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venusstadt · 1 year ago

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Introduction

Hi, and welcome to Venusstadt. I’m Jiana, and this is the final part of a two-part series on globalism and its aesthetics throughout the 90s. Today, I’m discussing 90s globalist conceptions of the future, the most popular of which is definitely Y2K.

In the first part—which I HIGHLY recommend watching—I explained what globalism is and how the interconnectedness from new tech AND the sense of being at the ‘end of history’ led to the emergence of various aesthetics as people looked back at the history of humanity and looked forward to a new age.

During my analysis of these aesthetics I also spoke about cultural appropriation and exchange, as well as how white supremacists appropriated neoclassical aesthetics to be racist towards everyone else and establish themselves as “superior,” “civilized,” or “modern,” which is the perfect segue for this adjacent context I’m about to give.

Minimalism: A Brief Interlude

So, 90s minimalism!

Minimalism was not influenced by globalism by any discernible means, save for those minimalisms that were imported predominantly from Japanese culture and based on Buddhism as a part of the New Age movement and how it trickled into general 90s design philosophies.

Elly Parson of Refinery29 mentions that in the 90s, minimalism was more prominent in high-design spaces like rich people’s homes, hotels, storefronts, and luxury fashion rather than the interiors and wardrobes of the average person (Parson). Still, it’s significant, because when we think of minimalism, we harken back to the 90s since it was a response to maximalism in the 80s as I mentioned at the beginning of the last part.

Minimalism has come back around in fashion and design more recently, which has prompted a look at its origins. So I’m sure a lot of you by now know about Adolf Loos, a prominent modernist architect who is also associated with minimalism, who saw excess ornamentation as “savagery” and saw European modernism as “the ultimate answer to all aesthetic problems” (Chayka). Naturally, because of this, any time people give a cultural or sociological critique of minimalism, his name is involved.

Now, associating any ornamentation with the Other is racist, as are the loaded terms “savage” and “degenerate,” which he uses in his infamous essay Ornamentation and Crime (Loos 20).

In his essay, he also distinguishes art like rugs from things like buildings and furniture, which he views as needing to be firmly utilitarian (Loos 24). To him, any decoration of utilitarian things was a sign of cultural devolution and savagery (20). He advocated for more minimal aesthetics in order to reach a timeless look that could survive as civilization marched on (22).

Much of the language used is eugenics-speak, and goes back to the notion of social degradation that was VERY popular in the early 20th century. This was the idea that non-white people and poor white people could spread their “defectiveness” and therefore needed to be kept from mixing their genes with middle- and upper-class Western white folks for the good of civilization (Eugenics Archive Canada, “Degeneracy”).

From this we also get the concept of cultural degradation, which is basically the same thing, except that it hyper focused on the idea that non-Western and lower-class culture could lead to “lowered standards of education and failures of taste-inculcating institutions,” and, again, the demise of Western culture (Wampole).

So, to further summarize, there was a fear among Western white society that the art, music, and aesthetics of people of color and the poor, aka the cultures of the “Other,” could lead to societal and cultural regression, and thus annihilate Western civilization. And these fears were used to create laws and initiatives to both murder the said “Other” and eradicate their cultures—think, for instance, forced sterilization, the American Indian boarding schools, Henry Ford’s anti-Jazz initiatives, Tom Buchanan’s speech in the Great Gatsby, the Nazis entire existence, every US culture war spat since like, the 60s—you get the picture.

Now, none of this is to say that people are weird eugenicists for liking modernist or minimalist aesthetics. I’m just using this to highlight rhetorics of modernity. As we saw prior, anything ornate or “other” is of the past, while what is “Western” is viewed as progressive, timeless, and more utilitarian.

“Progressive” and “timeless” are the keywords as I move into explaining the next set of aesthetics, which I’m calling the aesthetics of eternity, because that sounds really cool.

Eternity & Anxiety

So in the 90s, the rapidly approaching year 2000 was a big deal, for obvious reasons. A new millennium was on the horizon, which only happens like, once every a thousand years.

Plus it was the end of a technologically accelerated century. The mid-1900s started with inventions like the radio, the car, and the airplane; and by the early- to mid-1990s, people had gotten used to personal computers a la Apple and Microsoft, home video systems, and video game consoles like Atari and Gameboy, on top of previous inventions like photography and film, space rockets, and much, much more (Woollaston).

With all that in mind, people were looking forward to the future, while also being slightly afraid of it, as we see with the Y2K crisis (Wade). This excitement and fear appeared in the future-inspired aesthetics.

Like the global village aesthetics, this section is also split up in two: minimalist eternities and global anxieties.

I use the term minimalist “eternities” for this first portion to bring back the prevalent idea that the less ornamentation or cultural markers there were in design, the more “timeless” it would be.

This is observable in the industrial and sartorial design of a lot of Y2K or the Y2K-esque, like Cyber Corporate or Gen-X Soft Club. These designs are “clean.” They cannot be tied to a specific culture or time-period; it’s like they exist in this vacuous, liminal space. With Cyber Corporate specifically, CARI co-founder Evan Collins notes that it “seemed to be the go-to style to appear contemporary, especially with companies in industries associated with booming fields of the era” (Collins, “Cyber/Gen-X Corporate). And what’s most striking about these images is that they were contemporary and futuristic back then and STILL feel exciting and futuristic now, because of that minimalism.

As you can see, this is intentionally antithetical to the globalist aesthetics, which, because of their multicultural influence, were considered to be of the past.

But obviously the multicultural influence did not disappear altogether. In fact, it in some ways meshed with the futuristic aesthetics. This is especially true when it comes to East Asian cultures, specifically that of Japan.

So, like I said in part one, Western upper- and upper-middle folks were living large in the 1980s (White).

But Japan was also experiencing an economic upswing thanks to their export of tech and cars (White). And, of course, any time a non-Western country starts to have a bit of success, the West gets a bit uneasy. In 1985, Thomas White wrote in the New York Times:

“40 years after the end of World War II, the Japanese are on the move again in one of history’s most brilliant commercial offensives, as they go about dismantling American industry” (White).

Basically, White feared that American economic dominance would be thwarted by Japan due to how much America was importing as opposed to exporting, as well as the rise of companies like Toyota, Sony, Hitachi, Honda, and others (White). These imports especially spelled trouble for the American car industry, which was utterly gutted as people stopped preferring American cars (White).

There was also a fear that Japan’s steady rise would uplift other Asian markets (White). As White states: “Behind Japan (‘the big dragon’ some call it) march the ‘four little dragons’ (Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore) following in its path. And behind loom China and India, desperate as they are to raise their standards of living—at the expense of American standards, if necessary” (White).

The invocation of the dragon is unmistakably Orientalist of course, which brings us to techno-orientalism. With the rise of globalization and interconnectedness that came from it and the aforementioned “need for a new ideology to justify America’s hegemonic status at the end of the Cold War” (Harris) came this new breed of orientalism that was being leveled against Japan and other countries.

The term “techno-orientalism” was first coined by David Morley and Kevin Robins, a portmanteau of technology and Orientalism, which denotes the stereotypical lens by which the West often views the East (Harris). Unlike traditional (Said’s) Orientalism, which relies on stereotypes of the past, techno-orientalism relies on constructions of a future in which the East accomplishes supremacy through technological might (Harris) despite being non-Western and thus “of the past” and “degenerate”. As explained further:

“The techno- of techno-orientalism, then, comes to signal Orientalism’s relationship to economic globalization and to a form of temporal asymmetry: an Asian-ness characterized by the juxtaposition of cultural retrograde with technical hyper-advancement” (Harris).

Now any sort of perceived cultural dominance from a place that is non-Western, as we saw previously in the section about social and cultural degradation, always gives Western countries anxiety. For techno-orientalism, the level of this anxiety honestly depends on where you look, and sometimes it can’t really be described as anxiety but more of your run-of-the-mill cultural appropriation to seem hip or on-trend.

On the actual anxiety side, techno-orientalism is most associated with the cyberpunk genre, which features both technological advancement but is often set in a dystopian world. Now this genre obv. originated in the 80s and not the 90s like some of these other aesthetics, but it remained a prominent mainstay of the 90s and continued into the early 2000s.

For more specific film and storytelling examples of this, see the Japan Takes Over the World page on TV Tropes because I’d really be here all day if I went through all of them. Harris mentions multiple visual hallmarks of the genre, but in this case, these visuals are all unified by being a mix of Asian aesthetics and high-tech milieus. And I don’t believe this was incorporated into general industrial or architectural design, but it was a present in marketing and, to a certain degree, music.

2001: The Global Bubble Bursts

So, what happened to these aesthetics?

Well, like any trend, they faded away thanks to a change in the outside factors that brought them into the spotlight.

For one, in March 2000, the Dot-com bubble burst (Salvucci). This leads to large online companies (like Amazon) losing some of their values and causes smaller online companies to shut down, as well as a slight recession in the early 2000s (Salvucci). I don’t want to go into business and economic jargon so I won’t go too far into this, but think of the Dot-com bubble popping as the 2000s equivalent of the cryptocurrency crash we just had with the collapse of Terra-Luna and FTX. This puts a damper on the whole tech innovation schtick that people had going in the 1990s.

Then the attack on the World Trade Center occurs, which, on top of mounting criticism against globalism in the 90s thanks to the loss of industrial jobs in the U.S., absolutely killed the utopian globalist dream (Schwartz).

These events burst the 90s “cultural bubble” (Williams), and lead many to look back on the decade as frivolous and void of American cultural values.

Writing for the New York Times in November 2001, John Schwartz declared that:

“… the country is experiencing a shift away from the libertarian, individualistic values that were expressed in the celebration of the New Economy and toward more old-fashioned values in the wake of the terrorist attacks” (Schwartz).

This was a direct dig at Gen X, since the 1990s was powered by Gen X’s progressive, entrepreneurial spirits (Gross). We know these individualist values didn’t disappear with 9/11—after all, America was founded on such individualist values, and they would power the rampant Islamophobic sentiment in the wake of the attacks. The ‘libertarian, individualist values’ in question were that, as we know from the original 1990s article that defined them, Gen X were less loyal to specific corporations than they were to the idea that they could job hop and earn more money to support themselves.

Also, not that I’m some tech warrior or anything, but there’s a lot of reference in Schwartz’ article to the leaders of the Dot-com boom being ‘geeks’ and ‘whiz kids.’ Immature high school imagery, of course, but it also alludes to the idea that instead of these geeks winning at capitalism it should be the well-rounded, all-American kids—which, like everything in this video, is a coded concept.

Throughout the 90s, there was a growing nationalist movement in response to globalism, and the people involved were blaming immigration and undocumented immigrants for lost factory jobs that were being outsourced to other countries (Chatzky, McBride, and Sergie). This, along with things like people of color and gay people having rights, was a major factor in the 90s culture wars, the rise in paleo-conservatism, and a desire to “reclaim the United States” that would lead to events like Ruby Ridge and Waco, and then Oklahoma City, and then Columbine, and all the issues we still have today.

After Sept. 11, this nationalist sentiment became more mainstream thanks to the War on Terror. Accordingly, the multicultural and techno-futurist aesthetics of the 90s faded away.

There’s a return of preppy style, which had not been popular since the 1980s—again, a conservative period. This time around the prep style is embodied by stores like Aeropostale and Abercrombie and Fitch, the latter of which relied on images of thin, conventionally attractive models, and all-American (read: white) marketing for its desirability factor (Klayman).

We do see more traditional Orientalist imagery peak in the mid-2000s and fade by the 2010s (Collins, “Millennium Orientalism – Eastern Exoticism”). I don’t know what to make of this: judging by my previous multicultural aesthetic analysis I would call it either some appropriative attempt at peace and anti-war sentiment or at worst super insensitive given that Middle Eastern, South Asian, and Southeast Asian people were being conflated with one another, hate crimed, and labeled terrorists while their cultural aesthetics were being used for funsies. We’d also see some techno-futurist themes in Frutiger Aero (though the techno part was more played down) in line with tech innovations like social media and the launch of the 1st generation iPhone in 2007, but this seems like a nostalgic late Gen-X/Millennial grasp at Y2K.

2020: A Global Re-emergence?

So obviously Y2K is back and has been back for years, though in its current iteration that term refers to a mix of original Y2K, McBling, and some late 2000s stuff we don’t even have a name for yet. The most obvious guess for why these came back is because of the ubiquity of social media websites since they’ve taken over the internet (and because they’ve allowed for such archiving that re-introduced everyone to such aesthetics), especially because of the pandemic.

Evan Collins says that for Global Village Coffeehouse at least, it never came back and never was remembered as part of the general 90s aesthetic. I too thought these global aesthetics would be dead and gone forever since we’re more aware of cultural appropriation nowadays, but someone on TikTok pointed out that now that the U.S. is looking a little not global superpower-ish and other countries and fashion capitals are emerging, there’s a rush of multiculturalism again, at least in the luxury space. So, that could be exciting.

With both aesthetics, I feel like we’re far more skeptical and more culturally aware. There’s not an utter faith in tech or a blithe willingness to borrow from other cultures like there was in the 90s. And though people criticize Gen Z for biting from past aesthetics (as they did with Gen X), I think this is just a side effect of all these cultural materials from the past being available thanks to the Internet and things like the Wayback Machine. As with Gen X, our generation’s main cultural marker is that the interconnectivity and speed we have at our fingertips enables us to run through past aesthetics almost as quickly as we find out about them—but that’s a topic for a future video!

Conclusion

And that’s all I have for this video. I realized towards the end that this was just a big excuse to talk about globalism, but, again understanding culture is important to understanding design aesthetics, so I hope you all learned something from this video that could help you in that respect.

As always, if you enjoyed this video, give it a like and maybe even click the subscribe button below for more. My channel is still new and I’m testing things out, so any feedback would be appreciated. I can also be found on Twitter and Tumblr. Thanks for watching!

Sources

Chatzky, Andrew, James McBride, and Mohammed Aly Sergie. “NAFTA and the USMCA: Weighing the Impact of North American Trade.” Council on Foreign Relations, 1 July 2020, https://www.cfr.org/backgrounder/naftas-economic-impact. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Chayka, Kyle. “The North American Maximalism of Gigi Hadid’s and Drake’s Home Design.” The New Yorker, 5 Aug. 2020, https://www.newyorker.com/culture/dept-of-design/the-north-american-maximalism-of-gigi-hadid-and-drakes-home-design. Accessed 6 April 2023.

Collins, Evan. “Cyber/Gen-X Corporate.” Are.na, https://www.are.na/evan-collins-1522646491/cyber-gen-x-corporate. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Collins, Evan. “Millennium Orientalism – Eastern Exoticism.” Are.na, https://www.are.na/evan-collins-1522646491/millennium-orientalism-eastern-exoticism. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Eugenics Archive Canada – Their website seems to be broken now, but here’s a link. http://eugenicsarchive.ca/

Gross, David M, and Sophronia Scott. “Proceeding With Caution.” Time, 16 July 1990, https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,970634-9,00.html. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Harris, Elif. “Orientalism & Technology: A Primer on the Techno-Orientalism Debate.” Elif Notes, 15 March 2023, https://elifnotes.com/techno-orientalism/. Accessed 14 April 2023.

Klayman, Alison, creator. White Hot: The Rise and Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch. Second Nature, Aliklay Productions, Cinetic Media, and All3Media America, 2022.

Loos, Adolf. “Adolf Loos: Ornamentation and Crime.” George Washington University, https://www2.gwu.edu/~art/Temporary_SL/177/pdfs/Loos.pdf. Accessd 6 April 2023.

Parsons, Elly. “‘90s Interiors Were Eclectic, Fun, & Free. Now They’re Back.” Refinery29, 23 Sept. 2021, https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/90s-interiors-homeware-trend. Accessed 6 April 2023.

Salvucci, Jeremy. “What was the Dot-Com Bubble and Why Did It Burst?” The Street, 12 Jan. 2023, https://www.thestreet.com/dictionary/d/dot-com-bubble-and-burst. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Wade, Grace. “The Y2K Movement: Its History and Resurgence.” Stitch Fashion, 19 June 2018, https://www.stitchfashion.com/home//the-y2k-movement-its-history-and-resurgence. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Wampole, Christy. ��Can Culture Degenerate?” Aeon, 5 Aug. 2021, https://aeon.co/essays/the-idea-of-cultural-degeneration-has-an-unsavoury-pedigree. Accessed 6 April 2023.

White, Thomas. “The Danger from Japan.” The New York Times Magazine, 28 July 1985, https://www.nytimes.com/1985/07/28/magazine/the-danger-from-japan.html. Accessed 14 April 2023.

Williams, Alex. “2001: When the Internet Was, Um, Over?” New York Times, 8 Oct. 2008, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/08/style/dot-com-crash-of-2000.html. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Woollaston, Victoria. “The Best 1980s Gadgets that Defined a Decade.” Pocket-Lint, 20 Feb. 2023, https://www.pocket-lint.com/gadgets/news/147958-12-best-1980s-gadgets-that-defined-a-decade/. Accessed 9 May 2023.

#Youtube #y2k #y2k aesthetic #minimalism #modernism #y2k nostalgia

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paintergoof12 · 8 months ago

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When YN takes control of Battle's body and trys playing stupid games, they get stupid prizes. AKA is an overprotective/ murdery voice in Battle's head. My girl Lily ❤️ 💙 💜

YN and Lily have a very stranded relationship. They both want to help Battle, but in their own ways. Lily was a voice in Battle's head since he could remember (14 years old). And that was because Battle was forced to kill his stalker/kidnapper to survive. Her option for every problem is murder. YN, on the other hand, is a resent addiction to Battle's head and wants to go have him talk to people and find a good support system for him in Welcome Home. They are also a bit selfish in this do to also want to meet and chat with all the neighbors. Why else did you use dark magic to get here?

Battle is a bat with so many things wrong with him because of truma of being stalked by a 17 dude from 12-13 years old, till being kidnapped on your 14th birthday. Then, being headed against his while at the stalker's home for 9 months and when the police finally finds them, stalker trys to force Battle into a trap door under a rug to only end up killing his stalker is self defense...

Not more than 10 seconds later, he hears a woman's voice speak to him. Telling him he did good and that the man deserved it. The first time Battle ever heard Lily speak to him.

Battle had a lot of tharipy and healing he had to go through, but it was thrown out the window when his parents kicked him out around 17 years old because, "He should be over it now." And so he trys his best to survive out in the city, but couldn't. Out of opinions, he sees an ad for Welcome home and takes the risk and moves there.

As Battle moves his stuff in, avoiding the neighbors as much as possible, he begins to feel a shape pain in his head like someone was standing his brain with an ice pick. He ended up passing out from the pain and woke up to You, YN. But just like Lily, only the antisocial bat with trust issues and panic attacks daily can see or hear you.

#welcome home #welcome home puppet show #yn #welcome home oc #reference #oc lore #backstory

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katerinaaqu · 6 months ago

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Aww I know! Although I do cry in movies still animals hit in a new level of deep! 😭😭

I know right?! And in the book the recognition was almost automatic. Argos raised his ears back and wagged his tail as if his master was not gone for 20 years. It was as if he had gone for a walk and came back and Argos was like "hay welcome back! Let's play" attitude. As if Odysseus was never gone for Troy or took another 10 years to come back and even under the spell of a goddess and dressed in rugs. Argos just casually greeted him like he never left!

Awww girl 🫂 I can imagine. Is like losing family for real...it can never go away because you live with that little thing! I can imagine he must have been such a sweet doggo! 🐶

I know I love those ears and the nose! And the tail is also pretty unique as it is almost shaped like a curved sword which helps this little fellow run faster. He does seem indeed like a guy with so much attitude and the way he is so lean and muscular is also amazing. Perfect for the job indeed. In Greek we call this Ελληνικός Ιχνηλατης aka "Greek Tracker"

Oh yeah! 😭 it wouldn't be a hyperbole to say that this dog was indeed the protagonist of emotional damage in the Odyssey and with just a few lyrics of appwarance he left such an impact! For starters it begs the question why would Homer even feel the need to mention this dog? He was the absolute representative of loyalty in the story. In a way he is there to restore some of Odysseus's faith in loyalty. He starts with Eumeus himself and his son but Argos he is now certain loyalty exists he starts to comprehend. Perhaps he even gains some hope that Penelope is still waiting like Argos that they are both loving him still...

Oh yeah not be able to even show sadness for the poor dog definitely strikes too deep! 😢 and yes Argos only feels like his job is done that the master is back that he saw him one last time and he fell back and died...

Yeah Eumeus mentions how the dog later was trained to hunt and was so fast and agile and was hunting hares and wild goats with the hunting trips and all. Oh gosh that is a good point 😨 boy yeah I mean I am surprised how no more people talk about that! Me included! Man yeah they stopped taking care of him and all which would increase his rage for them indeed!

Yeah in a way Argos was always looking towards the entrance like he was crying at the beach on Ogygia staring at the sea and thinking where his home is...

It is isn't it? Interestingly there is another dog by the name of Argos, a hellhound with 100 eyes who was assigned by Hera to guard Io the lover of Zeus whom Zeus transformed into a cow to averse Hera's suspicions. Zeus in order to save Io he sent Hermes to the spot and Hermes being the little bastard that he is, began talking to the dog and basically the dog died because of the psychological mind games Hermes did hahahaha well at least that is one version. Ironically again Hermes is Odysseus's great-grandfather hahahahaha 😆

Sorry back to the sad part.

Oh yeah for real seeing that dog so beaten up by time while he probably remembered a lively pup that was running around must have been so deep! And again parallel with himself as well. How he left Ithaca a younger man with fierce attitude only to come back beaten up, alone and a beggar in his own home after 20 years of hardship.

Greek harehounds are said to have average lifespan of 11-12 years so potentially poor Argos held onto dear life for double his life!

Yeah and Argos was there...he wasn't drowning or violently dying...he was sitting there...and he couldn't get close...he couldn't even touch him...but yeah that poor baby was just happy to see him...😭😭😭

Yeah finally able to rest poor baby...and he was happy...finally happy...

Yeah because the mind doubts even if the heart knows but Argos had no doubt whatsoever.

Yeah 😭 😭 😭 😭 he was staying alive only to greet him again home!

Awww girl! 🫂 I am sorry it was too short but still couldn't help it! 😢 🐶

Yeah like giving the final goodbye but yes unfortunately I imagined the body would no longer be there...

Oh man for real he would he way over 100 in dog years and man poor baby did wait...a lot! And yeah Odysseus feeling guilty again for the circumstances and all but yeah he thought of it as logical that he wouldn't be there but he hoped till the last moment. And yeah I would assume that he would feel conflicted that he was spared the bad sight of death to the poor dog. But of course not actually seeing him again and have again no body to mourn still hurts deep

Awwww thanks dear and indeed he just wants to be strong and smile for his good boy so he cries the loss but tries to stay strong for him as well in a way and yeah poor Argos will have to wait for a bit longer

Awww thanks! Olive is for eternity and divinity of course but I wanted it to be special so I thought he would bring one from his special tree for his companion! Aww thanks! I was inspired by my grandmother's dog who loved munching dry apricots. That dog was also so clever ans when my grandmother died that poor old lady didn't take it and in a few days she also died...so in a way I wanted to memorize that here.😢❤️

Aww it so is indeed! He has to move on but it is so painful indeed especially with the memories and all!

Girl you are so sweet as always! Thank you so much! 💓

If you bawled your eyes out at Hachiko perhaps you are not ready for Argos 😭😭

Argos (a small analysis) + after note story

So we all know that Odysseus lost more than 600 of his shipmates in total (both at war but most of all to his fateful trip to return to Ithaca) but I believe we must talk more of one last loss Odysseus suffered and that was at his own home; the loss of probably his most loyal companion who recognized him unconditionally even under the spell of Athena; his loyal Dog Argos.

The Dog:

Argos was Odysseus's loyal hound. The dog has been identified by some other brilliant Tumblr writers such as @pelideswhore as a Greek/Hellenic Hare Hound:

A midium-sized ancient dog breed that has been used for millennias in Greece (and after the spread of hellenic culture by the colonies and Alexander the Great etc in most Balkans) as a hound and a tracking dog. These dogs are known for their exceeding loyalty, playful energetic temperament and unique personality.

In the Odyssey:

Argos appears only once in the Odyssey (Hom.17) and that is when Odysseus enters the gates of the palace he notices an old dog covered in flees and parasites at the gates of the palace. The recognition is mutual and immediate. Argos who waited for more than 20 years for his master who raised him from puppy no longer has the strength to move but slowly pushes his ears back and wags his tail softly. Odysseus on the other hand feels his eyes tear up and yet he has to wipe them and hide himself so Eymeus won't recognize him. He has to pretend again that he doesn't know and he has to walk past his most loyal friend. Argos on the other hand just leans back and dies on the spot for he has now the delight of seeing his master back home and now he can die in peace...

We get very little information on Argos story but we know that Odysseus raised him from pup but he didn't have much time to have joy with him ("ουδ' απόνητο" = he didn't use him, he didn't hunt with him) but Eumeus mentions how there was no quicker dog in hunting so in a way Argos at some point did hunt with the younger generation but eventually probably the dog grew older and more and more depressed. When Odysseus was pronounced dead by many the slave women neglected him and bore no respect for him anymore and so Argos withers away but keeps waiting for his master.

Interestingly the term of "use" here is απόνητο which seems to have the hidden essence of "pain" since πόνος stands for "pain" in Greek. So in a way the ουδ' απόνητο might as well have the hidden meaning "not without pain". In a way the dog is not without pain if anything his pain seems to reflect his master.

The name:

In regards to the name "Argos" stands for "swift" or "quick" in homeric Greek (which could be indicative on the dog's speed) but as some people tend to suggest in their headcannons it seems to be an indirect mention of "Argo" the legendary ship that went for the Golden Fleece. Odysseus is linked to the ship in more than one way;

According to some versions, his father Laërtes was one of the men who took part to the legendary quest as an Argonaut

One other member of the Argonauts was the legendary Heracles who, according to some myths, was linked to his grandfather, Autolycus who taught him how to wrestle.

Quite frankly both versions seem possible or if anything they are not mutually exclusive. Maybe the dog's swiftness was also a reason for Odysseus to link him to that ship.

The tragic importance of Argos:

The scene is probably the last death linked to Odysseus and the last death to affect him. Argos is also the first actual living proof that Odysseus gets for the consequences of the passage of time in such a brutal way. Yes he did see Eumeus and heard his tragic story but Argos is basically giving Odysseus the perspective of time; for him 20 years were a lifetime but for his dog it was double as such.

Odysseus faced someone who by perspective endured longer than what he did.

The death is also the slowest and most tragic he had to face; his comrades died violently and swiftly. Argos was there. Odysseus had the chance to say goodbye at least to ONE FRIEND before death and at that moment he was unable to. He had to pretend he didn't know him and he could not say goodbye to him. And yet Argos DIDN'T CARE!

To Argos it didn't matter that Odysseus had to pretend he didn't know him. He was unconditionally happy to see him again, so much that he totally just finally allowed himself to die after finishing his duty and greeting his master back home.

The ending of his life is also described abruptly and simply by Homer

"But alas, Argos received the fate of black death the moment he saw Odysseus upon the 20th year" aka "Death claimed Argos the moment he saw Odysseus again after 20 years). In a way the dog's death is the opposite of his life (his life was long and tormented but his end was swift, simple, happy and sweet)

Argos is an excellent parallel with Telemachus too in order to show how the heart is the one who recognized Odysseus and not eyes or mind. Argos knew Odysseus more than Telemachus due to the fact that he was raised by him but Argos didn't spend so much time with him either and yet he recognized him and welcomed him even under the disguise. Telemachus's first instict was that his brain doubted when he saw his father without a disguise before he was convinced. Argos knew...he always knew.

Odysseus was recognized for the last time by someone else before entering the palace as a beggar aka as a nobody again as someone without identity until he was recognized again by his old nurse.

Argos is in a way a parallel to Anticlea. Anticlea withered and died by waiting. Argos seemed to have gained strength by hope to see his master again for he endured for a life that was already almost double than most dogs and also this death Odysseus was on time to witness. Unlike Anticlea who died before Odysseus could be there in her final moments, he was there for Argos

Argos is yet another death that Odysseus was not allowed by circumstances to mourn.

A tribute to Argos

Odysseus walked slowly outside the door of the palace. After the day he finally spent to his home and the preparation of everything to visit his old father Laërtes, he knew there was something else he had to do...something he believed he owed to a friend. His heart clenched as he walked out of the walls. His sad smile failed. There was nothing there.

That spot he was staring now was the last resting place of one of his friends he never thought to see again; his loyal Argos. Argos had waited for him for two decades; more than double his lifetime and Odysseus couldn't even hug him one last time; If only he could! Even if he was covered in flees. Even if the dog was in terrible condition...he deserved it. And yet he couldn't.

However now there was nothing there.

Odysseus sighed. He had expected that. He had spent at least two days in the palace before he got his revenge. Who would have left a dead dog out there for so long? Odysseus was prepared to face the terrible sight of a corpse full of maggots and flies but apparently he was spared that last horror. He was both sad and grateful for that.

He fell to his knees and touched the spot where the loyal dog met his end and finally he let his tears fall for one last time for real this time.

"Forgive me, boy..." he whispered, "you waited so long..."

He wiped away his tears and forced a sad smile on his lips.

"We could have done so much together, my friend...alas fate had other plans... Perhaps we will get our chance in another life...maybe we can hunt together in the underworld..."

He placed a small lily flower and an olive branch from the tree in his room to the spot. He then left there a dried apricot; it was Argos's favorite snack he remembered.

"Forgive me my boy...you will have to wait for a bit longer...perhaps... Perhaps I will see you waiting for me when Argophontes brings me down the bitter river as a dead soul..."

He heard someone calling him. Yes, it was about time to go and pay his respects to the last person waiting for him...

He stood back to his feet

He slowly walked away.

#odysseus #argos #greek mythology #the odyssey

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redwinterroses · 3 years ago

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CCs Welcome to Interact. I know you're just another flavor of strange and if you're on this site, you know what you're getting into.

Welcome, welcome, welcome! Pull up a stair with item frames on the sides, here's a mug of hot cocoa with a dash of regen, and allow me to provide you with as much Hermitcraft, Empires, MCC, and 3rd Life content as you desire.

Also, under this rug cut you will find a trapdoor to a secret room master post of my fics. I've got a reputation for angst (...deserved, probably) but I can do fluff too! Sometimes! Ish!

Anyway, welcome!

((I also take requests for drabbles and fics; sometimes they're slow in coming, but feel free to drop prompts in my asks -- anon is always on. ❤))

MCYT/Minecraft writing challenge here!

You can find my original content:

On AO3 as RedWinterRoses:

Everything Turns to Gold: an epic fantasy Empires fic featuring winged!Scott, attempting to escape fate, lots of angst, and a hero!Jimmy arc. <3

Making Amends. And Soup: a short sick!fic featuring Pearl and Impulse.

it could have at least been sunny: Ren's birthday comes while they're stuck in the Last Life death world.

another hero, another mindless crime: Grian’s 3rd Life brainchild has been hijacked and the players locked in a never-ending cycle of three lives. (angst leading to hurt/comfort)

Nothing Gold Can Stay: alternate 3rd life ending where Ren and Martyn are the final two survivors. h/c but the comfort is more for the reader than the characters.

The Widow's Revenge: Answers the question: But What If Scott Went Feral? As a Treat?

Follow Me Home: Orpheus and Euridice but it's 3rd Life Dogwarts.

The Last Night: The three people who experienced Scott’s final death in 3rd Life… and the one who was waiting for him after. (mostly angst, with a hurt/comfort ending)

baby’s a red: Ren gave Martyn a choice… what if someone else had the same idea? aka: I was feeling Etho emotions. (nothing but angst)

earthbound: oneshot – 3rd Life Grian misses his wings. (not really angst but kinda)

Immersive Hermitcraft: a collection of verbal paintings with ambient soundtracks placing you in the Hermitcraft universe.

Broken Red Line: Zedaph is trapped, Tango and Impulse rush to free him. (angst with solid hurt/comfort ending)

The Wild Hunt: a tale of gods and legends and the Wolf King and his Wild Hunt. (...i don't know what genre this is. abstract. folklore.)

Bloodstone AU: Hunger: Mumbo's a vampire trying not to kill things. It's difficult. And now Pearl knows about it.

Puppet Show: a drabblet playing with the corrupted!Jimmy concept in Empires.

Sweet Dreams: Impulse has a Bad Time but Friends Are Good and also Cleo Doesn't Put Up With Nonsense. (hurt/comfort but mostly comfort)

Here on this blog under the tag #redwinterwrites:

Untitled Etho and Bdubs 3rd Life h/c drabble

a request for an alternate ending where Scar wins 3rd Life (solid angst)

Fixed Point (original): Ren and Martyn chill at Dogwarts (no hurt only comfort)

A requested epilogue to Broken Red Line (ZIT being friends your honor)

Untitled Martyn and Ren, MCC15 Purple Pandas reunion. (pure fluff! I CAN write it!)

Insanely angsty Flower Kingdom zombie au shulkerbox ficlet

All 64-word stackfics -- various fandoms and perspectives

AudioFics

audio version of The Last Night

audio version of The Wild Hunt

#redwintertalks #redwinterwrites #seriously i can't keep up with all the new followers y'all are lovely beans please enjoy your stay

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skamamoroma · 3 years ago

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I Promised You The Moon - Episode 1 Thoughts - aka did John Hughes direct this and not tell us?

Oh I had to wait so long today to see episode 1 as I was working but I am so very happy I waited till I was in bed and with a cup of tea... which I then cried into four times. So that’s where I’m at. This is going to be long, I’m not even sorry in the slightest!

For ITSAY, I made so many posts about this show and how moving and beautiful it was, how the symbolism and writing was exceptional, how the music was absolutely incredible and how much I adored BK and PP’s chemistry. P’Boss’ work is special and the feel of Part 1 was a delicious kind of awkward, indie movie full of metaphors, fraught pain and emotion and pretty breathtaking storytelling of love and growth. I fell absolutely in love with Teh and Oh and their story, obsessed with Teh as a character (as I see a lot of myself in him and I love when he spirals) and I just felt utterly moved by the whole show. So I never needed Part 2. Part 1, for me, is perfect. And I certainly didn’t expect to love Part 2 as much or feel as much emotion because I just thought it wouldn’t be possible especially with a change of director and city and storyline... but I genuinely think that was a good idea after seeing Episode 1.

I just finished it and I’m kinda tear stained and the first thing I couldn’t get out of my head was just how much it reminds me of the late dear John Hughes movies from the 80s. Those of you who are a little old like me born right at the beginning of the 90s, will have been brought up on those movies filled with 80s synth music, stories of growing up, artsy camera work and filled with colour and emotion. Those movies are some of my all time favourites and I absolutely felt their influence on Episode 1 and maybe the rest of the season, I don’t know! I really wonder if P’Meen used them or was aware, hahaha. Anyway...!

But first off, I cannot, and I mean CANNOT handle the music. Part 1 really did floor me with the use of the score and how it was such a huge part of the reason it was so beautiful. Phuket Dreams has me in tears about 3 notes in... so cue me crying at the remixes of the old score with 80s synth sounds and almost Dream Pop echoy sounds. That right there is my jam, my absolute favourite music and the way IPYTM is so clearly going to be full of it makes my heart very happy. Especially those last scenes with Oh, that sweeping 80s style music taking him from heartbroken pain to dancing to forget had John Hughes all over it and just felt so impactful. So I will bang on every week about the music I’m sure.

As for the beginning and the casual buying of condoms (yesssss god damn Nadao, thank you for safe sex lessons for LGBT+ youth and a nod to actual sexual expression, I’m mega proud) leading into the way Hoon and Suri were involved (they didn’t give me Tuty 😭) in transferring Teh, it felt like such a gorgeous transfer from ITSAY vibes to IPYTM... watching Teh’s mamma so proud, Hoon watching over him as always and then gently leading into the first moment that made me cry...

How dare they put a remix of the old score over Teh being told by his mamma that she accepts him as he is so casually and softly, in a way that not only lets Teh know he’s loved but welcomes Oh as someone she cares about deeply and is happy being someone her son loves. It was beautifully done and I couldn’t help but think of Teh’s teary face on the Cape at the end of Episode 5 and thinking how proud I am of him. The way Hoon stroked his hair - help.

Teh. Now I made no secret of the fact that I loved every moment of watching Teh go through it in Part 1, how his very physicality and struggle played out especially him writhing all over his rug! But we had to see him grow. He isn’t the same boy he was but he still feels like Teh, just a little more comfortable, a little more mature in some ways and just READY for life. He feels tentative but also prepared to grow more and I just adore him. Oh, on the other hand, the one who was much more secure in himself in terms of his self and sexuality in Part 1 is now absolutely thrown into the unknown and isn’t handling it well.

Oh was established so beautifully as a Phuket boy. His name is rooted in his home, he lives in shorts and by the sea, he’s shaped by that place and what it means to him... his signature scent is coconut! He literally embodies Phuket... so it doesn’t in any way surprise me that we are watching him flounder and feel lost. It feels so human and so many moments felt so moving. When he told Teh that the best part of his day was seeing him, when he imagined the waves on his mind, when he listened to his mamma talk about the coastal weather... it’s hardly surprising that he cried as he was asked to explain his name. That was the second moment that got me. I was a wreck. Watching him break down and fall to pieces infront of total strangers just because he was recounting the meaning of his name, the foundation of who he is, the thing he misses to very much... he doesn’t fit, he doesn’t feel at home and he didn’t feel himself. It was beautifully done, for me. I caught my breath the second he started crying because it was so utterly human and raw. I have felt the way he does and recognised every second on his face. PP has come so so far with his acting.

Then we get the mention of Yongjian. NOW SOMEONE TELL ME IS THAT TEH AS YONGJIAN IN THE TITLES? If so, how dare they spoil it?! I am going to weep uncontrollably if Teh gets his dream. But the way Teh spoke of their future, the way he tried to recreate their past with Yongjian’s speech. Their entire history as friends and boyfriends is rooted in that story, that character, the idea of being Male protagonists... and Teh is so sure of their future. Also, you cannot also avoid the meta of it all with BK and PP. That moment and their words felt so personal to them too and their own real lives!

Do not even start with how their first kiss in Phuket was underwater and arguably their first kiss in Bangkok is the same albeit in public. DO NOT LET ME THINK ABOUT THIS TOO MUCH.

The issue is that, Part 1 set out for us how they ended up where they are. Oh fell into acting, it was never his dream from the start. Then it all became a fight, a thing to win from his rival and in the end a thing to prove. We haven’t really ever see Oh show a passion for the stage and acting, not really. He worked so hard to get his place in Uni but there’s so much irony at play. Their entire story of rivalry has actually caused this current situation. Oh “won” the coveted Uni spot (helped in part by Teh) and Teh “lost” and was making do. But we see how that’s not how life goes. Oh never really felt he knew what he wanted and so he just ploughed on. He’s now in a situation where he has to start deciding, has to be his own person and he’s just... lost. I can’t wait to see him find it whatever it may be! The difference with Teh is that he may not have got his number 1 desire but his passion is ENOUGH. He loves what he’s doing and that moment where Khim (is that her name, I forget now, it’s so late, but Goy’s character) was explaining the lights was gorgeous. Teh’s passion was ignited, you could see that “oh wow” moment... and you can see the difference in how they’re going to progress, Teh didn’t need the top Uni because his passion can carry him and will help him succeed whereas Oh doesn’t know what his passion is and perhaps he’s where he is for the wrong reasons after all. The story telling is lovely to me, if completely heartbreaking.

The tears came again at “but I’ve already given so much of our time to other people”. Oh the tears. The boat scene from ITSAY is my favourite scene of the show and that line is one of the most beautiful bits of writing I’ve encountered for a long while... and to see Teh use it and remember it and effectively set out the issue they’re facing was heartbreaking. They made that promise on the boat and they’re breaking it. Oh-aew is trying to be what he thinks Teh needs and Teh is wide eyed and filled with this new world and getting to indulge his passions. They’re both so human and both trying the best way they know but they’re so young and so unsure and have so little life experience that they don’t know how to be adults or how to manage all of this stuff. They know they care and love and are each other’s person but they have such a lot to learn.

So the introduction of Q and the boys... and let me say they’re glorious... feels both beautiful and tragic because they look like they will be accepting and also potentially LGBT+ themselves or maybe Q (I see your gorgeous painted nails, sweetheart and the way you didn’t question Oh saying “partner” for a second)... but also they’re what Oh is using to fill the time he promised to Teh. It’s not Oh’s fault. He deserves friendship and a world of his own too but he was relying so much on the familiarity of Teh and Teh’s presence to keep him grounded and comfortable but he can’t do that all the time. He is trying so hard to be good and thoughtful and kind that he’s not telling Teh the truth. He’s doing what he said he wouldn’t do on the boat, but we can’t blame him in the slightest, he’s the sweetest boy.

I have so much to say but I guess that’ll do for now. I really loved the episode. Yes, it’s different but I think I realise now why it needed to be. In a way I’m kinda of happy about it because ITSAY stays sacred!!!! It stays as that beautifully fraught and emotional indie movie of my heart filled with metaphorical depth. It can’t be touched as far as I’m concerned but with IPYTM it feels just as moving, just as emotional, just as impactful but in a different way that reflects maturity. I don’t think it would have worked if it still felt fraught and characterised by ITSAY vibes. They’re not kids, they’re not insecure about who they are anymore in terms of their sexuality and they are moving into adulthood.

I know it’s going to break me. Episode 1 had me genuinely crying into my tea but I also know that it had the potential for its own special brand of symbolism and meaning. We can already see some special moments which seemed to be saying way more than the words themselves like the speech on light and how we see things and the way Oh even used it himself to see a different perspective at the end. That felt really very meaningful. They’re going to need to be able to see different view points as they navigate what will probably be a shit ton of pain! They will need to adjust to the light, to their circumstances to be able to survive and for their bond to be what is important without allowing other stuff to pass into their line of sight. Oh saw nothing. Empty stage, no Teh, not even himself... he opened his eyes too soon. He needs to learn to adjust and learn how to see the world and his place in it so that when he opens his eyes he sees what he desires and has worked for and made for himself rather than emptiness.

The last thing for me is the chemistry. What more can you say other than they’re perfect? They have the most natural, enigmatic, intense and sweet chemistry. They work so beautifully together. They sell even the smallest of moments and they absolutely destroy with emotion. I just feel every second of Teh and Oh’s emotion and that is such a damn skill. Their talent, man.

So I loved it. I am going to be dreaming tearstained in 80s synth music tonight! I can’t wait for the rest to emotionally destroy me a little more.

#ipytm #i promised you the moon #ipytm thoughts #itsay

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years ago

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A Piece of My Soul

Fandom: The Mentalist or rather the Marcus Pike fandom

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN! Artist Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Lots of fluff, but there’s that undercurrent of angst as the reader has been hurt before and made to feel less than important so if that’s too much right now that’s okay!

Summary: Marcus has always known that you protect your art, that it is a reflection of your soul and something you guard after being hurt one too many times. He never expects you to share your sketchbooks with him, assumes he will never have the honour and he’s okay with that because he’s happy to just have you. Until, one day, you show him just how much you trust him.

Notes: For me, I always feel like when I share my art with people they’re very meh about it or they are backhanded or even mean. I’ve not had the best experiences when sharing my sketchbooks or my work with people in my life and the idea of someone being so wholly awestruck just by the trust and openness of sharing something like that gets me. So here we go back on the Marcus Pike train because if I could ever explain what I want in a husband, he’s the man.

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Marcus had known of your love of drawing from the first date. You had been a little shy when he’d asked about your hobbies and interests, when you’d quietly and cautiously told him you liked to draw. When he asked for more detail, the mediums you used, the style you preferred, it had opened you up just a little more, his interest making you preen a little. Although still cautious, gauging his reaction to your answers. It had been like seeing a part of your soul that you kept hidden from people, it had made him simultaneously proud and angry.

Proud because you trusted him, from that first moment, to take you seriously, to listen to your interests and passions and not dismiss them. Angry because at some point, at some time, it was clear someone had dismissed you, made you feel like you weren’t worth listening to, weren’t worth investing time in. It was maddening to think that anyone could make you feel like that, like anyone couldn’t see your worth.

It was baffling because he found you captivating in all your passions and quirks. The way you ranted and rambled on for minutes, sometimes even hours, about something you were passionate about, never failed to draw him to you like a moth to the proverbial flame. The way you managed to trip over anything and everything, clumsy to a fault, was as endearing as it was concerning and he found himself eager to compensate, to pre-empt you going flying because of a step or a crack in the floor. He found the small things, not just the large things enthralling and enamouring, the concept that anyone might think different was just unfathomable.

So he worked to cultivate that trust, to show you that he was interested in you and all the things that made you up. He listened when you talked, never told you he was bored or showed a shred of disinterest. He remembered things you mentioned or were interested in, brought you books on the subject or sent you a link to an article he’d seen.

Watching the way that trust bloomed, the way you opened your heart and soul up to him in little pieces was nothing short of amazing. Still, he knew your art was precious to you, a piece of your soul. Your interests, desires, thoughts, opinions, and preferences are all laid out in pages and pages of thick white paper and red pencil marks. He never pushed it, never asked to see what you were working on or to show him your art, not because he wasn’t interested but because he respected the intimacy of it. You were not some famous painter who put their work on display for the world to see and scrutinise. You were just you, just someone who used art as a form of stress relief and self-expression, someone who guarded their work like they guarded their heart.

So the little trickles of your soul that you shared with him were enough, it didn’t matter if you showed him it all or only select pieces, anything was enough to tell him you cared, that you trusted him, that you wanted his approval. Not because you needed him to give it, not because he was that fundamental or important, but because recognition from him made you smile, made you feel important. You were important whether he liked your work or not.

He still remembers the excitement you exuded, happiness blinding and bright and so brilliant, when you’d finished a new painting and bounded to show him. You’d bundled it up safe and made the drive to his house, rushing up the steps so quick, he’d heard you trip before he heard you knock.

You’d been bouncing on the balls of your feet, painting kept within a folder, nondescript, the sort you kept your certificates in. The wide grin on your face, the shine of your teeth, and crinkles at your eyes had him smiling the moment he opened the door to you, leaning a shoulder against the door frame to watch you adoringly.

“I finished it! It only took me 20 hours but I finally finished it!” You’d rushed inside, pulling him by the arm so fast he had to laugh as he nearly tripped over his own rug. You’d been so excited and so proud as you’d sat him on his couch and carefully pulled the A4 piece of watercolour paper from the folder, plain back to him.

He’d been patient, watching you with the softest of smiles as your eyes flicked back and forth between him, sat with hands clasped between his thighs, elbows on his knees, and your painting. As you grappled with the gravity of showing him a piece of your soul and not knowing how he’d respond, how he’d behave. Patience was the least he could think to give you, and it had brought the best sort of ache to his chest when you’d shyly turned the painting around to show him.

20 hours of work and you looked away, eyes focusing on a plant he had in the corner of his living room rather than on his expression or what he might think. You’d been so nervous to show him and he’d taken the time to truly look at your painting. The colours, the composition, the subject, it didn’t ultimately matter to him whether he truly liked it or not, although he did, because he’d love it anyway. He’d love it anyway because you’d chosen to share it with him, when you were oh so private and careful with your art.

“Sweetheart…” You’d been prepared for rejection, to face the fact that your boyfriend didn’t like your painting, your art, that it was something you just shouldn’t share with him in the future. “It’s amazing! 20 hours? Can I?” He’d gestured to take it, to hold it and get a better look and you’d let him, a little stunned, but overjoyed that he liked it, that he wanted to look at it.

That had been the starting point for you sharing more little bits of your soul with him. You’d bring him finished paintings to look at, occasionally the odd doodle here or there that you completed at work. Not everything, and never your sketchbooks. Those were off limits, something he’d respected because he knew they were more than just a tiny piece of who you were, but quite a large one. Pages and pages of you sat for perusal and to have that rejected would hurt more than anything. So Marcus had been grateful for what little pieces of your art you did choose to share with him.

He’d always made it a point to show how much he liked your art, to shower you in praise and to make you feel listened to, seen, important. Your art was amazing to him. He was an art history major, he loved art, hence his job, but he wasn’t an artist. He’d never had the patience to sit and develop the skill set and so he focused on the work of others, yours was quickly becoming his favourite. You had your own unique style, something he found hard to describe or explain, but that he’d know if he saw your work. He’s almost certain he’d know if someone tried to pass a fake off as your own and if anyone asked who his favourite artist was he’d probably change his answer to you.

Still, he had hoped that one day you’d share that last bit of yourself with him. He hadn’t expected to actually happen, just a hope, a little dream, something he thought about at night before falling asleep.

Certainly not something he expects on date night.

He’s cooking dinner for the two of you, your favourite main and dessert, because he hasn’t had the chance to see you in a good week due to a hectic case, when he hears the tell tell sound of keys in the front door. He’d long since given you your own, letting you come and go as you please, with the excuse that when he was away on a case it meant you could keep an eye on the place and make sure he didn’t get robbed. In truth he liked having you around, liked that you came over just because you wanted to, that you felt welcome and at home and if he wasn’t so dead set on not scaring you off, he might have already asked you to move in. But, he wanted to take his time, not rush it.

“Marcus?”

“In the kitchen, honey!” He’s wiping down the side quickly, hiding the fact he’s a messy cook, when you walk in a heavy looking tote bag over one shoulder. It peaks his interest and from the little laugh you let out you can see it on his face.

“Are you busy?”

“No, it needs a good half hour before I have to check it again, why?” You watch him wipe his hands with a towel and brush at a small stain on his white t-shirt, the one that clings to his arms just right.

You're nervous, you know he can tell from the way your hands grip the bag straps tight over one shoulder to how you bite your bottom lip. He’s always been able to tell. One of the beautiful things about Marcus was the attention he gave to people, not just people he cared about, but people in general. He learnt everything he could about them, stored it away in his mind, and used it to show them how much he cared, how much he knew them, really knew them.

“I...I want to show you something.”

You grab him by the hand, the same way you always do whenever you want to share something, and begin pulling him towards his living room. It’s cosy in here at this time of night, warm light from a couple of lamps, soft blankets thrown over his couch, the ones he’d brought after realising how much you loved a good blanket. It’s a calming thing, to be in here, with him, somewhere you associate with home.

It often seems so silly to you, just how nervous you get about sharing something with Marcus, but you know it’s not. Know it’s not his fault either. Marcus has never given you any reason to doubt him, but other people have, so you push past the nerves because you do really want to show him and watch his face light up like it always does.

You sit him down in his seat, and curl up next to him, kicking your shoes off and placing the bag on the ground. He’s so warm and for a moment you just lean into his side, enjoying the warmth of his body and the way he nuzzles a kiss into your temple, nose tracing little lines gently for a moment. He brings you peace and it is that, that gives you resolve and has you reaching down for the items in the bag.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that Marcus places his hands at your waist, worried you might take a tumble off the couch, something you’re prone to. It warms you inside, that he cares so much, that he’s so casual with his affection and so concerned with you and your safety. Even something as simple as making sure he can catch you if you start to fall.

You come back up with a couple of books in hand, plastered with stickers over the front and a little dogeared at the corners. Marcus doesn’t remove his hands from your waist, just pulls you firmly back against his side and watches as you anxiously smooth your hands over the cover of one of them.

“I..I wanted to show you my sketchbooks, or well...the two most recent ones anyway. I...I don’t really show people them...but I want you to see them.” Your eyes are so wide and earnest when you look up at him, that he can’t help but cup your cheek in his hand and rub his thumb across the apple of it. God, he never thought...he never thought you would. Always thought you’d keep this little part of yourself private, separate, guarding it like a dragon guards a horde of gold. But, here you are, so earnest, so nervous, so open, telling him that you want to share this piece of your soul with him and he can’t stop himself from pressing his forehead against yours. Can’t stop himself from the gentle nudge of his nose with yours or the slow press of his lips against your own.

It’s a surprising reaction from Marcus, the way his nose presses into your cheek as he presses a firm but still tender kiss to your lips, the way his hand slides down to cup underneath your jaw, thumb pressing into the hollow there. It’s so surprising that it distracts you for more than a moment, to the point your eyelids take a little bit of time to flutter open after he breaks away, you leaning further into him.

“What...what was that for?”

“For trusting me.” He’s so warm and earnest, but still, he’s patient. He doesn’t grab for the books or open them himself, instead he waits for you to pull back and pick one up, settling it between the two of you.

He waits as you find the courage to open the cover and turn to the first page and every breath leaves him at what he finds there. It is a sketchbook and so it is messy, that’s the nature of it, it is practice and experimentation and you enjoying yourself, and it’s so clear, as each page turns, that this is you in book form.

Each page is either a confirmation of a fact he already knew about you or a new discovery. It tells him little things like how you prefer to draw certain subjects and the colours you lean towards when you reach for markers or coloured pencils. He’s reverent in the way his fingertips brush the paper and trace over the lines, in awe of the way your hands have worked in tune with your mind to put these things to paper and he can’t actually help the tears that start to well up in his eyes. Because you trust him so much, you’re opening the last part of your soul up to him with only a hope that he will not crush it or throw it back at you, that he will not abuse it.

“Baby, why are you crying?” You’re so concerned for him, hands pawing at his cheeks, brushing the rivulets away and cupping his jaw to make him look at you. Brown eyes watery but so happy, so in love and he hopes that you can see that, see how desperately he loves you. “Are you okay? Did...did I do something wrong?”

It hurts him so much to know you assume that you’re at fault. That his tears are bad or that they are a product of you doing something wrong, when they’re a result of just how much he loves you and just how happy he is at the trust and faith you have in him, the love you have for him, that you’ll bare your soul. It’s those moments that make him angry at the people before him. Family, friends, lovers, people who took your trust and crushed it, bent it out of shape and tossed it back malformed and damaged.

“Nooo, no, no, honey. Sweetheart, I'm crying cause I'm happy,” He covers your hands with his own, pulls you impossibly closer, “I’m happy because you trust me enough to show me this and I...I never thought I'd earn that.”

“Oh...well, I love you.”

“I love you too.” It’s said with a laugh, but not at you, the sort of laugh that’s just a bit of a huff of happiness, that comes from being overwhelmingly happy. It’s enough for him that you come to his house, that you share little bits of yourself with him and that you love him enough to do that at all.

While dinner cooks, you keep an eye on the time more than Marcus, he continues to flick through the pages. He comments, sweet little things. How something looks cool or how he likes the colours on a page. Each comment thrills you, fills you to the brim with pride and joy, to the point your cheeks ache from smiling. Perhaps to some people it seems understated, boring, the sort of date night that some would hate, but to the two of you it’s more than just date night. It’s a bonding experience, a sharing one. He feels impossibly lucky to look at your work, to have you there leaning on his shoulder, pressing kisses to his neck, impossibly lucky to have a piece of your soul right there in front of him.

It’s that moment that he knows; you’re it for him. He’s certain. You’re the person he’s going to grow old with, with your sketchbooks in a dedicated bookshelf and he’ll die saying his favourite artist is you.

------------------------------

All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929

Marcus Pike Taglist

@bdavishiddlesbatch

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike/reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #the mentalist reader insert #readerinsert #reader insert #gender neutral reader #artist reader

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ashyblondwaves · 4 years ago

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Gold Dust Part 1 - Welcome Home

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/Vision

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,376

Notes: This one shot is the first in a series of one shots I'll be writing about Wanda and Vision. They'll all be posted here and won't follow any particular order. Since this is my first foray into this pairing, I went with something less about plot and more about the couple just enjoying each other. Aka, this is smut with a tiny bit of world building. Messages are very much appreciated. I'd love to hear from you!

Collection Summary: Shuri was able to successfully extract the Mind Stone from Vision during Infinity War. Despite this, Thanos still managed to get a hold of it and perform the snap. With Wanda gone, Vision is without her for five years. After the events of End Game, Wanda and Vision have been reunited and they’ve started a new life together. Here are snippets of that new life.

You can also read on AO3!

***

The only thing worse than the sound of someone you love screaming in anguish is the sound of nothing at all. For three weeks, that’s all Wanda heard. Endless nothingness as he waited for him. She didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Hurt or in tact. The only thing she knew was the empty space he’d left when he’d kissed her goodbye and walked out the door three weeks ago.

Maybe she was overreacting. She felt deep down he would come home to her, but the more time that passed the harder it was to be certain. The more time that passed, the further away she felt from him. With or without the mind stone, she felt him.

Sparky heard him coming before Wanda did, waking from a deep sleep in the middle of the rug. He ran to Wanda’s bedside, whimpering and shaking. When she finally got out of bed she scooped him up and shook her head at the small dog.

“Some guard dog you are,” she whispered to him as she set him back down and headed for the source of the noise.

She felt this day would come. While he felt far away, he was never out of reach. However, at that moment she was hoping it would have been with some kind of warning.

Maybe mid-morning, after her shower when she could have been fresh faced and alert. Ready to greet him with anything he wanted. Not in the middle of the night like this. Dawn was approaching but wasn’t quite there and Wanda’s body was still heavy with sleep. Her auburn hair in a disheveled ponytail, oversized t-shirt wrinkled and hanging off her shoulder and a taste in her mouth she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

Only it wasn’t her worst enemy fiddling with the lock on the front door downstairs when he could easily phase through it without a sound. Three weeks. She last saw and spoke with her husband three weeks ago, just before he left on a mission with the newly reformed team. They’d all talked about it, keeping the Avengers going, but with Tony gone and Steve living out his golden years in peace, it took time for them all to feel ready. Once it was decided that they would regroup and handle smaller covert missions, Wanda couldn’t join in for a while. As much as she wanted to go with Vision, they both knew it was for the best that she stayed home for the time being. It was far too dangerous for her.

Wanda quickly grabbed for the blue plaid robe on her husband’s side of the closet and shrugged into it, struggling to pull the side closed against her ever swelling belly; the reason why missions weren’t the best idea for her right now. She’d just made it down the steps as Vision opened the door and dropped his bag down at his side. Wanda’s lips quirked up at the corners, breaking out into a full smile as she stepped down the last step.

“Darling!” Vision exclaimed, beaming back at his wife standing before him. “I came home as soon as we’d secured the area and reconvened at the new compound. I didn’t even stay for the debriefing.”

“That explains this…” Wanda laughed, reaching up to touch a smear of dirt on Vision’s forehead. He was still in his human form, not yet far enough into the house to change. It was a discussion they’d had several times over the last few months. No phasing through things outside of the house, and human form while outside. There was only one reason for those rules.

Neighbors.

Since they bought their home, it was a matter of making sure Vision used doors properly and didn’t phase through walls unannounced while maintaining his human facade. They feared the neighbors wouldn’t quite understand the phenomena set before them if given the opportunity and they wanted as much peace as possible in their new neighborhood.

“I hope I didn’t scare you,” Vision began apologetically. He moved forward, hands pressing gently against Wanda’s shoulders, his thumb caressing the exposed skin of her neck. “I just had to come home to see you, no matter the time.”

“You could never scare me, Vis,” Wanda moved a step closer, pressing her hands against his chest and moving down to take his hands. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As Wanda dipped a washcloth in warm water, Vision sat on the edge of the bathtub watching his wife’s ministrations. Delicate yet dangerous hands rung out the water over and over until she was satisfied. His eyes roamed further, back to the exposed neck, the soft swell of her breasts and finally settling on the round belly keeping her a few inches from the sink.

“You’ve grown,” he remarked with a smile.

“I’d watch my words if I were you,” Wanda warned lightly, launching warm droplets of water at him from the end of the washcloth. “You’re treading on a sensitive subject.”

“I just meant to say that you’re beautiful,” Vision returned, summoning Wanda to him. “You’re carrying our boys. How could that possibly be negative?”

“I don’t always feel very beautiful,” Wanda admitted, smiling as Vision’s strong hands enveloped her belly. “I’m off balance, tired, sick…”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Vision said sympathetically, planting a kiss just above her belly button. “Behave, boys,” he whispered. “Your mother is doing brilliant things.”

They’d found out they were pregnant not long after moving into the new house. And when Wanda’s belly started growing larger than normal each week, they weren’t surprised when they were told they were having twins.

Vision had wanted their gender to be a surprise, but Wanda said she could never carry two babies and not have names for either of them. When it was confirmed both babies were boys, they agreed to each name one.

William and Thomas.

Strong hands roamed the expanse of Wanda’s belly, reveling in how just three weeks had changed her body so much. He stopped at the hem of her t-shirt, a puzzled look suddenly crossing his face.

“Have you left any of my clothes for me?” he questioned as he then fiddled with the shirt hem. His shirt. “Is there anything for me to wear to bed?”

A stray piece of hair roamed free from Wanda’s pony tail and dangled in front of her face as she looked down at Vision and smiled.

“I hope not,” she murmured playfully, swiping the warm washcloth across the smear of dirt on Vision’s forehead with one hand while lightly tracing the curve of his jaw with the other. “I’d rather you came to bed without tonight.”

Vision smirked, “I’d like to say the same for you, then.” He toyed with the shirt hem further, coaxing Wanda.

She let the robe fall from her shoulders first, pooling around her feet like a deep puddle. Vision took a moment to take in the sight. His wife, standing before him in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. He’d never tire of seeing her like this. Nearly naked, guard down, waiting for him. In one swift motion, he pulled the t-shirt up and over Wanda’s head.

Large hands quickly moved back to Wanda’s belly. He lightly caressed the growing bump and traced the line at her bellybutton, leaving goosebumps on her skin. His hands never left her body as he traveled upward to cup her breasts in each hand. With a single squeeze Wanda sucked in a breath at the touch.

Vision moved his hands away quickly. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, looking for a source of pain. “Have I hurt you?”

“They’re just a little tender. It’s okay,” Wanda assured him, taking his hands in hers and bringing them back to her breasts. “Gentle, that’s all. But please,” she breathed, “please touch me.”

Vision, now aware of his wife’s discomfort, lightly swept his hands across Wanda’s breasts, making sure his palms just grazed her hard nipples on his way up to gauge her reaction.

Wanda moaned under her husband’s touch. She loved how his warm hands felt over her breasts, his fingertips gently circling her nipples with one hand while the other snaked up to caress her jaw as he urged forward toward his mouth. She happily obliged, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss started easy, both of them slowly enjoying the feeling of the other’s lips. But it soon deepened. Wanda opened her mouth, allowing Vision’s tongue in. He traced her bottom lip with his tongue and gently nipped at it.

“Bedroom?” he breathed against her lips.

She nodded. “Bedroom.”

Hand in hand, Wanda led her husband to the bedroom. All Vision could focus on was the curve of Wanda’s ass moving back and forth with each step. With his free hand, he began to unbutton his shirt, dropping it in a heap in the middle of the hallway.

Once in the bedroom, Wanda turned and pressed her body against Vision.

“Touch me again,” she instructed, pressing a kiss to Vision’s chest.

His hands crept down her body, committing every curve to memory. Though her skin was warm, she was covered in goosebumps. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, silently reminding her that he was truly home. He reached down, hands brushing against her lower back while he made his way down to the waistband of her panties.

“May I?” he asked, rubbing the soft skin under the fabric.

“You may,” Wanda hummed. She moved away just enough to allow Vision to slip the panties down and as she stepped out of them, her hands moved to Vision’s pants.

The button and zipper were undone with ease and there was no time wasted on choreography when he took off the pants and underwear at the same time.

They were entangled in each other in no time; arms wrapped around each other, lips connected and the bed just a few feet away.

Together, they made their way toward it, gently falling down together, Wanda on top of Vision, stifled laughs coming from the pair of them.

“We ruined that attempt at eroticism,” Vision quipped, pushing a stray piece of Wanda’s hair behind her ear. “Let’s try again. Tell me what you need, darling.”

Wanda didn’t miss a beat. “I need your mouth on me.”

“That’s more like it,” Vision growled, moving up closer to the headboard as Wanda climbed up his body.

Wanda’s hands were already holding the headboard, her body hovering over Vision’s face; he wasted no time, starting by planting soft, tender kisses to her inner thigh as he held her hips and pulled her closer and closer to where he needed her to be.

Wanda gasped loudly when Vision’s mouth finally reached her middle. Entranced by his soft lips on her most delicate skin and desperate to feel his mouth on her again after three weeks, she moved down closer. The anticipation had her throbbing, and when his tongue lightly swept between her folds she cried out his name.

Easy movements turned into a steady rhythm between them both. While Vision’s mouth worked in tandem with his tongue, alternating between licking and kissing Wanda’s most sensitive areas, Wanda rolled her hips, ensuring no spot was forgotten.

Vision continued with fervor, inspired by the sounds his wife was making. With each pass his tongue made over her clit, her pitch grew higher and higher and her hips gyrated with purpose.

“Don’t stop,” Wanda panted, gripping the headboard tighter as her hips moved in short circles that grew briefer the closer she came to her orgasm. “I’m there.”

Her body seemingly gave out all at once, her legs shaking as each jolt of her orgasm moved through her. Disjointed moans that fought with heavy breaths tore through the room until they evaporated into the air as her orgasm subsided. Vision continued to lick and suck at her folds stopping only when she gently pushed herself off of him.

“Sensitive now,” she breathed with a laugh, dropping down onto the bed next to him.

Vision joined in with a laugh of his own, turning to look at his rosy cheeked wife, breaths still labored but a smile so big he knew he gave her what she wanted properly.

“Those noises you make when you come are magnificent,” he said, sliding his hand down to caress her belly again. “Those sounds. Your breath hitching. It’s all just... magnificent.”

“Shhh,” Wanda quelled through a smile. “I missed you so much, I just want to feel you near me again.”

“Mmm,” was all Vision said in agreement, settling in close to Wanda.

They lay in silence for what felt like days, just appreciating each other’s company as the sun rose. Vision listened to the gentle cadence of Wanda’s breathing while she played with his hair.

It was only then that Vision realized he was still in human form. Neither of them had given it any thought. They just needed to be with each other. As they lay together, Vision phased back to himself and broke their silence at the same time.

“I’m so glad you weren’t frightened by me returning home at such an awful hour,” he said, running his hand through the stray locks of hair that had fallen from Wanda’s ponytail.

“I’ve been waiting for you every night for three weeks,” Wanda admitted, pressing her hand to Vision’s cheek. “You scared Sparky but as soon as he started barking, I just knew it was you.”

“I scared the guard dog?” Vision laughed. “Or at least that’s what you said he’d be when we picked him out.”

Wanda hid her face in Vision’s chest. “He’s the size of your shoe, Vis. You knew he wasn’t going to be a guard dog.”

“I’m not entirely familiar with the growth rate of dogs,” Vision explained, laughing again as Wanda slapped his arm. “I’ll look into it, though.”

A comfortable silence filled the room, bringing a sense of calm and order to Wanda that she hadn’t felt since Vision left on the mission.

“Welcome Home,” Wanda whispered, unsure if Vision was still awake. She pressed her lips to Vision’s chest and closed her eyes, content once again.

#scarletvision #scarletvision fanfiction #wandavision #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #wanda maximoff #vision #wanda maximoff fanfiction #vision fanfiction #i write shit #fanfiction #gold dust

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of-chaos-and-flame · 4 years ago

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Descendant Of Israphel

Crossposted to AO3 here

(Aka: Yogscast and Dream SMP hyperfixations go brrr and I made a Ranboo headcanon with that. Also I wrote this before yesterday’s “Confrontation.” Stream so if anything in here contradicts that...oops)

Ranboo looked in the mirror, mismatched eyes scanning over every little detail.

Normally he didn’t think much about his other half. His right half presented enough interest that there was little reason to.

He took a tired breath and leaned forward, looking even closer at himself.

His Enderman skin was coarser and thicker than his other half, which was relatively human like, if not for the color. He pulled at his left lip, showing off his teeth. The lips on his ender half formed hardened edges, almost teeth like, and that was not even mentioning the rows of sharp shark-like teeth behind those lips, or the fact that his right jaw could lock on command. That had been an interesting thing to discover. On the other side however, the only real anomaly was his fang-like canines, and even then, many others in the SMP — including the likes of Fundy, Tommy, and Eret — had similar canines. His hands wandered to either of his ears. He had noticed his Ender side seemed to emote purely through his long, hyper-mobile ear. The lack of eyebrows, eye lids, and most lip muscles essentially stoped most normal facial expression in its tracks. Meanwhile, his ear had a large range of motion that seemed entirely dependent on his mood. His left ear, on the other hand, was slightly pointed, but otherwise no more dexterous than a human’s. And that half of his face moved normally too.

He sighed and leaned back.

Recently more and more people had been asking him about his mystery half, either in passing or coming up and demanding answers from him, and it was starting to make him wonder; what was he? He began fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt. Surely he wasn’t the first of his kind. That seemed rather unlikely. His legs moved with out his permission and soon he started to pace the comfort room. He knew what he wasn’t — ghast, demon, some kind of white animal — but he still hadn’t the faintest clue what he was. He and his friends had tried so many different tests, but nothing was working. His hand threaded through his hair anxiously. Aimless experimentation was giving him little answers! There had to be another way! Something that could give him answers! Somewhere that had some kind of information on hand-!

He paused in his pacing.

There was a library in the SMP.

In fact, there were two! But Niki’s was incomplete and probably wouldn’t help much at the moment. Karl’s, on the other hand, might just have the answers he’s looking for! He’s heard small tidbits about it, about its large and varied selection of both history and fiction books. Maybe this library could have something about whatever he is.

With a kick to his step, he quickly finished dressing and started making his way to where he’d been told Karl’s library was, with some help from his memory book, hurrying past anyone he came across with little more than a wave. He felt a little bad for being rude, but he was too excited to give it too much thought.

As he walked into the library, he was completely awestruck. While it wasn’t the biggest build, not by a long shot, it still had a beauty to it that Ranboo greatly appreciated. It had a homely atmosphere that made him feel safe.

He shook himself out of his slight daze. He had work to do.

He quickly set out to read through any books he could find about different monsters and creatures. He didn’t bother with common mobs, having long since ruled those out by now, but perhaps lesser known creatures held the answer? So page after page he poured through, taking notes on anything, anything that may be of use to him.

But, after an hour or so, and a large pile of books, he’d only come up with a hand full of potential options, but none of them really felt right, and there had always been something off about the descriptions, something that wouldn’t match quite right with his left half. He still took note of them, just in case, but he was losing hope of finding any real answers.

Deciding to take a break, he headed over to the fiction section of the library to see if he could find something more relaxing to read. Nothing really caught his eye at first, some stories seemingly based in the history of the SMP, a few cliche romance novels, and a handful of uninspired looking action novels. Then, he stumbled into the far corner of the fiction section. Many of the lanterns were dimmer, or even completely burnt out, and the books were covered lightly in dust, untouched.

He picked up the first book he saw and took a look at it. A simple black cover with the image of a mushroom and a pickaxe crossed over each other with the words “The Blackrock Chronicles” printed in big bold lettering stared back at him. There seemed to be no author listed. Having nothing better to read, he took a seat on the ground and began reading.

He lost himself in the book, in the captivating story of the Enderborn mage and his mushroom loving companion, of their struggle against the men who destroyed their old world, of technology and magic, of love, of loss. It wasn’t long before he finished the book, and found himself hungry for more. He took another off the shelf, another book with no named author, and cracked it open. Book after book he read. He read about a testing facility run by an evil man hellbent on world domination and his dear friend, unaware of the other’s misdeeds. He read about a scientist and his apprentice and their fight to rid themselves of a magical corruption. He read about magic powered by the spilled blood of others, and the people who used it.

Before he knew it, he had read through too many of the books to count, and the late night chills began to seep through his clothes. He got up to leave, not wanting to over stay his welcome more than he already has, and accidentally bumped into the bookshelf, causing a few of the books to come crashing down.

Whilst scrambling to pick them up one caught his eye. The cover seemed to depict the two hero’s of the story, a tall alien and a rugged dwarf, two characters he recognized from some of the other books, with what seems to be the antagonist looming over them in the background. What truly stuck out to him, however, was the antagonist’s appearance. Bleach white skin, lips pulled up into a snarl that shows of his sharp canines, pointed ears, and red, menacing eyes.

Slowly, he picked up the book, and looked it over. Out of all the books he’d read from this section, this was most clearly the oldest. Worn and yellowed pages, cover slightly dented and scuffed up. But it was still in fairly good shape, it didn’t feel like it would fall apart in his hands at the very least. He clutched the book in his hands, careful of the sharp nails on his left hand and the talons on his right. This book cover, this stupid little book cover in a near abandoned part of the fiction section of the library was the closest he’d come to finding what his other half is. How much of this book was likely to be based in reality? The other books from this collection were surely far to fantastical to be real! Then again, the things that have happened in the Dream SMP would probably seem too fantastical to be real to someone outside of it. Maybe there was some truth behind these books. Maybe...

He looked around quickly, finding no one in the library with him. Surely Karl wouldn’t mind if he took this home? It’s a library after all, that’s what it’s for. It’s not like anyone would miss it, if the amount of dust on these books were anything to go off. Quickly, he hid the book away in his inventory, right next to his memory book and the notes he took earlier in the day. Soon enough he was out of the library and on his way back home.

He could have laughed. It was sad, really. He could see more of himself in what was clearly the villain on the cover of this one book than he’d seen in any of the encyclopedic books he dug through. But still, he hoped that perhaps this “Shadow of Israphel” had the answers he was looking for.

#ranboo #mcyt #dream smp #dsmp #the yogscast #yogscast #shadow of israphel #crossover #descendant of israphel

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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The Three Caballeros Ride Again Review!: And Ladies (Ride of the Three Caballeros)

Saludos Amigos! I’m back with yet another comics review! And we’re back on The Ride of the Three Cablleros! Thanks again to WeirdKev27 for commissioning this retrospective. It’s going to get pricey and I greatly appreciate it. PREVIOUSLY ON RIDE OF THE THREE CABLLEROS

In short.. a bunch of short segments of varying quality, a very thirsty Donald hitting on ladies, the first appearance of Panchito and some very good music. A fun time was had by all. Along with a LOT OF drugs by the Disney Animators. The film wasn’t a huge success, but out of the 6 package films, it was a fan faviorite alongside the Mr. Toad and Ichabod movie, and thus was rereleased quite a bit, as well as being one of the first of this era to end up on VHS due to it’s cult popularity. As for Panchito and Jose they’d get plenty of success overseas, with both getting solo series in their respective home countries, Jose himself having just resumed having comics again this year, and being rightfully massive characters. But despite being a hit with fans across the world.. in the US... they were pretty much shoved in the Disney Vault for a few decades. Jose would show up on the Wonderful World of Disney, in it’s various forms, three times after the Three Caballeros while Panchito just vanished aside from reuses of the Three Caballeros footage. Their careers in the US just sorta vanished for a few decades. But as suddenly as they vanished, our boys returned triumphantly. Naturally being the most used out of the duo, Jose would show up for the first time in decades during Mickey Mouseworks, a show full of new late 90′s produced Mickey Mouse shorts, all but two of which would end up being recycled for the much more popular and well loved House of Mouse, which would feature the triumphant return of the Cabs to animation after so long away. We’ll get to that next time, as just a year before the Cabs had already reunited in the pages of Walt Disney’s Comics and Stories in one of Don Rosa’s best loved tales. The Ride of The Three Caballeros was something Don Rosa had wanted to do since he got the job writing Duck Comics in the first place. As he explained in the back of the complete library edition named after this tale, Uncle Keno isn’t the biggest fan of the Donald Theatrical shorts. Having experienced the Carl Barks comics first, and having built his career around them later, he just wasn’t a fan of the goofier, angrier, less nuanced theatrical short Donald, often feeling like he was an entirely different character from the one he loved. And.. honestly he’s not wrong. Both were built for entirely different kinds of comedy: While both did slapstick, Slapstick, along with standard comedy shenanigans, was the main weapon in Shorts Donald’s comedic arsenal. Barksian Donald, while not immune to slapstick, was more like a well built sitcom character: Multi layered, sympathetic when he needs to be, but still having tons of faults to be exploited for laughs and to play off other characters. As a result while I like Donald in the shorts I do prefer Barks version of him, and the shorts Barks did are usually the best of both worlds, combining Donald’s everyman schtick with his slapstick schtick. Of course later cartoons would pick one or the other or combine both, but I do get his point and at the time he wrote this story the only cartoon show starring Donald was.. Quack Pack.. which I can only imagine his reaction to seeing that train wreck.

But as you can probably guess there was one exception and it was The Three Caballeros. Don genuinely enjoys the beautiful music and the wonderful chemistry the three have. So after a trip to Mexico gave him the perfect setting and the fire in his belly to finally do it, he finally wrote the story. And since they weren’t Barksian characters and hadn’t had any other apperances in decade, Don also took a dive into their comics. Since Jose was more of a fancifial freeloader in his comics, Don decided to ignore this characterization and go with his own based on the film: A latin playboy and lounge singer. And i’m okay with him doing that, as unlike say with Marvel and DC when they destroy a character, Disney characters are both more fluid continuity wise and his is still rooted in a version of the character, and he’s fully accepting and apologetic that some fans hate him for this. Also for some damn reason they redesigned Jose at some point in his Brazil to look like this:

This is far from the dumbest comic book costume change i’ve seen, but it’s certainly one of the most lame, as his original outfit is dapper, stylish and fits the Brazilian version of him well. And it’s not like you CAN’T update the classic Disney characters with modern appearances. Quack Pack, which has somehow come up twice in this review, did so great with Donald and Daisy, giving them new clothes and a haircut in Daisy’s case but both still look great. Same with Goofy for Goof Troop who just wore a dad sweater and bow tie, which puts him in the small but significant club of “Bow Tie Wearing Characters who have defined my life” with Opus the Penguin and the 11th Doctor. You can update a classic character’s’s appearance without coming off like...

Which given Jose’s outfit there is horrifyingly similar, says something. Anyways, Rosa had more use for Panchito’s stories, which had him as a cowboy protecting small towns with the help of his trusty steed Senor Martinez. Rosa loved both aspects and thus used them here, with Martinez getting a makeover to fit Rosa’s style better. Rosa is also the one to popularize Panchito’s last name, having found it on a scrap of research, not realizing the character’s last name was not at all widespread and thus giving him a canon one that has stuck to this day, and sighing in relief when he finally got conformation from another fan this name was indeed something Disney had used after loosing his research scrap. So with the two boys characters set, a plot set up and a whole sequence planned we’ll talk about on the way “The Three Caballeros Ride Again!” was born. How good is it? Well join me under the cut and i’ll tell you.

We open in Mexico, specifically near the Barranca Del Cobre, aka The “Copper Canyon” of the Sierra Madre, a natural land formation simlar to the Grand Canyon that Don Rosa saw during his trip and thought would make a great setting. While larger than the Grand Canyon, Rosa figures in his notes it simply isn’t as popular because it’s more isolated than the Grand Canyon and that, combined with it having trees inside distracting from it’s rugged beauty, makes it much harder to build a tourist industry around. The four are headed to El Divisadero, because this comic is determined to kill me with it’s difficult to spell names apparently, where Huey, Dewey or Louie spouts off for no particular reason about the currently being built Chihuahua El Pacifico Railway. Seriously the boys might as well be the security guard from Wayne’s World in this comic, their role for most of their brief page time is just to set up stuff for later. I mean i’m fine with setting up your setting but there are better ways than just spouting off tons of exposition apropos of nothing.

Donald has driven the boys here for a Woodchuck Jamboree. I did actually look into Jamborees, as before this it only had ever come up in one of my favorite movies of all time, Moonrise Kingdom, and mentioned occasionally in the Ducktales Reboot. Jamboree was first used for a worldwide scouting Jamboree but has gone on to mean a huge gathering of scouts, with the Boy Scouts of America having one every four years, so odds are it’s just a big yearly or quarter yearly thing for the woodchucks. Still it would be nice to see a big gathering like this in the series, especially since several of our cast are involved in them, including the possible power trio of Huey, Violet and Boyd, and Della and Launchpad could easily be slotted into the plot as seen in this season’s premiere.. as could Dewey and Louie if they really want to since according to Frank their members.. they just aren’t nearly as invested as their brother, and thus don’t do Woodchuck stuff unless he drags them into it, as seen with “Day of the Only Child” in the series itself. It does make sense: Dewey doesn’t have the survival instinct or patience for camping, and Louie hates effort, the out doors, and doing things for anything but profit. Scouting is all of that. So the boys have driven all this way for the Mexican Jamboree, as they’ve been carefully raising their tarantula Tara, and the Tarantula Breeding Badge is only given out in Mexico, which is plausible: Different branches of a worldwide organization would have different awards and what not in different countries. And Tarantula’s are also native to mexico so that makes sense.. and I want you to apricate that I’m afraid of spiders, not cartoony ones, for instance, this is adorable.

Galvantula4Life. But real life ones or realistic looking ones? Yeah no fuck that. So I had to go to the Wikipedia entry and see several horrifying looking sizeable spiders for this one tiny fact. Your welcome. Tara ends up on Donald’s face with the boys assuming Donald is sad to see her go instead of you know FUCKING TERRIFIED A GIANT SPIDER IS ON HIS FACE. This gag does not work.. but probably because as I said i’m afraid of spiders and this is my nightmare, you little sociopaths.

The boys however worry about what Donald will do for the weekend as they prepare to board the bus to the Jamboree... why it’s meeting in an out of the way town like this I have no idea, but i’d guess plot convince. They realize he has no friends, which Donald shrugs off, and they REALLY shouldn’t say to his face, but ruminate on it once he leaves to do whatever after vaguely talking about friends he had in the past.

I like this scene even though it annoys me a bit: Ilike it because it does set up how Donald really DOSEN’T have any friends in the comics. It’s part of WHY Rosa was drawn to the Cabs: Their one of the few equal relationships donald’s ever had, people who treat him as a partner, in both sense probably, a friend, a true amigo. As the boys point out Scrooge is a monster to him in the comics, paying him 30 cents an hour which I actually put into an inflation calculator to get an accurate read on how little that was by 2020 standards.. and it’s 3 dollars an hour. Hence why I call him a monster, why that bit hasn’t aged well, and why Rosa REALLY, REALLY should’ve retired it. It dosen’t help reading that knowing Disney largely treated Rosa the same way is cringe inducing at best, if not for any fault of his own. It being cringe inducing for an employer horribly mistreating and underpaying his employees though is his fault, he’s a grown ass man, even in the 90′s this had to be a problem, be better.

And yes i’m being hard on Don Rosa but just like with the comics thing, I simply expect better from the man given just how much respect I have for the guy. His art is gorgeous, his research is immaculate, his knowledge of old films is wonderful and his love for them so infectious i’m tempted to seek the ones he’s mentioned in notes out. He’s a truly wonderful guy and one of my faviorite comic writers.. but I have to treat him fairly like I do ANY of my idols. Just to prove that, I love Grant Morrison, especially his run on New X-Men, but a lot of it hasn’t aged well including some of the language and the entire subplot with Emma manipulating Scott into having an affair when he wasn’t in the best mental place and she knew that and was acting as his therapist, and treating that as a regular affair REALLY doesn’t play well nor should it have. I love Al Ewing, with all my heart and soul, but his run on Ultimates, while having some great worldbuilding and a spectacular cast, ultimately wasn’t very good after the first arc. Not terrible but not good. John Aliison, of Scary Go Round and Giant Days fame, while impressive has had plenty of stories I just didn’t like for various reasons and will probably get into some day and some parts of his stories haven’t aged well. It’s the hard but necessary part of being a critic: You have to be objective and see all the parts of a creator’s creation, not just the ones you like and call them out when they screw up. To me being a fan isn’t about just blindly loving something, it’s about knowing WHY you love it and being willing to call out faults while still thoroughly enjoying the work. There’s a fine line between being blindly loyal to someone, which has created Zach Snyder's awful cult of personality that I hate so much, and being an overly critical shithead and I hope I’m straddling that line.

Back on the scene after that filibuster they point out Gladstone, who himself is a monster to me for how he doesn’t lift a finger to help his nephews or cousin, and constnatly flaunts his luck to Donald, and is a bit more than teasing especially since he tried to, you know, steal your house once boys. That’s canon.. that’s a barks story so it’s canon here. You.. You remember that right? He tried to steal your house. And we will be getting to that one next month, just you wait. Finally the Daisy part that annoys me slightly. The boys being sexist.. was sadly the style at the time this story is set, the 1950′s, and thus plays better for me than it does in Ducktales, as their just little boys and don’t know better. Them assuming Girlfriends aren’t like having friends, while accurate though does bother me a bit, but only because the way this story treats Donald’s relationship is PRETTTTTYYYY bad and this sets that up. But we’ll get to that. Thankfully this foreshadowing of terrors to come is quickly forgotten as we get a GENUINELY great two panels of Donald lamenting his lack of friends. It just works really well, selling his loneliness and how isolated he truly feels without any, which while I have friends I can relate to as I only really hang out with on regularly.

This is what I was talking about. While I will point out Rosa’s flaws.. their truly outweighed but his artistic mastery. In just three panels he really has a truly emotional and heartrending scene, and just that one close up among them is all we need to get the true depths of Donald’s loneliness. I can be hard on the guy, but it’s because he’s one of the best there is, best there was, and best there ever will be and thus I hold him to a high standard. But with that we transition to...

Or rather first his boss at the hotel, whose pissed his headliner has skipped out on him again to woo a lady, and while he plans to fire the guy, only isn’t throttling him because he figures one of his “Senorita’s” boyfriends will do that for him. And while I do like Jose as a playboy i’m not really fond of him trying to have sex with someone in a relationship, as it puts both him and the person he’s having an affair with in a really bad light. It does fit the character, I just don’t have to like it. As for this particular Senorita, it turns out her boyfriend is a notorious Bandito and is thankfully out of town. So yes, Jose is essentially acting out Come A Little Bit Closer by Jay and the Americans.

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Naturally just like the song, said Bad Man returns, Alfonso “Gold Hat” Bedoya, a machete wielding baddie who while understandably pissed about another man making time with his girlfriend, is less understandably about to murder Jose. Though unlike the song, Alfonso’s Lady, rather than help Jose, encourages her boyfriend to murder him and clearly has a fetish for cheating on her boyfriend with various men and watching as he kills him which.. Jesus. This is why while I don’t LIKE the idea of Jose hitting on women in a relationship it does work here, as he’s still not nearly as bad as either of these two, so it evens out. Jose escapes with his umbrella but crashes.. right into the back of Donald’s car. Rosa, Alfonso’s lady, encourages him to murder both of them for funsies, and being a brutal thug, Alfonso obliges and shoots at the car. And since, to quote the duck himself, Donald doesn’t like being killed “Even a little”, he books it out of there.

Alfonso doesn’t peruse them though. He’s on the trail of a treasure hunter who has a map to the lost town of Tayopa, which contains untold silver, but before he can do that he has important buisness to get to.

I fucking love that gag and that Rosa snuck more adult gags in there knowing plenty of Duck Fans, such as myself, are grown men, women and others who can handle this sort of thing, while still slippnig it past the kids.

Donald, once the fear’s worn off a bit, starts to wonder WHY he’s running when he’s not the one who pissed off the guy, and ignores Jose’s good point about the fact Alfonso really dosen’t seem like a guy who sees nuance.. until Donald sees a wanted poster for Alphonoso and keeps driving. He eventually gets far enough away to feel safe.. and confront the guy who got him into this mess.

Now kiss. While sadly, they do not, we do get a lovely warm reunion between old pals. Rosa keeps their past vauge as, correctly, he pointed out in his authors notes that the Cabs movie really had no plot, accurate, so instead just vaguely alluded to Donald having known the two in his pre-daisy and boys past and likely had similar adventures to the movie, but adapted more for Rosa’s barksian universe. Jose explains he often finds himself cash poor and thus hits the road to drum up some money, and Mexico is a great place for that as it has plenty of tourist money.

Though as Jose talks about their past we get the most uncomfortable running gag of the story.

While Donald’s paranoia here is played for laughs.. it just.. isn’t all that funny that Donald’s relationship with Daisy in the Rosa canon is apparently sooooo deeply unhealthy that just HEARING about him having a romantic past before him, as Rosa confirmed this was pre-daisy in his notes, causes Donald to panic and worry she actually somehow heard this. It just isn’t funny.. it speaks of MASSIVE relationship issues and some form of domestic abuse on Rosa!Daisy’s part. It’s stuff like this why there’s only a handful of Donsy relationships I like: Her treating him like shit is reduced to a punchline, instead of being used for character growth. It’s also why I’m deeply dreading covering “Legend of the Three Cablleros” at the end of this retrospective. I just don’t like when Disney media treats Daisy expecting too much of Donald or being hyper jealous of him as hilarious and while I take this more as the story not ageing well rather than barks fault, as since then Domestic Abuse against Males has become a more widely known and talked about issue, it still doesn’t’t make it plesant. It just makes this not entirely his fault. Just like it’s not Stan Lee’s fault this panel is both deeply hilarious and uses a now kinda racist term.

I named an entire youtube channel after that.. we all have our regrets. I also bring it up since currently Harry’s become terrifying villain Kindred... and thus the current big bad of an entire Spider-Man run and the being hopefully bringing one more day into the light and hopefully leading to it’s undoing.. once had a goofy mustache he genuinely referred to a “Fu Manchu Face Fuzz” that for all we know he regrew under the mask.

Donald fondly remembers the old days of being a badass adventuring team and decides, screw it, let’s go show that Gold Hatted Paloka whose boss.. but being Donald ends up driving them into The Copper Canyon instead. Our heroes end up lost in the canyon and , fitting for Donald get shot at. I can only imagine his thoughts right now.

Their mysterious attacker threatens them.. before revealing himself to be Panchito, whose glad to see his friends having mistook them for Alfonso. Turns out HE’S the mysterious treasure hunter Alfonoso was after, to no one’s surprise. We get another deeply unfunny “Daisy’s only a thousand miles away gag” as the boys reminisce and get introduced to Panchito’s horse, Senior Martniez. He also tells the boy about his map.. but how he’s hit a snag as the lost town where the silver, from a silver mine.. is now buried under pounds of volcanic rock, a volcano having erupted. This is artistic license as Don Rosa admits there aren’t any known volcano’s in Mexico, but that they also still haven’t found that missing town, so this was his explanation. All is not lost as Donald’s globetrotting with Scrooge meant he knows his history.. and thus spots an old mission which, at the time, were used by preists as cover for secret mines. Donald naturally bungles his way in and we get the much better running gag of the Cabs thinking Donald did something amazing when he really just wondered into slapstick. They end up down the shaft, with Jose deciding Donald can’t do all the work, and finding a secret entrance under a sanctum sanctorum.. a religious thing I have no idea what it ii s but is clearly where Dr. Strange got the name. Regardless they find some old kegs filled with pure silver. As Panchito puts it:

And he did ideed. In a nice moment that shows off his character, Panchito has no hesitation for sharing the wealth: He wouldn’t of got this far without his friends, and he wont get the Silver cashed in without their help. He also fires off his guns in celebration.. forgetting their in a cave, a gag I genuinely like.

After some off screen loading and hoisting, the boys are slowly on their way out of the canyon, with Donald’s Car and Senor Martinez pulling the cart with the silver together. With some downtime the three talk about what they’ll spend the money on.

About what you’d expect. A big beautiful music venue

For Jose, and a nice ranch to retire at for Panchito. Both despite being wondering souls would love a simple place to call home, in their own personal styles. While they are BIG goals, their also likeable and understandable ones: Jose just wants to stop having to do all these tours and carouse and party and perform at home. Be his own boss, and live his own dreams instead of working for whoever will put up for him. Panchito just wants to retire from being a wondering hero to a peaceful life of farming, an honest reward he well earned. And Donald?

This is easily one of my faviorite moment’s of Rosa’s, one that really cuts to comic donald’s character: Sure he can be lazy, a trickster, hot tempered, and overconfident.. it’s why we love him.. but at the end of the day he genuinely loves those boys and their his first prority and I can see why the reboot took that trait and made it his defining one. They may annoy and frustrate them and he may pull a switch on them, 50′s after all.. but he loves his boys and knows they’ll do great one day and despite his spendthrift ways when given big money.. their all he can think about. Sure Donald probably has his own personal dreams, but instead of going big and retiring he’d probably just take only a small sliver of that money to open a humble hot dog stand or something, so he could have something of his own to provide them, while still giving most of the money to their college. Scrooge is who we all want to be.. Donald is who we are at our core: Flawed people who just want to do our best. It’s why I love the guy so much. The boys rest in the small town of El Divisadero, which like the town we started in is a real place, though both are much smaller, even as of 2000 when Rosa made his visit, so he had to embelish slightly. THey stop at a local watering hole only to find Alphonso. While Jose is naturally worried, Gold Hat has moved on to Panchito and wants to know why he’s here. However Donald thinking quickly says he’s part of their nightclub act, and we get a rousing version of the three cablleros, which when reading this I synched up to the song. I won’t put it here, as it’s too big for tumblr and it really works more as a whole, but needless to say, it’s the highlight of the comic. While Rosa did have doubts about putting a musical number in a comic, and it’s often trickey, he makes it work with the energy, vibrance and number of gags, that compensate for the music not being there. There’s tons of great gags, from Donald getting thrown out window, to the stone faced crowd who only cheers when Alphonso ends the number by whacking the three with one of their own guitars. Alphonso quickly realizes what’s goin on, finds the silver, and then hyjacks the train. The boys take off after him in the car, as Donald triumphantly states “The Three Cablleros Ride Again!”. The three head after Alphonzo, who finds them when trying to release the other cars to increase speed, and then shoots at them. It seems hopeless... until donald gets launched into the air, into a cactus then back into Alphonzo knocking his guns out in a great bit of slapstick. The Conductor, likely not knowing about the others or not carring, detaches the cars though, so our heroes and villian are now sent rocketing through the world’s most dangerous railway. Which, as you’d probably already figured out, is very real and what inspirited rosa to use this setting and thus indeed wind through dangerous mountainsides and over thin cliffs like a real life Donkey Kong Country level. Eduardo still has his machete though and easily beats Jose’s umbrella, but some more Donald slapstick and him apologizing to daisy about the senioritis as he wishes her goodbye seriously GET SOME COUPLE’S COUNSELING IF THAT EXISTS IN THE 50′S. It puls his sombrero down over his head, and with jose’s umbrella top landing on it, carries him off where he ends up in a lazy asshole sheirff’s jail for a gag. The boys however continue going back.. and the railway is unfinished at this time in history and while they save the silver, their fucked. But Donald has a plan, running to the back of the cars to get his car, and while it has trouble starting, Panchito throws some chilie’s in the tank to get it moving again. The boys find the silver.. but when one barrel spills they find out it’s not actual liquid silver.. but quicksilver, which was used for silver refinment. So while i’ts shiny, and toxic so of course Jose sticks his hand in before knowing what it is, it’s worthless. Probably. The boys.. all have a nice laugh over it. I love this moment. Sure the boys lost their dreams.. but like Scrooge, the three belivie theirs always another rainbow. What matters is the journey they had and the reunion that restored their friendship. Donald also muses the boys are smart enough to get their own scholarships anyway, so it’s no big loss.. but he does have to get back to Disvadero as the jamboree ends tonight and Jose agrees as he now needs a job again. The owner balks, understandably since Jose missed a performance to get laid and then disappeared overnight.. but the Hotel Owner is visiting so as long as he can provide a big act he’s good, and while Jose is worried as he already gave them his best, the boys naturally pitch in to be the cablleros once more. After all

So we close on Huey, Dewey and Louie returning, still worrying about donald, when they find him on stage. We then end on a truly heartwarming and great last few panels.

Final Thoughts: What else can I say? This story is beautifully drawn, as usual for Rosa, well paced, fun and really fleshes the Cabs out from the movie. It has a warm, fun adventurous tone and it’s nice to see Donald in the lead since Rosa usually did Scrooge stories and thus Donald was the justifiably surly sidekick instead of the main man> here he’s in the spotlight and gets to show just what he’s made of, while still being the hilarious mess we all know and love. The story honors the original film well, while forging it’s own path and is beautifully built into history. My only real complaints are the nephews being annoying, Alphonso’s somewhat overwrought accent, and of course the daisy gags.. but it’s all HEAVILY outweighed by one of Rosa’s finest hours and easy enough to ignore. Check this out if you can. It’s a classic for a reason.

If you liked this review, you can commission your own by messaging me on here or at my discord technicolormuk#655 for five dollars a comic story or animation episode. Whenever the ride resumes next, we’ll coming on down to the house of mouse to see the boys return to the screen. In the meantime keep an eye on this space for regular Ducktales reviews every Monday, including once this run ends as I intend to start playing catchup, loud house reviews whenever, my tom retrospective that’s returning soon, and my retrospective on the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck, with chapter 2 of that also coming soon. Until then, there’s always another rainbow.

#the three caballeros #jose carioca #panchito pistoles #donald duck #don rosa #ride of the three caballeros #the three caballeros ride again #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #daisy duck #mexico #comics #reviews #elmo keep

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 4 years ago

Text

the one with my favorite martian

AKA: J’onn’s intro the CAK ‘verse

*insert itsbeeneightfouryears.gif here* ...

THEN

It's her first big story.

The article runs on the front page of the business section—under the fold, sure, but still fairly prominent. The bold, black text of the headline runs half the width of the page, as does the large candid photo that accompanies the write-up. Kara's certain that the photo accounts for at least 70% of the attention the article has received over the course of the current news cycle; it's perfect. A shot that walks the fine line between candid and staged, capturing an otherwise unremarkable lab space and about a dozen lab techs on the move, dynamic as they go about their routine tasks, but at the center?

Dr. Kimiyo Hoshi, effortlessly commanding the room, unflappable and somehow radiant, in spite of the terrible fluorescent lighting.

Kara makes sure to highlight it at every opportunity. As her coworkers drop by her desk, offer congratulations, give her hearty slaps on the back (that result in more than a few confused murmurings—geez, Kent, you got...a solid shoulder there) she points to the photo, and reminds them, a picture's worth a thousand words. A response that charms a few of the staff writers, but incenses Perry.

“It's a good article, Kent. Wouldn't have run it on the front of the section if it wasn't,” he says with an almost paternal huff of exasperation. “Stop deflecting and just say, 'thank you.'”

So Kara does, if only to keep peace with her boss. It bothers her, though, to be so firmly in the spotlight for any length of time. It pokes at a wounded part of her—whatever part might've been happy to receive accolades, and recognition, prior to arriving on an alien world where she could be hurt, where Kal could be hurt, if anyone ever got too close to them. To the real them.

It's only when she's back home with Martha, Jonathan, and Kal that the praise is not immediately met with a level of discomfort. Though, it is a little embarrassing.

“On the fridge? Really?” Kara laughs as she reaches for the milk carton.

“Well, she wanted to hang it up on the bulletin board at the rec center,” Jonathan tells her from his seat at the kitchen table. “I had to talk her down. Bribed her with brand new magnets.”

“Aren't they cute?” Martha smiles at the updated collection. Kara has to agree that yes, the little plastic fruits are cute.

Kal, at least, is less concerned with telling her how great the article is, and more concerned with how professional journalism works. He wants to know everything. The questions last well into the evening; all four of them end up staying up late, comfortably gathered in the living room. Kal's in his usual place, sprawled on the rug, Jonathan in the recliner, Martha and Kara on the couch. It's only when Jonathan starts snoring at an octave unpleasant for Kryptonian super-hearing that they decide to call it a night.

“Put out fresh sheets,” Jonathan tells her through a yawn as he makes his way up the stairs. Both Jonathan and Martha keep insisting that they're eventually going to get around to turning Kara's room into...something. (Guest room and/or office are the prevailing front runners, though 'craft room' and 'home gym' have also been tossed around, on occasion.) The only proof that they've made any sort of progress is the handful of boxes in the back of her closet, otherwise it remains unchanged.

“Thanks,” Kara says, as Kal trails close behind Jonathan. She's about to follow, when the phone rings in the kitchen.

Martha answers. Several seconds pass, and then, from the doorway,

“Kara? It's for you.”

Kara blinks in surprise; she has no idea who it could be. Not any of her coworkers—she's made a point not to mention her routine weekends trips back home—she'd never be able to explain where she gets the money for 'airfare.' And she doubts it's anyone from town—the median age in Smallville is about fifty, and therefore, almost everyone's in bed by eight.

She accepts the receiver from Martha, but not before raising her eyebrows, hoping she can provide some sort of guess as to who it is.

But Martha shakes her head; she doesn't know.

“...Hello?”

“Kara?”

It takes Kara a moment to place the voice, distorted as it is by the phone. “Dr. Hoshi!” she says, both by way of greeting, and in answer to Martha's questioning stare. “...Hi!”

“I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kara says as she leans against the wall. Martha offers a quick wave and mouths goodnight, which prompts Kara to glance at her wrist watch. “Er...uh. Well. It's a bit late, actually.”

“Oh! That's—sorry. I didn't even consider,” Dr. Hoshi says.

“It's fine,” Kara assures her, idly fiddling with the phone cord. “Just...unexpected?” she admits. “This actually isn't...” Kara pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much she wants to share. “...My primary number.”

“I know,” Dr. Hoshi says, “I used our tracking software to find you.”

Kara drops the phone cord. ...The mapping software can do that? A reflexive paranoia causes momentary chaos with her response time; she wants to stammer out some sort of reply, but she can only open her mouth, and close it. It's on maybe the third or forth guppy imitation when she hears a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “...That was a joke.”

The alarm bells in her mind cease their loud ringing. “Oh, ha,” Kara forces out her own chuckle. “A joke. Of course.”

“I tracked you down the old-fashioned way,” Dr. Hoshi explains. “I asked the receptionist at the Daily Planet for the best number to call.”

“And she gave you this one?” Kara asks, incredulous.

“No, she gave me five,” Dr. Hoshi laughs. “And I tried them all, several times. This is the first call to get through.” Kara can hear the smile in her voice as she adds, “You're a difficult woman to track down, Miss Kent.”

That's by design. “Oh, that's...I think I just need to update my contact information,” Kara lies. And, because it is late, and Kara's still recovering from that momentary scare, she's inclined to be a little more blunt than she might normally be, otherwise. “Was there something you needed?”

“Well, now it seems silly,” Dr. Hoshi says. “I just...” she trails off briefly. “Wanted to thank you. For your work on the article. I had a chance to sit down and read it today, and...” There's another pause. “It's very well done. Thank you.”

Kara's both relieved, and a little...underwhelmed? She'd almost been expecting the worst—that Dr. Hoshi was displeased with the article. Because why else call at this hour? But...a simple thank you? She probably could have left that with the receptionist at the Planet...

“Oh, uh...” Kara returns to fiddling with the phone cord. “You're welcome. But, really, I was just. Reporting the incredible work you're doing.” 'Stop deflecting, and just say thank you', she can hear Perry saying. “But, ah. Thank you. For the...thank you. Call.” She finishes awkwardly.

“I'm used to not being taken seriously by my peers,” Dr. Hoshi goes on like she hasn't heard Kara. “For a number of reasons, as I'm sure you can imagine, but. The work I'm doing certainly doesn't win me any favors.”

Kara frowns. “Your mapping software is the most advanced cataloging system of its kind,” she says. “The data you've been gathering should be proof of concept—”

Dr. Hoshi cuts her off with a laugh. “See, that's what I'm talking about. Your conviction. Your faith in the work we're doing here. You treat us with respect, and the same cannot always be said of my colleagues.” She sighs. “That is what I wanted to thank you for, Miss Kent.”

Kara is truly at a loss for words. She has to go back to, “You're...you're welcome.”

“I've kept you long enough, I think,” Dr. Hoshi says, and Kara's grateful, because she's not sure she'd be able to keep this conversation going. “And again, sorry about the late call.”

“It's no trouble, really.”

They exchange polite goodbyes, and Kara returns the receiver to its cradle, still processing the exchange.

As she turns off the kitchen light and heads upstairs, she reasons that maybe it's not that weird, this late night thank you call. She remembers her dad and her uncle, and how they would lose track of both time and social graces when wrapped up in a project.

And of course Dr. Hoshi would pick up on...how had she described it? Kara's conviction. Because Kara, for as cagey as she tries to be about some things, has a very hard time not wearing her passion on her sleeve. She's honestly surprised that Dr. Hoshi didn't ask her if she'd be interesting in donating to their funding, for as much apparent interest Kara has in their research.

She tries not to let this worry her as she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas. She's just finished putting the clean sheets on her bed, when she hears Kal.

“Who was on the phone?”

He's using their 'super secret cousin communication line'—basically whispering at a volume only the two of them can hear.

“The scientist from the article,” Kara answers, relieved to discover that he didn't resort to eavesdropping to satisfy his curiosity. “She just wanted to say thank you.”

“That's all? ...I figured it was some sort of emergency, cause it's so late.”

“I thought so too, but.” Kara flops down on her bed and closes her eyes. “Nope. Just a thank you.”

“She thinks you did a good job?”

“Seems so.”

“That's good. That she liked it.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“...”

“...Kara?”

“...”

“...Are you asleep?”

“...I'd like to be.”

“It was really just a thank you call?”

Kara sighs. “I think...she was just happy that I took her seriously. She liked that the article was respectful, of her and her work.”

“...Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because a lot of people think her work is...” Kara tries to find a good word. “...a waste of time.”

“I thought she made space maps.”

“Not that work.”

“Oh.” There's a lengthy stretch of silence. Kara thinks that perhaps Kal's finally out of questions, and she can get some sleep. But, “Well. What other work does she do?”

Kara stares at the ceiling. The paint and drywall fade away to reveal the dark night sky overhead.

“She wants to find aliens.”

* * *

NOW

The Grand Mesa SETI Installation isn't much to look at, squat and square as it is, surrounded by miles and miles of red dirt and scrub. The fifteen or so arrays aren't terribly impressive either—in fact, they have something of an eerie quality about them, occasionally shifting, intermittently whirring, all in a slow, synchronized dance.

Against the backdrop of the Arizona desert, it's all just a bit...alien.

Kara would laugh at the irony, if not for the pervading somber mood of the visit.

The interior of the facility is less off-putting than the exterior; no-nonsense linoleum, flat grey walls, plastic furniture left over from the mid-eighties. Kara wonders if the equipment, too, is as dated as the interior decorating, which only makes her frown deepen.

There's no one at the front desk. Kara takes a quick glance at the rest of the facility with her x-ray vision—there are a few blind spots, thanks to what she imagines is old, lead-based paint, but she can see that it's basically a skeleton crew; the bare minimum amount of techs to keep the place running.

Kara sighs quietly to herself as she hears the click of the door on the far side of the front desk.

“Oh, uh. Hi.” It's a man, perhaps in his forties, dressed casually and clearly surprised by her presence. “Um. Are you here to see somebody?”

Kara opens her mouth, but is cut off by the arrival of a second person breezing through the same door.

“She's here to see me,” Dr. Hoshi tells the man. He catches a glimpse of her expression—stony and displeased, and quickly excuses himself. “Hello, Miss Kent.”

She doesn't smile, but the displeasure softens marginally into something like annoyance. Kara marvels at how different this woman is, from the woman she'd written about in her article, years ago. She's still austere, with her sharply styled a-line bob and pristine oxford and slacks, but where there was once idealistic determination in her stern gaze, there is a brittleness; cold and fragile, like thin ice.

“Dr. Hoshi,” Kara greets. “It's been a while.”

“It has,” Dr. Hoshi agrees, but her tone is utterly flat. “But that's to be expected, I suppose. As you can see,” she gestures to the room around them, but it's obvious she means the entire facility. “I'm hardly a high-profile catch these days.”

“You alluded to as much, in your recent...” Accusation? Confession? “...Interview.”

“If you're here for proof,” Dr. Hoshi shakes her head. “I have nothing for you.”

“I know,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi's expression changes for the first time since they've started talking. Not much, though. Just a slight narrowing of her eyes, a barely perceptible twitch in her frown.

“Then why are you here?”

“Well,” Kara's relieved for the opportunity to drop the hardened reporter act, “you might not have proof, necessarily. But that doesn't mean there isn't a story here.” Dr. Hoshi looks like she's going to protest. “This is all off the record. I'm not on company time. Honest.” The other woman still regards her with suspicion.

“You came all the way out here, on your own time, just to talk...off the record?”

“I came 'all the way out here' to visit friends in California,” Kara corrects her. “This was on the way.”

Dr. Hoshi regards her for several long moments. Kara feels inclined to add, “I want to hear your side of this. Because...I think you deserve that chance.” She shrugs in what she hopes is a disarming manner. “And I'm just. Still a big fan of your work.”

This seems to be convincing enough for Dr. Hoshi to acquiesce to her presence. Not fully accept it, exactly. But. Tolerate it?

Which Kara can work with.

“Was doing,” Dr. Hoshi tells her, breezing past Kara and gesturing for her to follow. They enter a hallway off the main lobby and head deeper into the box-like building. Handcarts stacked high with half-packed boxes of broken and outdated instruments litter the spaces outside of large rooms that house the actual monitoring equipment: computers just as boxy and unremarkable as the cardboard boxes in the halls.

“This entire facility is obsolete,” Dr. Hoshi explains over her shoulder. “We're basically a glorified tax right-off.”

“They put you here to keep you quiet and out of the way,” Kara surmises. Dr. Hoshi nods.

“And I got tired of keeping quiet.”

Kara nods. She'd seen the 'tell-all' interview, an impassioned accusation on a local news channel that had stumbled its way on to the national news scene when a LexCorp lawyer happened to catch a rerun of the broadcast while holed up in a grimy motel off of 10. (Why a LexCorp lawyer was even in a grimy motel in Arizona in the first place was conveniently left out of the equation, no doubt thanks to LexCorp's not inconsiderable PR team.) Had the lawyer never seen the footage, it probably would've faded into obscurity. Some loony, local scientist claims big business stole her stuff.

Big whoop.

Dr. Hoshi flips on a light switch, and the dim set of fluorescent overhead lights are joined by a second set of equally dim fluorescence lights; these ones buzz louder, though.

“Do you think they'll fire you?” Kara asks, watching as Dr. Hoshi begins what looks like a routine check of the computers and recording apparatuses.

“No, not really,” she says with an air of grim acceptance. “It will be easier for them to blacklist me. I'll be forced to stay here, and they'll be able to keep an eye on me.” She pauses, and stares at the large arrays in the red expanse just outside of the building. There's a dull whine as they turn their large, concave faces to the east. Mechanized sunflowers, searching the starlight. “All these relics, constantly recording. And I'm the only thing here LexCorp cares about monitoring.” She says this quietly, more to herself than Kara.

Kara gives her a moment, not wanting to be rude as she gently continues her questions. “Do you know if LexCorp is using your technology currently? Do you know if they used it to track the Doomsday Event?”

“The Doomsday Event was a terrorist attack,” Dr. Hoshi parrots the widely-accepted official statement. Kara blinks, surprised to hear that line come from Dr. Hoshi.

“But what about Supergir—” Kara starts to say, only to swallow the rest of her sentence whole as Dr. Hoshi slowly turns.

“...What about Supergirl?” She asks, eyes narrowed. Kara frantically tries to think. She's only done a handful of interviews, and she can't remember. She can't remember...did she ever say it? Did she ever admit that she was an alien?

“I thought,” Kara clears her throat. “I thought she confirmed. That Doomsday was extraterrestrial.” She hopes Dr. Hoshi doesn't follow the news too closely; Kara never actually commented on the Doomsday Event.

“...Maybe she did,” Dr. Hoshi says with a shrug, turning her intense stare away from Kara. Kara breathes a little easier. “And maybe it was. But STAR Labs handled the autopsy, and they insist that whatever attacked Metropolis was human in origin. I know LexCorp tried to bully them into sharing access to their findings, but they were never successful.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because I did some of the bullying.” Dr. Hoshi says. Kara's eyes widen. “But it became clear to me that they weren't going to budge, so I backed off, and focused on my own work. LexCorp 'locked down' my research shortly thereafter. Maybe in retaliation, for failing to procure the STAR Labs files. Or maybe because they felt they were falling behind in the new space race, and my insistence that we should proceed slowly and carefully and follow the science was too much of a hindrance.”

Dr. Hoshi's voice rises slightly as she ends her statement; it's the most emotion Kara's seen from her since she arrived, even more than the quiet suspicion of LexCorp's spying.

“...I'm sorry,” Kara says. And she means it.

Dr. Hoshi must sense this, because she lets out a very long sigh, and even offers a smile. It still carries that brittle quality, though. “Thank you.”

They share a moment of mutual silence before Dr. Hoshi turns to inspect the last computer.

“So, no. LexCorp was not using my work, prior to the Doomsday event. But they're almost certainly using it now.” She leans in close to the screen, and types something on the keyboard. “Or, they're leasing it to the military. We'll probably never know for sure, though.” She squints, and types another command in on the keyboard. “Odd...”

“What's odd?” Kara asks, moving to stand closer to the computer. There's a lot of information on the screen, but Kara can't decipher it. It just looks like a lot of random numbers and letters.

“This computer tracks our data here against the information gathered at the sister installation, down in Brazil. There's a lag, but the systems generally keep in sync, which we use to make sure everything's up and running properly.”

“So if they fall out of sync—”

“Something's broken.”

“It's not just...picking up space radio waves?”

Dr. Hoshi chuckles. “No. See this collection of data here?” She points to a set of numbers on the screen. Kara nods. “It's essentially too strong to be from space. Something is physically affecting an array.”

“Here?”

“No, down in Brazil.” Dr. Hoshi moves to the other side of the lab and grabs a phone from one of the desks. Kara hears the dial tone, and then the rapid succession of key tones.

She plans on listening to the entire call, of course—all the while making a show of how very interesting this computer screen is—until the conversation lapses into Portuguese. Kara winces.

Mental note: Learn Portuguese.

Given the tone of the individual on the other end of the line, Kara gets the sense that something is wrong. Maybe not catastrophically wrong, but the other scientist is clearly distressed. Dr. Hoshi says something that Kara assumes is meant to be assuring before ending the call.

“I'm sorry, Miss Kent, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this visit short.”

Yes, we will. “That's okay, I understand,” Kara tells her as Dr. Hoshi leads her back into the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“There's some sort of...” Kara can see that the other woman is choosing her words carefully. “Mechanical problem, which means I get to look forward to a long evening of phone tag. Complete with international rates.” She smiles ruefully. “Another tax write-off for LexCorp.”

Dr. Hoshi apologizes again for the abrupt end to the visit, but Kara is quick to remind her that this was unplanned.

“Now we're even,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi blinks at her in confusion. “Um. From when you called me, back when the article...never mind.”

Dr. Hoshi is kind enough to ignore the awkward moment, and simply wishes her well on her visit to California.

“Are you driving?” Dr. Hoshi asks as Kara digs her car keys out of her purse. Kara heads for the parking lot.

“Just a rental,” she says, holding up the key fob and the bright yellow tag attached to it. “I'm heading to the airport.”

“Have a safe flight, then.” Dr. Hoshi says, and returns to squat brick building.

Kara drives back into town and returns the car to the rental agency. That part wasn't a lie. And technically speaking, she is going to fly.

She finds a secluded spot, behind some buildings on the edge of town, and tugs at her shirt, revealing the primary-colored costume beneath.

Up, up, and away.

* * *

The only similarity between the Grand Mesa and the Montanha Verde SETI installations are the collection of large arrays flanking the main buildings; while Grand Mesa's surrounded by a vast sea of parched, red earth, Montanha Verde lives up to its name, nestled atop a collection of vibrant green foothills, the arrays dotting the terraced slope of the mountainside just above.

As Kara touches down on one of the far hills, she takes a quick x-ray scan of the building and the immediate surrounding area, mentally tallying the number of people onsite.

There are more techs here than at the Grand Mesa facility; she hurriedly does the math. If it comes down to it, she can clear the entire site in two minutes. Depending on wind speed, anyway.

She's hoping that won't be the case. As it turns out, 'mechanical failure' means that one of the arrays is on fire, and threatening to topple into an adjacent array, which is troubling enough on its own. More troubling, is the potential for the arrays to tumble down the mountainside, right into the back corner of the main building.

Easy fix, she decides as she (literally) flies into action. She decides against freeze breath, not wanting to damage the arrays further. Instead she flies in a tight circle around the flames, creating a vortex that robs them of oxygen. The flames die down almost instantly; she does send a light breeze in the direction of the singed metal, just to cool it down.

Once she's certain the nearby vegetation won't catch fire again, she lands, and pulls the leaning array back into position. She welds a quick patch into place—hardly a permanent solution, but better than simply hoping the compromised array won't fall over.

Some of the techs want to rush over as soon as they see her finish with the spot weld, but she holds up her hands, stay back! They nod, and keep a safe distance.

“Thank you,” they all start to talk over one another as she approaches, and that's the only phrase she can 1.) pick out and 2.) understand.

She underlines her mental note. Learn Portuguese!!

“You're welcome. I'm—sorry, I don't,” now only a few of the techs are talking, realizing that she's a little overwhelmed. “I don't speak—”

“Verde, verde,” Kara hears.

“Verde? Right, Montanha Verde,” she points over to the building, hoping she's understood. But one of them—a man with dark hair greying at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard—shakes his head profusely.

“Verde monstro.”

“Green...monster?” Kara can't imagine that word meaning anything else. The man doesn't confirm if she's translated correctly; he points farther down the ridge, past the land cleared for the facility, where the cropped vegetation gives way to actual jungle.

It's both the last thing Kara expects—this was supposedly just a mechanical failure, after all—and yet somehow, terribly fitting. Of course a 'green monster' would be the source of mysterious troubles at a SETI facility.

“I'll check it out,” Kara tells them, hoping her tone and facial expression help get the meaning across. She takes off quickly, only to belatedly realize that perhaps it's not terribly wise, to charge into unfamiliar terrain.

It's not like there's anything on Earth that can hurt you, Kara reminds herself.

Still. She doesn't love the prospect of accidentally spooking a wild animal. She slows down and flies just above the canopy, keeping her eyes trained on the forest floor for any signs of...whatever tracks a green monster might make.

She keeps up the search for several hours, and tries not to think about the fact that this is a textbook case of needle in a haystack. She's not physically tired when she finally calls it quits, but it's getting dark; the search is only going to become more and more difficult as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

She spots a clearing and drops into a quick landing, intent on checking the wristwatch she keeps in her cape pocket while there's still enough light to see. It's set to Metropolis time, and she's somewhere west of Belem, but what is that in terms of longitude—?

Kara doesn't notice it at first. Or, she does notice it, but it doesn't register until it's almost too late—she mentally cataloged it as just. Typical forest sounds.

But there's a pattern. A rhythm.

Footsteps.

Kara whirls and her heat vision goes off without conscious thought—just a bright beam of blue that shoots in whatever direction she's looking. A half-fallen tree branch bursts into flames.

“Argh!”

The yell isn't Kara's—a tall, something. Man? Stumbles back, away from the flame, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

Kara sends a gust of cold air on the flames, not wanting to create an international incident. Superhero Burns Down Amazon Rainforest by Accident is a headline Kara would very much like to avoid.

The man continues his frenzied retreat from the flames, only to stumble over a large exposed root. He lands on his back, hard.

“Please,” he says in a voice that is distinctly not human. “Please, do not kill me.”

He drops his arms, revealing his face. Green skin and bright red eyes.

Verde monstro.

Except, no. Not a monster. Not a monster at all; frightened and confused lab techs had, perhaps understandably, seen something unfamiliar, something monstrous among the flames. But Kara is not frightened and confused. Startled, maybe, but otherwise able to see how scared he is. She can hear it.

“I'm not going to kill you,” she tells him, holding out her hands in an open, non-threatening gesture. “I'm sorry about my—about the fire,” she apologizes. “That happens sometimes. When I'm scared.”

She doesn't move forward at all—she doesn't want to do anything that could be perceived as aggression. She lets him set the pace of this...encounter? Exchange? Whatever this is.

He uses the opportunity to climb to his feet, all the while keeping a close eye on her. He remains tense, arms bent in a defensive position.

“I'm—” Kara knows she should say Supergirl, but what comes out instead is, “Kara Zor-El. I'm here to help.”

He says nothing. They continue to stare at one another for a very long time.

After a small eternity, he finally speaks.

“My name is J'onn J'onzz,” he says. “And I don't think you can.”

* * *

Kara starts a fire—deliberately, and safely, this time—and invites J'onn to take a seat.

He does take a seat. About ten feet away from the flames.

“...You don't want to sit closer?” Kara asks. It's possible he's impervious to extreme temperatures, like her and Kal, but. If he sits closer to the light at least, the conversation might be a little less...spooky.

(Because, as much as Kara hates to admit it, she can understand why the lab techs were scared; J'onn's face is comprised of hard angles, and a long, ovular cranium. Not unlike the shape humans ascribe to the stereotypical 'Gray' aliens supposedly found at Roswell. But, more so than the harsh angles and green skin, Kara thinks perhaps they were mostly reacting to the glowing red eyes.)

“No,” J'onn says simply.

Kara nods. “Okay.”

Another small eternity passes. And then,

“My planet...burned to death.”

Kara stares at him across the flames, watching the shadows shift over his face as he pointedly turns away from the fire.

A heavy sadness settle in her chest.

“You're a refugee,” she says.

J'onn doesn't look at her. He keeps his face turned away. “Someone who is forced to leave their home to escape war, persecution, or a natural disaster,” he recites the definition. “Yes. I am.”

Kara takes a deep breath, reflexively reaching for the edge of her cape, to run her fingers of the corner. An outlet for her pent-up emotions. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Did...did anyone else escape?”

“I am the last.”

Tears spring to Kara's eyes, the words landing on all the broken bits, the still-healing bits that she buries down deep inside. They press down hard and cause her to let out a watery chuckle, which J'onn probably thinks is extremely rude.

But he must see the glint of the firelight reflecting off her tears, because his expression is one of confusion, not outrage. And Kara then explains,

“Same, actually.”

The confusion lingers only a moment longer, before understanding sets in. He nods.

And then, slowly, he stands.

Kara watches, a little confused herself, until she sees him skirt the edge of the clearing, and come to sit fractionally closer to her. Still quite far from the flames, but. Most definitely closer.

“I'm...sorry.”

She wipes at her tears and takes a steadying breath. “Me too.”

* * *

It's weird. Not a bad weird, but certainly some kind of weird—two complete strangers sharing stories of lost home worlds around a campfire, somewhere at the edge of the Amazon Rainforest.

Kara can't remember which one of them started it. She thinks maybe it was J'onn who got the ball rolling, telling her a little bit about Mars. Not much; there was still a guarded element to his demeanor, and Kara would eventually come to understand that wariness was borne of having spent so long on Earth hiding. Decades to her fifteen or so odd years.

And then she started talking about Krypton. Really talking about Krypton. The blemished, imperfect Krypton that Kara had, perhaps a bit unintentionally, scrubbed clean for Kal's bedtime stories.

Talking with Kal...it was just stories. Because all he knew was Earth.

Talking with J'onn—he knew. He'd had friends, family, a daily routine. Favorite foods that could never be replicated, because the ingredients no longer existed.

“That's why I wanted Dr. Hoshi's work to succeed,” Kara finds herself explaining, as the conversation inevitably turns to how they both came to be in Brazil in the first place. “I mean. Obviously, it's going to be...a long time, before Earth reaches the point where they have the technology necessary for intergalactic communication, let alone travel, but...” she purses her lips, and stares into the flames. “I'd like to think that someday, aliens will just be a fact of life. And then...maybe...” she sighs. “Maybe. We won't have to hide.”

She can see J'onn shift in her peripheral vision.

“That is where we differ,” he says. “I've been on this planet a very long time. I don't think we'll ever be able to stop hiding.”

Kara wants to argue the point, but J'onn continues, “There's a group that's been following me. Hunting me. I don't know how they're managing to track me.” J'onn looks off in the direction of the SETI facility. “I...overheard, that they were planning to make use of facilities like the one on that mountain ridge. If not to track us on this planet, then to track those like us before they even arrive.”

“Is that...” Kara swallows. “Why you...”

“I didn't want to injure anyone, I only wanted to disable their tools.” J'onn tells her, and Kara can't help that her first thought is one of stern judgement, that he's basically admitted to destroying private property, and by extension, potentially endangering all those people. “But I miscalculated, and the dish caught fire.” He takes a breath. “So I ran.”

“I...I understand your...” Kara doesn't think concern is the right word to use. “...Fear. I do. Really.” And she does. It's now, in her adulthood, that she's recognizing that it was not normal or healthy, for a thirteen-year-old to live with the constant background radiation of worry that a shadowy government organization could come snatch her or Kal at any time, with no warning or consequence. “But we can't just assume that everyone—that they're all like the group that's—” hunting, stalking, preying, “following you.”

“You have not encountered these people,” Kara can see that J'onn is making an effort to respond calmly. His shoulders tense, and his hands curl into fists. “You do not understand.”

It's a sobering reminder, one that Kara doesn't counter, even though she'd really like to. As alike as they are, they've also led very, very different lives. Kara has to respect that.

“You're right,” is what she decides to go with. “I'll never fully understand, and I'm sorry, for everything you've had to endure.”

“...Thank you.”

* * *

WHUP, WHUP, WHUP.

Kara grumbles in irritation. Her apartment building is 'centrally located, close to public transit, ideal for commuters,' which is realtor speak for: overlooks the elevated train tracks of the city's metro system on one side, and the approach to the Monarch Bridge on the other. So if it's not the sound of the yellow line waking her in the morning, it's the sound of a traffic copter, covering rush hour.

She reaches for her quilt, intent on burrowing beneath the covers to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep.

The quilt feels. Weirdly like her cape? That's—

She's awake in an instant, as the sounds of the helicopter become impossibly loud and close. She's not in her apartment; she's in Brazil—her and J'onn had talked so long, that she ended up deciding to simply catch an hour or so of sleep before heading back to the states, just before dawn. J'onn had offered to stick around and keep watch, 'just in case.'

Kara thought it was both courteous and maybe a little unnecessary at the time.

Boy, does she feel foolish.

“It's them,” J'onn says in a strained voice, eyes trained on the sky. “I have to go.”

He's already turning to head deeper into the jungle. Kara jumps to her feet, shaking off leaves and dirt.

“Wait, wait, there has to be...something we can do—” Kara says, rushing after him, but as she says it, she thinks, what? What can we do? Talk to them? Fight them? She's not even sure who this 'them' is. She's only heard J'onns vague accounts of their various encounters, and she gets the sense that he doesn't really know who they are, either.

“Don't involve yourself in this,” J'onn says, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. “You're fortunate, you look like them. You have a life to go back to.” The words are painful to hear, but probably even more painful for J'onn to say, and they aren't untrue. “So, go.”

But Kara won't. She can't.

“Let me help you, at least,” Kara insists, reaching out to try and touch J'onn's shoulder. The movement makes him turn, causing him to slow.

There's a sharp Crack! followed by a terrible sound of wet impact. J'onn grunts, and falls to his knees.

“J'onn!” Kara cries out in concern, stooping to support him before he falls forward completely. A figure emerges from the dense brush and trees.

“Supergirl, what an unexpected surprise.” Kara looks up to see a black man dressed in camouflage fatigues, holding a semi-automatic weapon. The tag above his left breast pocket reads: H. Henshaw. “Didn't know you were hunting this monster as well.”

J'onn lets out another pained grunt. Kara helps him to apply pressure on the wound on his abdomen. “Do I know you?”

“No, but we know you,” Henshaw says with a terrible grin. “It's our business, to know all about our...” he pauses, and brings up his gun to train the sight on J'onn. “Strange visitors, from other planets.”

Kara positions herself between Henshaw and J'onn. “Are you CIA? Military?”

“I'm afraid that's classified information,” Henshaw says. “Move.”

“I'm not going to let you kill him,” Kara says fiercely.

“Careful, Supergirl,” Henshaw growls, tightening his grip on his gun. “So early in your career...do you really want to make yourself an enemy of the state?”

Kara doesn't know how to respond; she's desperately trying to think through this. Trying to see all the angles, all the potential consequences, instead of rushing in. (As she's prone to do.) But she can hear J'onn's labored breathing, her attention thus divided, her mind running in too many different directions.

Henshaw must mistake her hesitation for defiance. “Alright, let's try something else. Move, or I'll have a group of agents at that quaint little farm of yours faster than you can blink.”

Kara can't stop the strangled choking noise that works its way out of her mouth—no, no, she was so careful, she'd always been so careful...

You never should have become Supergirl, she thinks, but then, as she continues to stare, wide-eyed at Henshaw's face, she has a horrifying realization that he looks familiar. She's seen him before. Somewhere. Some--

A memory. Smallville. Shortly after her and Kal had landed, going into town with Martha, having pancakes at the diner before finishing their errands...

A couple of guys in suits at the far end of the restaurant. She caught their eyes a few time, but thought it was a fluke. An awkward, accidentally moment of eye contact.

But it wasn't. It wasn't a fluke, it wasn't an accident, they had found them. They'd known all along. But how?! She thinks, borderline hysterical. How had they evaded her detection? She has super-hearing! She can see through walls!

It's a struggle to simply breathe through the panic and processing; she doesn't notice as Henshaw loads a new cartridge into his gun—one that gives off a subtle glow in the milky, pre-dawn light.

He's about to fire, but there's a roar from behind Kara.

“Wha—no!” Henshaw yells as J'onn barrels into him. They both tumble further into the trees. Kara forces her mind to stop spinning in frenzied circles long enough to clamber unsteadily to her feet. They've known, they've always known—

Focus! She tells herself, and charges after the two men. She can hear them before she sees them, the grunting, the struggling, another gunshot.

Someone yells—Henshaw. But the yelling fades, like he's—

She's spotted them now. She surges forward through a tight knot of trees. J'onn is slumped at the edge of a cliff.

Henshaw is not with him.

“He...he went over, I wasn't—” J'onn tries to say, but he's breathing heavily, and still clutching his side. “—Not strong enough, not fast enough to pull him back—”

He passes out, at that point. She approaches the edge of the cliff, just enough to see that it's...a very long way down.

She presses the back of her fist to her mouth, eyebrows drawing together in distress as she imagines the fall. She proceeds no further. There's no need.

Instead, she picks J'onn up as gently as she can, and extends her hearing as far as it will go. The helicopter has landed a few miles to the south, and she can hear two separate scouting parties.

They need to leave.

They also need to...figure out what to do about these people, the ones who have been following J'onn, and apparently Kara as well.

...One crisis at a time, Kara decides.

She takes off, her speed probably more than a little reckless, but she needs to get J'onn help. And fast.

...She just hopes that the Danvers know as much about patching up Martians as they do about patching up Kryptonians.

* * *

Alex usually isn't allowed to have a second juice box, but she takes her chances asking mom if it would be okay. After all, Kara is visiting, and when Kara visits, sometimes the rules change a little bit.

Like getting a second juice box.

(She checks to see if any of the grown-ups are looking, before quickly grabbing a third juice box that she stuffs under her sweatshirt.)

She makes sure to close the refrigerator before hurrying past the dining room, where Kara and her parents are. They don't notice her, which is okay—they're really busy talking.

So she continues on her way to the family room. It's a little messier than normal, and for once, it isn't because Alex has forgotten to clean up her toys. Instead, there are Band-Aids and stuff all over. She's careful not to disturb anything—it's all stuff that only the grown-ups are allowed to use, and she's already sneaking juice boxes, so. Best not to break any more rules.

She settles herself on the couch, fluffing a pillow, and getting comfortable before she turns her attention to her juice box. She pulls off the straw and bites through the plastic wrapper.

The big green man that Kara brought with her stirs at the other end of the couch.

“Wanna juice box?” Alex asks, removing the super-secret extra one from under her sweatshirt. “It's fruit punch.”

The big green man blinks at her with his glowing red eyes. Christmas colors, Alex thinks.

“Fruit...punch?”

“It's really good,” Alex explains. “Because it has all the fruits. Together.”

She offers it to him. He looks at it for a second, before reaching out to take it.

“...Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Alex says. She starts on her own juice box, then realizes the green man is still staring at his. “Oh. You gotta—” Alex reaches over and pulls off the straw to hand it to him. He takes it, but he stares at that too. So she reaches over again and takes the straw, slamming it on the coffee table to get it to pop up out of the plastic.

She sets the wrapper off to the side, and gives him the straw once more. “Now poke it through the silver dot.” She points to the top of the juice box.

The green man follows her instructions. The straw slides into place. “Yeah. Like that.”

She watches as he takes a hesitant sip. The juice box trembles a little in his grip, but that's probably because he was hurt earlier, and is still getting better.

“It is...very good.” He says after several more sips. Alex smiles.

“Toldja.”

They sit side by side, enjoying their juice boxes in companionable silence. As Alex finishes her own, the cardboard crumpling as she noisily slurps the last fruity drops, she says, “My name's Alex.”

“I'm J'onn J'onzz,” the man says.

“Are you from Krypton, like Kara?”

“...No...I'm from Mars.”

“Oh.” Alex nods. “Okay.” She looks down at her hands, and counts on her fingers. “My...very...educated...mother...” She looks up. “That's right next to Earth!” she smiles. “Like a next-door neighbor.”

“...Yes,” J'onn agrees.

She looks over to see that he's finished his juice box, too. “Want another one? Mom will probably say it's okay, because you're sick.”

J'onn regards his empty juice box. “Would it also be...fruit punch?”

“Yeah.”

“...Then yes, please.” He gives her a small smile. “I would like another juice box.”

* * *

It takes J'onn two days to recover. It's mostly thanks to his own healing ability—Eliza and Jeremiah do as much as they can for him, but their resources are limited.

So, he spends the two days sleeping in their guest bedroom. Kara spends those two days thanking Eliza and Jeremiah profusely.

“I owe you guys,” she tells them.

“You can pay us back in juice boxes,” Jeremiah says.

J'onn is up and about by day three, and pretty much immediately insists on leaving.

“I'm a danger to you all, staying here.” The Danvers try to reassure him that, it's fine, that he doesn't need to feel like he has to flee into the night.

But. Kara had told them. About the man, Henshaw, and what he had revealed to her, when he'd cornered them in the jungle.

“They probably know about you, too,” Kara admits with a grim expression. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Eliza says with a firm shake of her head. “We were well aware of the risks, when you came to us after the Doomsday Event.”

“But J'onn's right,” Kara says. “It's dangerous—”

“Then it's a good thing we've got a Kryptonian on speed-dial,” Jeremiah interrupts with a grin.

“Still, I understand why he's anxious to go,” Eliza concedes. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Kara admits she isn't sure, and is determined to find out. Which is how she finds herself in the Danvers' backyard, joining J'onn in quietly admiring the sunset.

“I've never been able to just,” he takes a long, deep breath. “Enjoy this planet.”

Kara nods in somber understanding. But then adds, “One of the things Earth has going for it,” she smiles. “It's beautiful.”

“It is.”

Encouraged by his agreement, Kara continues, “And a lot of the people on this planet...are really wonderful too.”

She braces for an argument. But,instead, J'onn looks down at his hand, and Kara realizes he's holding a juice box.

“I still have a hard time believing that,” he says. “...But I would like to try.”

She nods again. “The Danvers want to help,” Kara tells him, crossing her arms over her shirt. She's not in costume. Standing next to J'onn, though, with his regal blue cape and dark, armored suit, she feels under dressed. “We all want to help. However we can.”

“That group...I think they're called the D.E.O.”

Kara frowns. “How do you know that?”

“I heard one of the other agents,” he says, which Kara finds strange. She'd heard the agents too, but they'd mostly just been whispering commands and confirming locations, entirely in code; she hadn't heard any of them openly discussing specifics.

But then, maybe he meant he'd heard it during one of their earlier encounters.

“They'll be looking for Henshaw.”

She turns away from him. “There's no way he survived that fall,” she says in a low voice, trying not to think of the man's grizzly fate. She's still horrified by what Henshaw told her, and she got the impression that the man took a sickening glee in the prospect of killing J'onn—and possibly any alien they deemed 'too powerful' to conceivably coexist with humanity in peace. But still. It was a gruesome end, one Kara wouldn't wish on anyone.

“I'm going to take his place,” J'onn says suddenly.

Kara starts. “What?”

She turns back to face him and he's—something's happening. There's a red glow that envelopes his entire body, and J'onn's face fades away, replaced by the face of Hank Henshaw.

Kara gapes.

“I've thought about this,” he says, “If Henshaw is listed as 'MIA', or worse, it they find and identify his remains at the bottom of that ravine, they'll intensify their search, maybe even respond more harshly to perceived 'threats'.

“But if I take his place...I can divert their entire operation. Change it from the inside.” Kara's trying to focus on his plan, because, as wild as it is, it's...admittedly a very good one. It would potentially solve...a lot of problems.

...But she's silently freaking-out, just a little. J'onn just—dead! Dead guy! Dead guy, standing here, talking to me! “I can make it safer on this planet, for people like us.”

“That's—you—” Kara shakes her head. “You can shapeshift???”

J'onn smiles.

“I can also read minds.”

* * *

“—and she didn't come back, but satellite imagery suggests she left Brazil alive, with an injured civilian. They entered U.S. airspace that morning.”

“...I see.”

“Did you get the reports on the array? The damage was surprisingly minimal.”

“...I did get the reports, but I still need to look them over.” She ends the conversation abruptly, knowing she'll have to apologize to Dr. Silva later.

But she doesn't really care.

Because how was it, that within hours—hours—of speaking off the record with Kara Kent about an incident at the Montanha Verde installation, Supergirl arrived at that very same location, without any explanation as to how she knew they were in trouble, how she even knew where to go?

The obvious explanation is that Kara leaked the story to someone with connections to Supergirl. Or maybe Kara herself was in contact with the superhero.

Or.

Dr. Hoshi retreats to her office. A sparse room consisting of a desk, a chair, and a meticulously organized bookshelf. It's free of any personal touches—Kimiyo remembers feeling like it would have been admitting defeat, to settle down here. To invest in the lie LexCorp was building, about her. Her career.

Normally, the sight of the office simply depresses her. Now?

She finds herself growing angry.

She sits at the desk, and thinks. Kara Kent had always been so invested in their work. Kara Kent had come here, unannounced, and had basically received a VIP tour, getting an up-close look at their monitoring equipment. (However rudimentary and obsolete it may be.)

And there was that business about the Doomsday Event. And Supergirl.

Supergirl...who went to help with the damaged array. The damaged array that Kimiyo had specifically mentioned.

To Kara Kent.

...A crazy theory, she decides. But then, how many widely accepted scientific truths began as mere crazy theories?

She just has to test it.

But to test a crazy theory, you need funding. And resources.

She looks around the small, bleak office.

She reaches for the phone on her desk. Dials a familiar number.

The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Kimiyo, hello. What a pleasant surprise,” the greeting is not delivered with any sort of sincerity. “Has E.T. phoned home yet?”

Kimiyo refuses to dignify the stupid joke with a response. “I want out of here, Lex.”

“You're welcome to tender your resignation at any time.”

“I know how we can get back at STAR Labs,” Kimiyo says.

The line goes quiet for a time.

“I'm listening.”

“It's just a theory, at this point. I'd need to test it...I'd need—”

“Access to your research? Your old lab?” his tone is mocking.

“And money.”

“Natch.”

“You wanted Doomsday, right?”

“...You have something on Doomsday?”

“No,” Kimiyo admits, and Lex makes an irritated noise. “...I might have something on Supergirl.”

She waits for his response.

There's a chuckle. A laugh. A guffaw, and she's certain she's blown her chance at redemption, that she's destroyed her career for a record second time in the space of three years.

But then he speaks.

“That's even better.”

Dr. Hoshi takes a steadying breath.

“So we have a deal?”

Lex Luthor laughs, in a manner most unsettling.

“Oh, yes.”

* * *

NOTES:

- I generally try to keep the notes to a minimum but THIS ONE’S GONNA NEED SOME EXPLANATION - It took me forever to decide on when J’onn appears in the CAK universe. I had initially planned on just using the date and circumstances from the show, essentially replacing Jeremiah with Kara. - Buuuuuut that would mean J’onn would arrive when Alex was a teenager, and the thought of Smol Alex inspiring J’onn to have faith in humanity was. Too compelling of a notion to pass up. XD - So this kind of contradicts events in ‘the one where alex saves the world’ but those inconsistencies can be handwaved away with: Alex wasn’t aware that her cool Martian friend she met One Time is the same guy as Kara’s grumpy colleague from the DEO. - TIMELINE CHECK: This takes place before, and then after ‘the one with the beginning’ (AKA the Doomsday one.) - As always: the science is just pure made-up nonsense, cobbled together from light Googling and my vague recollections of Contact. - Kara finds J’onn in Brazil as opposed to Peru because I definitely misremembered episode 1x17. - And SPEAKING OF, if the whole trip seems contrived and like it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer plot/mystery, that’s because it was, but I lost the notes to what I had initially planned.

#stranger writes #supergirl fic #cool aunt kara AU #CAK AU #J'onn J'onzz #kara danvers #alex danvers #j'onn and kara centric #long post

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writings-in-ebony · 5 years ago

Text

Extended Vacation

Summary: Steve decides to go on a cross-country trip to visit various VA hospitals. But his plans get altered when Tony decides he needs a personal assistant to help him on his journey: you. Steve reluctantly agrees and you both embark on your journey. But as you both travel, you decide to show Steve the beauties of the modern world and teach him that it is okay to let loose sometimes. However, what will happen when you guide Steve into more intimate territory and the lines of professionalism start to blur?

Author’s note: Hello everyone! A prompt was created by @sugarthicc and she gave me permission to write this. I hope it reads well! Thanks again!

Prompt: Have reader have a personality like Meg the Stallion.

Additions include Steve is a hero and Reader is a personal assistant. And eventually Steve must get pegged (with help from @plussizeappreciationfics and @ctrlszn) LOL

Word Count: 2442

Warnings: Bad language

Chapter 1

Ever since the new Avengers training facility was announced, new and potential heroes have flocked to train and hone their skills and abilities. However, as the facility was filled with heroes, there was also a call for more staff and administration positions. To accommodate the need of positions, Tony ended up hiring a hundred more non-powered individuals to handle the backbone of the company. So, it didn’t come to a shock when Steve was walking to the mess hall and came in contact with a large group of about twenty individuals who were being given a tour of the facility.

Pepper, who was giving the tour, spotted Steve and gave him a professional smile which he quickly returned. But even though he wanted to ease around the group and not disturb their tour, he was halted as one of the students caught sight of him and gasped, “Captain! It’s Captain America!” The rest of the students turned and cried out in varying degrees of excitement. Some even whipped out their phones and aimed it at him, already taking pictures before the man could sneak in a word. Pepper tried to calm them down, but he knew it was pointless. Most of them have seen their hero and it would take only Steve giving them what they want, for them to back down.

“Hello everyone,” he began, waving awkwardly. “I know this is a surprise, but I just want to congratulate you all on getting this position.” Their smiles brightened as if a compliment from Captain America was worth its weight in gold.

“However, I just want you to know that this position comes with a large amount of privacy and class. Most of the heroes here are not used to the limelight yet and will not appreciate being treated like an exhibit. So please, ask before you go taking photos of everyone otherwise, you’ll be receiving a not too nice call from our vast legal team.”

Steve hated to be such a “dad”, as Clint and Tony loved to call him, but he honestly was trying to protect the mental health of Bucky and Wanda, who were so sensitive about being in the public eye. Both were made out to be willing killers and were unfairly castrated by the press and the public. They did not need some new employees all in their business, following them like they were on a reality show.

Even though some of the new people nodded and agreed by putting up their phones, a scoff was heard towards the back of the group. Everyone’s eyes turned towards the source and they saw it was a dark-haired man donning a white shirt and a crooked black tie. He was rolling his green eyes and crossed his lean arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect to get a lecture when I got here,” he scoffed. Captain felt his stare harden and he was about to set the boy straight, but he was interrupted by another person in the back.

“You know, Donny, for a man who can’t even fix his tie, you have a lot of nerve talking to someone as badass as Steve Rogers that way.” Heads turned again and revealed a woman who Steve would describe as beautiful in every sense of the word. She wore a form-fitting royal blue dress, its collar sloping down to reveal her ample cleavage. Her height was amplified by golden heels and Steve didn’t want to admit that his eyes were drawn over every curve she possessed. He didn’t know why he was transfixed. Maybe it was her rich chocolate skin or the sensual but neutral application of her makeup. He didn’t know, but his staring almost prevented him from listening to the exchange continue.

“You’re telling me, you want to listen to this fossil scold us for taking a few pictures? I mean, they are heroes. They should be used to the spotlight and they signed up for this life,” Donny growled back.

“Firstly, that fossil can simultaneously kick your ass and steal your girl faster than you can blink, so I would stop insulting him if I were you. And secondly, these people might be heroes, but they go through so much traumatic shit that will literally make someone as weak-minded as you are, discharge because your mental state will be shot. So, you take that and add the constant opinions from judgmental assholes like you. It’ll drive anyone up the wall. This is their safe place, man. They come here to be around people like them. Not satisfy your need to take a picture of them taking a shit.” She spoke with such confidence, her voice calm, yet cool. Obviously, she and Donny have clashed before and Steve wondered what their history was.

Some people nodded and agreed, causing Donny to huff and admit his defeat for the time being. Pepper, who was watching the exchange with a sly expression of amusement, clapped her hands twice and told the group it was time to continue their tour. The group turned from Steve and proceeded to walk down the hallway. When Steve caught sight of the woman who had basically defended him, she had turned and aimed a wink in his direction.

Later that day, Steve was in his office. He honestly didn’t know why he had the thing since he was never in there. It was too big, with its eleven-foot-tall ceilings and wall of windows which overlooked the lake. At first, the office was designed to Tony’s taste. Equipped with white seating, a glass and iron desk, and random pieces of art dotting the walls. But after much complaining, he exchanged the white seating with deep brown leather sofas. They were very comfortable, and he decided to put them beside the large bookcase he had found. The bookcase wasn’t actually filled with random books either. He had read almost all of them and was continuing to build his collection. On the floor between the couches, he had placed a nice, thick tan rug there. Just to make the space even more homely. Tony had mentioned an electric fireplace, but he was still looking into that. His desk was replaced with a large, wooden one. It was grand with its beautiful carved out edges and dark mahogany coloring. On the side where he sat, there were six drawers and two secret compartments. He has yet to use the secret compartments for anything, but Tony joked that he could store his old Playboy magazines in there. That earned a dry laugh since Steve didn’t own such magazines. And if he did, he wouldn’t store it in his desk. He’d store them in the safe in his room’s closet.

And lastly, he had kindly asked Pepper to take away some of the artwork that was in the room. It was too modern, full of useless colorings and dots. Every time he glanced at one, it made him realize he wasn’t from this time. So, he replaced them with his own drawings and pictures of his family and friends. Yes, he had pictures of the Avengers up there, but he also had drawings of his old Brooklyn home and the Howling Commandos. It made him sad, yes, but he enjoyed looking at what he had versus where he was now.

After redecorating his entire office, Steve still didn’t spend a lot of time here. Mostly he came for the quiet, reading time or to fill out the large stack of paperwork that seemed to crop up after every mission. The latter being why he was in here now. He signed yet another incident account, this time from Sam’s perspective, and laid it over in his completion pile. He was moving onto Tony’s when he got a knock at his door.

“Come in!” he called, not looking up as he continued reading.

“Hey Steve!” It was Tony.

“You came at the right time. You know in your incident report, you didn’t have to write, ‘Ivan Vanko, aka Whiplash, should worry more about fixing his teeth and getting laid, than trying to get back at me for something that happened fifty years ago.’ Really?” Steve finally looked up, aiming a look of disbelief at Tony. What he didn’t expect to see was the girl from before, standing there trying to hide her giggle by biting her lips.

Tony let out a chuckle and shrugged. “What? Am I wrong?”

“I have to sign off on these and send them to Fury,” Steve glared.

“I mean, he’ll know who wrote it anyway. It’ll be fine!” Tony tried to reassure him, but Steve let out an exasperated sigh anyway. “But let’s get away from that and get onto the surprise I have for you!”

“Surprise?” He looked between Tony and the woman.

“Yes! I decided to hire you a personal assistant!” He aimed his hands at the woman, and she gave a small welcoming smile to Steve. Steve’s mouth opened slightly, taken aback by the declaration. What did he need a personal assistant for?

“Before you say anything, I know you’re wondering why you need a personal assistant? Well, Fury told me that you’re going to be taking some time to go around the country and do a few public relations things and I was like, by himself? Well, it’s hard to do a cross country tour and then think about hotels, restaurants, and if you have time to take a break to pee. So, having a personal assistant will alleviate that stress!” Steve could feel his frustration rising. For one thing, he told Fury to keep his leaving to himself as he wanted to drop the news to the team on his own. And secondly, he was only going to go to a few VA hospitals and then dedicate his time to seeing the sights. Which he couldn’t do if he had another person trailing behind him like a baby duck.

“While I appreciate the offer, Tony. I have to refuse.” Tony’s happy expression deflated, and Steve hated that he had to shut his friend down like that.

“But Steve! You just can’t hop on a bike and go around willy nilly! What if something happens to you? Not everyone in the country looks up to the mighty Captain America,” Tony argued.

“You don’t think I know that? That’s why I’ve been growing out my beard and limiting my public appearances. I want to go into this with a clean slate. And I have done research, thank you!” Before Tony could shoot back, the young woman raised her hand.

“May I say something?” Both men aimed looks at her. “Mr. Rogers, I know you are used to handling your way around things with a big stick and instincts, which is not bad in most cases, but you are a national icon going around the country without any knowledge of what to expect. Now, I know you might think Tony is pushing me onto you, which you might see me as a hinderance to your freedom and time off, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to make sure you are not caught in any dire situations and that you are prepared for anything that might spring up.” Steve was about to argue, but she raised a hand to shut him up. “And I know you don’t want to have me following you around and asking constant questions, which is why, if you will approve, I won’t be traveling alongside you. Instead, I’ll make sure to loosely follow you and only accompany you during your VA visits.” Steve’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean,” Tony asked, crossing his arms.

“I will follow Mr. Rogers a few miles back as we travel to our destinations. As for room accommodations, I’ll make sure to book the hotel rooms the day before we are set to arrive and send the new address to Mr. Rogers as soon as he wakes up so that when he is ready to leave, he can immediately go to the new location. On days where we are visiting the VA, I’ll ensure he gets up in a timely manner, eats, and we arrive there on time.” She was very thorough, Steve had to admit. And he grew a little irritated by the smug look she aimed at him. Yeah, she had won this time.

“Fine,” he spat, slapping his pen down. He looked down at the stack of papers to keep from looking at the looks the woman and Tony were probably exchanging. “I’ll do it, but if you overcrowd me, you’ll be sent back here faster than you can say ‘Golly’.”

“Who says golly?” she shot back. Tony let out a hearty laugh.

“I love this woman. This is going to be too good. Well, I gotta leave and prepare your desk and computer,” Tony told the woman as he scurried off towards who knows where.

This left Steve and his newfound personal assistant alone and he would be lying if he said the atmosphere wasn’t awkward. But as the woman took her chance to look around the room, Steve decided to continue looking over the reports. She made her way over to his bookshelf and took in the titles, letting out small sounds of both curiosity and satisfaction. What did she think of his collection? Probably that he was an old-fashioned grump. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he was reminded of the exchange earlier. So, he stopped writing and cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to uh, let you know I appreciate what you said earlier. You are understanding of how we don’t like to be seen as…as…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He tried to finish, but he couldn’t.

“I understand,” came her voice. She was smiling at him, knowing what he was trying to say, and he was thankful again for it.

“I also didn’t catch your name,” he added. She gave it to him, and he knew he’d never forget it. “Thank you. And you can call me Steve. If you’re going to be around me for this next month and a half, you don’t have to call me Mr. Rogers.”

“Alright, Steve,” she purred and turned back towards the bookshelf. Steve tried to go back to finishing his reports, but it was fruitless. He couldn’t get over the way her lips curved and purred out his name, and he was fearful of it. This woman, who he barely knew, was doing something to him and he had to deal with it, alone, as they crossed the country. He felt like he was royally fucked.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x poc!reader #marvel fanfiction #extended vacation #black!reader

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