation/.

Scott, D. & Fawaz, R. (2018) Queer about comics. American Literature, Volume 90, Number 2, June 2018, pp 197-219. Doi: 10.1215/00029831-4564274

Shawhan, J. (2015, August 6). Beyond using progressive filming techniques and casting, Tangerine is expressive and warm. Nashville Scene. Retrieved from https://www.nashvillescene.com/arts-culture/film/article/13060247/beyond-using-progressive-filming-techniques-and-casting-tangerine-is-expressive-and-warm.

#tangerine #queer media studies #pose #qtpoc #iphone #queer reading #intersectionality

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zeussim · 1 year

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I've had an epiphany about my masters. I'm not gonna do bioinformatics. It's not for me, I can't see myself doing it for the rest of my life. I really don't want to. It fills me with dread. SO, I'm going back to my first idea, the reason for me wanting to study biology in the first place. Marine microbiology!! The thing I have added though is that I'll take some bioinformatic courses along with it to be ✨️extra✨️(let's not forget I've already taken bioinformatic courses)

#also the reason i went away from marine biology #was...the rotten fish i dissected #it TRAUMATISED me for TWO YEARS #making me completely doubt my ability to study marine biology #BUT hehehe I can just skip the disgusting dissection and go straight to microbiology!!#heheheheheh #the second reason i stopped dreaming about marine microbiology was I was scared I wouldnt be able to get a job #BUT when I add my part specialisation in bioinformatics and statistics #that opens a lot more doors #ALSO hehe my uncle is an emeritus in arctic marine biology he has connections #and i shouldnt choose smth based solely on the fact that I want to have a job #i should also choose it based on what I want to do for the rest of my life #and that's what im gonna do #nonsims

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sebeth · 5 years

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Fantastic Four #9

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

“The End of the Fantastic Four!” by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

Namor, chilling undersea, watches a television newscaster announce: “The world-famous Fantastic Four are bankrupt! They have announced plans to dissolve their partnership and sell all their possessions in order to pay their debts!”

I now understand why Sue eventually takes control of the groups’ finances – Reed didn’t even last a year before he went bankrupt!

Writers often use the “FF go bankrupt” storyline – it’s rather silly since Reed can invent something that will cure their money woes in five seconds. Who wouldn’t want a Reed-designed smart phone?

However, at this point in the group’s history, potential investors would be worried – it was less than a year ago that Reed’s mistake caused his friends’ extreme transformations.

The Four are dealing with bill collectors back in New York City.

Johnny, Ben, and Sue offer their abilities as a way to raise money.

Reed refuses: “I appreciate your support, but it’s not that simple! I’m not going to let you rent yourselves out to a freak show – and the only other way to cash in on our supernatural powers is thru crime – which would be unthinkable!”

Ben stumbles across the dissection of the Pogo plane: “Leggo of my plane, you crumbs! I oughtta pulverize ya for that!”

Yeah, you don’t touch a pilot’s plane!

Reed assures Ben that they’re “getting a good price” for the plane.

Ben counters “No price is good enough for all the work we put into designin’ that ship!”

Poor Ben is very upset over the loss of the plane!

Ben rips on Reed: “Some rotten manager you were, rubber-man! You made a fortune by selling patents on all your inventions – enough dough to keep us going for years – but you hadda be a big shot and invest it all in stocks! You lunkhead!”

Reed’s genius clearly doesn’t extend to financial management.

Ben decides – once again – to quit the group. A cab refuses to stop for Ben so he impales the vehicle on a street pole. I’m not sure how this didn’t result in Ben being sent to jail.

Ben visits Alicia who urges her “dear friend” to not desert his friends when “they need him most”.

Reed receives an offer from S.M. Studios: One million dollars cash if the team star in a movie.

Ben reunites with the team and they head to Hollywood. The team is broke so they have to hitch-hike across the country. In full costume.

The group arrives at S.M. Studios only to discover the producer is the Sub-Mariner!

How did Namor keep his purchase of a movie studio a secret? It wasn’t that long ago Namor was terrorizing New York City and threatening the surface world with dire vengeance. The authorities should have been swarming the place as soon as Namor assumed ownership.

Sue’s still has a serious case of Namor-lust: “He’s so masterful – so confident!”

The men film the movie while Namor romances Sue.

Namor fills his movie with legitimate threats to attack the men – Cyclops, poison spears immune to flames, etc. Namor battles the Thing. Ben loses when he transforms back into human form mid-fight.

Namor returns to Sue, announces he’s triumphed over the men, and proposes marriage.

Sue’s not impressed and attempts to flee. However, Namor has “the powers of all the creatures who live beneath the sea!” and uses the “power of the electric eel” and the “radar sense of the cave fish from the lowest depths of the sea” to capture Sue.

Namor announces “Your struggles are useless! I like a woman with spirit! Only such a female can be a fitting mate for the monarch of the sea!”

Namor, I love you, but you’re delving into very creepy territory.

The boys arrive and are ready to trounce Namor. Sue prevents a brawl by stating both parties must “honor the contract”.

Namor pays the FF the million dollars and returns to the sea.

Not a great issue and not a good portrayal of Namor. Only highlights were Ben’s despair over the loss of the Pogo plane, Ben’s excitement over being a “white knight” and a fun Ben-Namor brawl.

#Fantastic Four #Namor #Sub-Mariner #Ben Grimm #Reed Richards #Susan Storm #Susan Richards #johnny storm

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notanotherbookreview · 5 years

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Gwyn & John Steinbeck’s adobe house in Monterey and Ed Ricketts’ Pacific biological Laboratories in Monterey.

My Life With John Steinbeck Chapter 4, Gwyn describes Ed Ricketts John's friend, muse, and alter-ego.

(Ed Ricketts was a marine biologist, the owner of Pacific Biological Laboratories and a pioneering ecologist. He is known to most people as the inspiration for the charater of “Doc” Ricketts in John Steinbeck’s novel Cannery Row, but Ricketts was also the author of two books on marine biology: Between Pacific Tides and Sea of Cortez.. His lab was a gathering place for writers, artists and musicians, counting among its guests Joseph Campbell, Henry Miller, and of course Steinbeck.)

Three was company, not a crowd in this fond portrait.

CHAPTER 4 – JOHN, ED RICKETTS AND ME

Millions of words have been penned and spoken of John and Ed Ricketts, some true and some false. I do not profess to know all, but I know much, since I was there and lived through an important part of their lives. Ed Ricketts was possibly one of the finest marine zoologists the world has ever seen, or will see, and his untimely death in an accident was a tragedy. He was one of the most benign men I have ever met, and he became the best friend I ever had. Ed was one of those people who give you strength while they lack that for their own emotional problems, their own involvement with others, both men and women.

John and Ed had a tremendous bond of friendship between them. I never experienced anything from Ed except sheer goodness. He opened my mind to philosophy which I had never skirmished with since school days. To me, Ed was a kind of Jesus. I believe John thought that way, too. Ed wore a beard, this man of middle stature. Everything he did had the essence of kindness in it. If he did not really like you Ed would not display it with unkind words or temper; he just looked at you, smiled and said, ‘Oh yes, really.’ He did not say, ‘Get out of my life, you’re a pain.’ He said, ‘It’s nice meeting you.’

He had this great essence for life, and you could not help but admire it, whatever his faults. He was, in a way, enamored by sex, which perhaps isn’t too bad a fault. John loved Ed’s love of life; Perhaps it was the qualities that Ed displayed all the time that John wished to have but could not show, or would not allow himself to have. With Ed, they were built in, solid.

In our correspondence Ed would write: ‘My dear girl – never be ashamed of using the word “good.” There is much behind that, if you think on it. There is “good” everywhere; sometimes it takes people months, even years to discover it through mistakes, and God knows I have made them, and, anyway, who hasn’t?’ Ed used to say, ‘Don’t bother about hyperbole; simply say you like it – because it is good.’ It was that simple; beauty in that simplicity.

Ed was simple, too, in that he never cared about material things. Life was his work, and music too. He would listen from the moment he got up (if he was alone, he went around the house naked), and throughout the day while he dissected a starfish or anemone, or when he cooked. He would try to cook anything and was a gourmet. Once he said, ‘You can eat from the world if you know how to preserve.’

Ed Ricketts never wavered in his loyalties – John didn’t, either – and would never show jealousy. Even when some of the women he loved and who loved him left him, Ed continued to be their friend. Many times he saved their life. There was a special magic about Ed Ricketts; in many ways he was John’s offspring, the source of the Steinbeck Nile.It is a well-known fact that Ed and John’s correspondence was one of the most prolific between friends other than writers.

Whenever John discussed anything with him, Ed had a way of saying something was not right without saying it, and that is an art. At such times he would sip a beer and look to the ceiling and say, ‘Hmm, hmm, John, but that’s not quite right.’ Never did he say, ‘No, don’t quit.’ For John, sharing moments with Ed – and they shared many – was like going to an analyst. Afterwards John would tell me, ‘I’m all right.’ There was not any problem that he ever took to Ed that he could not solve, where John was at a loss.

I first met Ed in the early forties. John wanted me to meet him to see whether Ed approved of his ‘choice.’ Ed Ricketts watched all life go by, everything. There was nothing in the passing parade that escaped his eye or he could not laugh or cackle about. He was a slow speaker, exceedingly slow; every word he spoke was a saga. The way he spoke was like a Max Beerbohm drawing. Another side of Ed was that you never knew what you were going to eat at his house. God knows, John loved good food. One day, while the rain poured a monsoon, Ed called and asked us over for chicken soup. It was one of those cold, raw Monterey days. We went, and he served the soup in vast bowls, complete with his homemade bread. The soup was delicious, and I know how to make chicken soup.

But Ed’s ‘chicken soup’ was made out of sea cucumbers, which are part of the slug and worm family. He had collected his ‘chicken’ that day, and chopped it up. ‘I simply wanted to try it,’ he said nonchalantly. It was delicious. ‘You can always live off the land or the sea,’ he said, smiling. ‘Goddam it, Ed, I wouldn’t be surprised if you went and made a ground-up clam milk shake!’ said John. ‘Wait a minute, I have to write that down and try it,’ teased Ed. ‘With malt in it,’ added John. \‘What else?’ Ed replied.

Ed should have published a recipe book from the sea and elsewhere. It would have made a fortune. No matter what you said to Ed Ricketts you could not shock him. Take the time he told us about a woman he had picked up some place (and there were many women) when he had been drinking his usual rum or beer. Ed always drank rum or beer. He had been in no hurry. Ed said he felt the woman had been suffering all her life, and he helped her. John and I listened to him, unmoved. Ed always expressed himself freely about his sex life. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we made love and if it hadn’t been for me, she would have never discovered that she had a double vagina.’ ‘What?’ said John. ‘Yes, after the first time, I discovered it,’ he said in a very low tone of voice, but yet completely natural.

In a way, Ed was over-idolized, but maybe John made him that way. There is a story a professor told me, that John and Ed treated each other like Greek sisters, and I think in a way they did, if walking arm in arm on a beach makes you a Greek sister. They had this so-called gypsy pact, and they were brothers. Anyone can do that – if they’re rotten drunk. It is open to conjecture, but I believe that although John, with his own brilliant mind, gave so much to Ed, in turn Ed was a father figure to John.

The three of us had many good times together, and you always came out of them learning something from two great minds. In my eyes, Ed was nine feet tall, although he was only five-foot-six. But he had this aura. When he entered the room everyone stopped, turned their head, and asked, ‘Who is that?’ John once told me Ed would make one hell of a politician because he went around patting babies’ heads. He listened to everyone. Ed wanted to know what everyone else was thinking.

About a year after I first met Ed he had been carrying out research and, since he lived on Cannery Row, he said to me, ‘You know, before I die the Cannery will be dead, and we’ll fish out our waters. Every day we’re going out farther, and I’ve studied the waves, tides and fish schools. Every year when I go down to the wharf, the fishermen tell me they had to go out six miles while the year before it was five.’ He predicted the canneries would die and we would fish out ‘the beautiful waters,’ as Ed always called them. The Cannery was dead before he died.

When John and I were married Ed wrote us that the canneries were closing because we had taken so much from the sea and had given nothing back. He felt about the sea as Jacques Cousteau feels, although Ed pre-empted Cousteau by twenty years.

It was an experience to be with a man who took us out in a dune buggy and said, casually, ‘Oh, there’s a paleolithic rock over there and we’ll find some seashells.’ We would look at the rock and he would turn, saying, ‘All this was under the sea once.’ There wasn’t anything you could discuss with Ed Ricketts that he did not know about; he had an understanding of archaeology and geology as well, but his particular knowledge was of marine biology and the sea.

Ed cared little for money. John financed him. Ed’s laboratory did become a sagging enterprise. He did not have the driving desire for fame that John had; he was a philosopher and a scholar, and there was not one single thing that passed him by that Ed did not study. In his makeup he did not have time to stop and fight. Occasionally he might get tight and then would say, if it were a lady, ‘Lady, you’re full of shit!’ When he spoke it was as if Jesus had said it.

Ed was happy for John and me, although he never visited us in New York. Once, he felt let down because John was not allowed, on medical grounds, to go with him on an excursion to the Aleutian chain. I do believe that John was, unbeknown to himself, highly possessive, and this sometimes showed in his relationship with Ed. In many ways, Ed was a man’s man as well as a woman’s man. I never saw him without a drink, yet only saw him drunk twice. From the moment he arose and started the day, he started on beer, and by two in the afternoon he was on rum. John liked that about him.

Sometimes for breakfast, Ed used to go across the street from the Lab to Wing Chong’s and get six cans of beer, a large hunk of cheese and a pineapple pie. Some breakfast! Ed was what he was, and my life was vastly enriched for knowing him. He never spoke much about his family. Ed loved animals, although he put them to sleep and cut them up; that was his living. ‘You can’t make anybody like you who doesn’t like you,’ he once said. How true.He told John and me the story of when he was a young boy and he had a cat that liked to jump on the mantelpiece in his home in Chicago. His father didn’t like the cat, and it knew it. His father had a high wing chair with a lamp beside it, and would there sit and read the evening paper. Each night the cat would get up, turn around and wet all over his father. ‘Every night my father would say he was going to kill that cat tomorrow. I used to hide the cat. He didn’t kill it. You see,’ said Ed, ‘if you give bad feeling you’re going to get it back.”

If something went wrong and someone tried to start a fight when the three of us were together, Ed would simply look up to the ceiling and say, ‘Well, I guess the cat’s about to piss.’ That was the signal – don’t fight, just get out. But Ed had problems always with women or his love life, his wife or his children. He knew how to solve others’ emotional problems, but not his own. He watched the world go by. Ed read constantly, and I have never seen such a magnificent library as his. He had a constant desire and thirst for knowledge.

I am proud that once he said he liked me, because when he was talking about something I didn’t know about, I would say, ‘I honestly, don’t know what you are talking about.’ Said Ed, ‘Most people say, “Oh yes, uh-huh, I think I know what you’re talking about.” Gwyn never does.’ That was a great compliment coming from a man I so admired. He was never condescending. If I would tire, or be busy he would politely ask forgiveness; never would he say, ‘Get lost, you bother me.’ Sometimes he got angry, but I never saw such control in a man, and he always refused to argue; Ed always wanted to debate a problem. ‘You have your point of view, and I have mine,’ he used to say.

When Ed died a horrible death from injuries after being hit and dragged by a train, John went to pieces. He flew from New York to Monterey. After the funeral, he went to Ed’s house and destroyed diaries and letters, including their letters. Why? I believe John thought there is a beauty in the world you just don’t want others to pore over. Ed Ricketts, John and I shared a special relationship, the kind that comes along once in a lifetime. John left a legacy of great writings to the world. His beloved friend Ed left himself.

Below Gwyn's pueblo house in Monterey and Ed Ricketts' lab. Pacific Biological Laboratories

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