There’s something called culture. People (especially USAmericans) think of culture as cultural dress, cultural food, cultural music. These are culture, but they are only the very superficial aspects of it. Like the icing on your cake. Far more deep rooted is the more meaty bits of culture: the attitudes, the ideas, the taboos.
There’s a guy on tiktok who has done a series that shows this very well, of Germans Vs Irish. In one video the German offers the Irish person two kinds of tea, green or black. The Irish person keeps putting off the choice with things like “Oh sure whatever is easiest”, “Which have you more of?” and, “Ah sure I don’t want to cause a fuss” whereas the German just wants a straight answer. This is a cultural difference of politeness.
Here in the UK, accents mark your class very openly. They let everyone know where you’re from (though this has become less pronounced in the last 50 years,) and what your background is. A lot of people (especially northerners, but also a fair contingent of working class southerners) face discrimination on the basis of their accents.
Some of us (myself included) even change register (though I believe USAmericans call it code switching) in and out of our regional accent and a close approximation of RP. We learn to do it because it makes us seem more intelligent (even though it shouldn’t) and helps us be taken more seriously.
Thus, our country carries a lot of baggage when it comes to accents. Especially those of the working class who have had their accents made fun of, or have faced discrimination based on it.
So when someone outside the country (usually USAmericans) makes fun of our accents they’re stepping on a lot of cultural taboos and boundaries. Especially because the “It’s Chewsday, gonnae wot-ch sum yewchube innit” is a working class accent.
Now, that’s not to say we can’t take a joke, but this is the kind of joke you share with someone who you have been friends with for a while. My boyfriend often will pick up on the way I say certain words, in much the same fashion I pick up on his idiosyncrasies of speech (English isn’t his first language so he says stuff like close the lights, which is adorable.) If we aren’t predisposed to liking you, then the joke you’re trying to make is more like an insult.
The way I like to think of it is if you were in a pub, and made those sorts of jokes to someone. If they knew you, and they liked you, they’d probably laugh along. If they didn’t like you or know you, they would punch you in the jaw.
HOWEVER: I recognise this post as a joke. I don’t personally find these jokes offensive, but then no one really makes fun of me or considers me stupid because of my accent.
Oh that actually makes a lot of sense! It’s like how it’s assumed in media that the southeastern Appalachian (‘hick’ or ‘redneck’) accent is audible shorthand for ‘this American character is stupid.’ That sentiment reinforces negative stereotypes about that region which has historically been home to a large working class population that has suffered from an underfunded education system and other systematic abuses. It is ultimately an underhanded joke, but not everyone from America (or even the region necessarily) considers it to be offensive despite its classist nature.
yes, that’s basically it! it grinds my gears when certain Very Online Americans will quite rightly say that europeans have no right to mock the us’ lack of healthcare/gun control and working-class accents…but then turn around and act like working-class british accents and foods are hilarious and should be mocked ‘bc of colonialism and the bp oil spill’ as though all british people are directly responsible for the oil spill. and then some of them conveniently forget that there are in fact british people of colour - in the wake of brexit, a smug american blog defended saying that british people upset by the referendum were getting ‘karma’ for the british empire, even when british poc pointed out that they were the ones most likely to be negatively affected by brexit, by saying ‘obviously i don’t mean you’, to which said british poc responded ‘THEN WHY DID YOU SAY BRITISH PEOPLE’
The hatred, by the privileged of England, towards Scotland and any Scottish accent was so pervasive that my mother wouldn’t let my brother and I develop a Scottish accent. She was born in Jamaica but her family moved to London when she was 11. She moved to Scotland when she was pregnant with me. Both my brother and I were born in Scotland and spent out entire childhood there. Mum was adamant that neither of us would have the local accent. It was “common” and “low class” and “would hinder us in the future”. She used to fine us half our pocket money if we used any Scottish slang or said anything in a Scottish accent. I got bullied at school for having a “posh English accent” but she thought my job prospects were more important than a modicum of happiness at school. My outsider status was doubled by that. I was brown and “English”.
Even now, after decades in Scotland, I still don’t sound Scottish. The English hear a slight lilt but that disappears as soon as I spend any time with them.
I feel alienated on two fronts now, skin colour and accent. And one of those was avoidable if it hadn’t been for the prejudice against against perceived lower class accents. Even in Jamaica Mum learnt to speak in an English accent like the white girls at her school. She could switch between the two. Jamaican with her parents, posh English everywhere else. Why couldn’t I have had that?
The fact that a lot of regional actors are expected to code-switch their accent patterns the a kind of neutral English accent in Britain shows how pervasive the classism is.
When Christopher Eccleston was cast as the Doctor in Doctor Who, people were surprised that he used his own northern accent, instead of performing with an accent like every Doctor before him. That was only 15-ish years ago.
Even now, this still happens - James McAvoy made a very vocal protest a couple of years back about a critic who complained about the use of Scots accents and only applauded the “plummy English” accent of one character in a play.
Regional and working class accents were used as joke accents for decades in British media. Look up old broadcasts and notice how many people only speak RP English (ie. the formal pronunciation that smacks of elocution lessons and enunciation). As media accessibility and productions expanded, there have been more regional accents showing up, but it’s still a big problem.
I would like to add that there was a study by the Worcester College that found that people talking with a Birmingham accent were twice as likely to be accused of a crime as people who speak RP. Accents carry huge baggage in Britain.
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Joan Cusack has never appeared in a film that she did not steal.
And as for Debbie, I will always repost my stance on her end.
I’ve said it a million times - if Debbie had listened to what the Addamses were saying in response to her tales of woe, she’s have realized that they understood completely. She had found her people, and was too wrapped up in herself to realize it.
If they could have, they’d have burst from their bonds, hugged the stuffing out of her, bought her a Bentley (and a vintage Ballerina Barbie) and declare her an Addams.
She could spend the rest of her life trying to kill Fester, and he’d love her all the more every time she tried. And the rest would keep offering helpful suggestions. “No point in trying poison, Debbie my dear - he’s been putting strychnine on his cornflakes since was seven”.
This is my favorite episode of all Star Trek. All Star Trek.
But I loved it even more when I found out that they brought Trouble with Tribbles writer, David Gerrold, in as a consultant and ended up sticking him into the episode. The old red shirt playing with a Tribble, that's him.
Not only did he offer plot advice and acting skills, when the tech crew were trying to get the lighting to match, David was there with, "well, back in the day the crew did XYZ" and the tech crew said, oh yeah, we can do that!
I would dearly love for more people to be capable of differentiating between public risk and personal risk.
Examples: drinking is a personal risk. Drinking and driving is a public risk. Going scuba diving is a personal risk. Running a scuba shop with faulty equipment is a public risk. Riding a bicycle without a helmet is a personal risk. Not maintaining public transport safety standards is a public risk. Foraging for mushrooms is a personal risk. Advertising a mushroom identification app that uses shoddy AI is a public risk. Elective surgery is a personal risk. Not wearing a mask in a doctor's waiting room when you are sick with a contagious illness is a public risk.
I could go on just about forever here. But it's a really important distinction and it drives me nuts when they get conflated, and it's so common.
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I found the design agency that did Graphic animation playback for Star Trek Picard and saw the video where they did a large showcase of Seven's skeletal system. And it's awesome.
We always suspected and knew, even saw parts of it on the Picard show, but seeing that Seven's whole spine is reinforced tritanium is amazing.
She has so many nodes to connect on her spine and all the way to Seven's hips.
Recalling all the things done to a Borg Queen's upper torso -- I feel leads credence to the theory that Seven was a Borg Queen candidate.
And here is a really great look at Seven's internal physiology:
These are such high-fidelity scans although it missed the part where a third of Seven's skull is fully Borg tritanium.
So Seven's left-hand implant is fused to her hand. Her heart is also Borg-enhanced. Seven's neck is also reinforced. Her right knee has an implant, and as I suspected, Seven's left knee to her feet is a prosthetic and so is her right arm.
Edited to add:
She also has all manner of circuitry running internally through her body.
i know a ton of you are jessie fans (why else would you be following me she's all i draw). jessie's voice actress from OS, Rachael Lillis, is currently battling cancer and could use some help 💗 such a talented human being and voice for many iconic characters! im so inspired by her (clearly) and glad i had the privilege of meeting her this year
Hello everyone. I’m trying to raise some funds for my sister Rachael Lillis who … Laurie Orr needs your support for Help my sister Rachael w
"Lex is gone. You're safe now, let me introduce myself. I'm–"
"Lena."
AU in which they deal sooner with Lex's ass and Red Daughter is alive Or Supercorp AU where Lex found Kara's pod and trained her for years to be his weapon.
"Lex is gone. You're safe now. Let me introduce myself. I'm--"
"Lena."
Shock crosses Lena's face, and Red Daughter doesn't know how to feel about how Lena feels. Lex had always spoken of his sister with affection. Why would she be surprised Red Daughter knows who she is?
"You're safe now," Lena repeats, schooling her features to a cool regard.
Red Daughter tilts her head. "I have always been safe, here."
This time, it is Lena's turn to look quizzical.
"Alex would never allow harm to come to me."
One eyebrow lifts, dark against fair skin. Clearly, she has her suspicions, but she does not speak them. Instead, she takes a step forward, one hand tucking into the pocket of her coat.
"Will you come with me?" Lena asks. Almost before the words have fully passed her lips, Red Daughter offers her reply.
"Yes."
With Lena, she would go anywhere.
---
She boards a luxurious aircraft on the base's runway, trailing behind Lena as she drinks in the opulence. She'd expected to be shuffled into one of the military crafts she's seen so often, yet had no use for, with netted seats and room for cargo. Not this.
"Sit wherever you like," Lena invites, her voice low. Smooth. Rehearsed.
Red Daughter sits as close to Lena as she is able, in the seat facing her across a small table. As the engines whir to life, Red Daughter studies Lena.
"What purpose do you have for me?"
Green eyes lift to hers. For a moment, she sees sympathy in them.
"You are not a tool," Lena returns. "Nor a weapon."
"I am a soldier," Red Daughter clarifies. She is proud to be such.
Lena gives a single shake of her head. "No."
Red Daughter swallows her indignation. Lena does not know, she allows. She does not understand.
"Then what do you intend?" Red Daughter inquires. "When we reach America?"
"If you'll allow me, I'd like to evaluate your health. From there, I can help you acclimate to American life if you wish."
Red Daughter does not need to assimilate into American life. She already has a life, as a proud child of Kaznia. But she finds herself nodding.
It will keep her in Lena's presence. Keep them close.
"I would like that."
---
Though also underground, Lena's laboratory is spacious and clean, with none of the dank air that had permeated the Kaznian facility. Lena provides her a new set of comfortable garments, and talks her through every step of her evaluation. Red Daughter is stymied by her gentleness-- the scientists in Kaznia had never explained their intentions. They had simply taken what they needed.
"This last part requires a blood sample," Lena says. "Due to the impermiability of your skin, a kryptonite needle is required. Contact will be brief, but you may experience some pain." Her eyes regard Red Daughter carefully. "Do you wish to proceed?"
Red Daughter nods. The prospect of pain means little in the face of performing well for Alex's sister. Lena is true to her word. The flare of fire in her veins is short-lived, and Lena swiftly ejects the cartridge of blood and deposits the syringe in a lead lined container.
"Thank you," Lena says, setting the sample aside. "The test should be completed in a few hours, but it seems that you are in good health."
She busies herself with scribbling a note on her clipboard. Red Daughter finally gives voice to the thoughts that have plagued her since Lena first introduced herself.
"May I ask you a question?" she asks.
Lena's head lifts, and her attention settles on Red Daughter like a tangible weight. "Of course."
"Alex... he spoke of you often," Red Daughter says. "He said you were selfish."
Delicate lips curl in a bemused smile. "I suppose I am."
"Yet you have shown me nothing but kindness."
"The two are not mutually exclusive," Lena delivers easily. She settles on a small padded stool, wheeling herself towards where Red Daughter sits on the exam table. "I can see that you care for him."
Red Daughter nods. "As he cares for me."
A quiet exhalation escapes Lena. It would have been imperceptible if not for Red Daughter's gifts. She doesn't quite understand what it means.
"One thing you should know about my brother," Lena continues, "is that every word he says, every move he makes, is to manipulate others to his own benefit."
Red Daughter frowns in consternation. "I don't understand."
"He disparaged and complimented me in the same breath, I assume?" Lena says. "Brilliant yet selfish, kind yet foolish?"
Blood rushes to Red Daughter's cheeks. He had not used those words exactly, but Lena had guessed correctly.
"Neither untrue, yet phrased in just the right way to cast himself as affectionate, yet superior." Lena smirks. "Am I close?"
Tucking her chin, Red Daughter studies her hands in her lap, twisting anxiously. "He loves you."
"He loves me as much as he loves you-- as a tool, for what we can do for him. The moment you ceased to be of use, he would have abandoned you." Lena shifts on her stool, crossing her legs elegantly. "You haven't asked what happened to him."
"Supergirl."
The taste of the HERO'S name on her lips fills her with a dark and sudden rage. Her jaw tightens as her teeth grit themselves together. She doesn't need confirmation, but looks to Lena anyway.
Alex's sister says nothing for a long moment. Then, she tilted the screen of her computer towards Red Daughter, then pulled up a newsfeed with just a few keystrokes.
Together, they watch a figure in humanoid armor raining destruction down on National City. Windowed buildings explode in a shower of glass and fire, until a smaller figure zips into view, putting out the fire with a gust of what Red Daughter knows is the same icy breath she has.
"That is not Alex--"
As though listening to her words, the feed cuts to a closer view of the terrorist, revealing a bald head and familiar bearded features. Red Daughter's breath catches in her chest.
"But..."
She watches as Alex extends a palm to fire a plasma blast towards innocent bystanders, only for the shot to be intercepted by a red cape.
"He needed to be stopped," Lena delivers quietly, gently. "He forced her hand."
"No," Red Daughter issues, thoughts racing. "He wouldn't. He wanted to save this country, its citizens."
"He only wanted power. When manipulation didn't work, he resorted to force." Lena gazes at Red Daughter, but she can't tear her eyes from the screen. "He would have never stopped."
Eventually, the news shifts to a sponsor break, and Lena turns it off. After a long moment, she reaches for Red Daughter's hand. Red Daughter pulls away, even the faint brush of Lena's fingers suddenly scalding.
"I wish to be alone," she says forcefully.
She expects a protest, or fear, but Lena simply nods. She rises gracefully from her seat, and gives a low murmur.
"Press this button if you need anything," Lena says, gesturing to a prominent button on the desk's phone. "I'll check in later."
With that, she leaves the room, leaving Red Daughter to her swirling thoughts.
---
Red Daughter doesn't know how much time has passed when Lena re-enters the lab. In her hands she carries a number of paper bags, transluscent with grease. Whatever they contain fills the air with a rich, savory aroma that sets Red Daughter's stomach to growling.
"I surmised as much," Lena says, amused. She hands the bags to Red Daughter, keeping only one of the drinks for herself.
She watches, sipping on her straw, as Red Daughter wolfs down burger after burger. Somehow, Lena has brought her exactly as much as she needs to feel full. It's an unfamiliar feeling.
"Supergirl is looking for you," Lena says in a low voice.
Red Daughter blinks, yet isn't quite surprised. Alex had told her it would only be a matter of time before the so-called hero tried to eliminate her.
"It's only a matter of time before she tracks you here." Lena regards her calmly, seemingly unbothered by the prospect of being caught harboring her. "Do you wish to speak with her?"
Her rage flares again, curling her hands into fists as her muscles clench with the urge to smash and rend and destroy.
"No."
Lena nods. "Very well."
---
Lena doesn't restrict her to the lab, though she does advise Red Daughter to keep out of sight during working hours. Even that, however, is mitigated by Lena visiting a few days later with clothes and a curious accessory.
"It's an image inducer," Lena explains. "It disguises your identity by projecting computer generated features over your own."
She reaches up to affix the device to Red Daughter's skin, just behind her ear. The ghostly touch of Lena's fingers sends a shiver of something down Red Daughter's spine.
"Nothing too egregious. Different nose shape, eye color, that sort of thing. No one will notice unless they're looking for it."
There's a curious tickle across Red Daughter's face when the image inducer activates, but it passes quickly. A satisfied smile flitters across Lena's features before she turns to the pile of clothes she's brought with her.
"I've brought a few options for you to choose from," she continues. "I sincerely doubt my brother gave you much choice in wardrobe, so I'm happy to help if you'd like some input. But feel free to try them on to see what you prefer."
Red Daughter obeys, feeling simultaneously foolish and giddy as she disrobes and begins trying on clothes. It's frivolous, another example of American consumerism, but it's fun to see her appearance change in the mirror, depending on color and fit.
In the end, she settles on all black-- fitted jeans and boots, with a long sleeved shirt that fits comfortably snug against her skin. When she turns for Lena's reaction, Red Daughter sees a slight bob in the woman's throat as she swallows.
"Wow," Lena says, smiling. "Looks perfect."
"They are very comfortable," Red Daughter returns. "Thank you."
Lena waves her gratitude away. "It's nothing." She turns to grab several items off the table behind her. When she turns back, she offers Red Daughter a packet of folded leather.
"Wallet," Lena says plainly, passing it over to Red Daughter. "Phone. Keys."
The keyring is bare, Red Daughter notes, with a single key, a laminated paper tab, and a metal charm depicting a smiling cat.
"Wallet has cards and cash," Lena continues, "phone is programmed with my number. The key is to my apartment-- you're welcome to visit. The tab will get you back into L-Corp if you prefer to return here."
"And the cat?"
Lena grins. "For flavor."
Red Daughter blinks as suddenly the pieces in her hands start clicking together. "Why are you giving me these things?"
Her host fixes her with a bright gaze. "You aren't a prisoner here. You're welcome to come and go as you please-- these are so you can navigate the city comfortably."
Apprehension coats Red Daughter's throat. She knows what to do with them-- Alex has prepared her for eventual infiltration, after all. But... she does not know where to go.
Lena senses her distress, and continues.
"I would go with you, but I'm concerned I'd draw too much attention, after... well."
After Alex, Red Daughter knows. He had warned her how cruel the american press can be, when they set their sights on someone they believed could be a story. It doesn't help her feel any better.
"How about this?" Lena takes the phone back and taps at the screen. "I'm plugging in a cafe I enjoy. And I'll make a note here for a drink suggestion I think you'll like."
"What do you like?" Red Daughter asks.
Lena pauses. She looks up at Red Daughter with an indiscernable gaze.
"Flat white two pumps hazelnut."
The answer means nothing to Red Daughter, but her feelings of foolishness for asking ebbs when Lena shoots her a smile.
"Don't worry," she assures her, "You'll get the hang of it in no time."
She taps more, then returns the phone to Red Daughter. The screen displays a map with a dotted line-- her intended path, it would seem.
"I added a stop for the city library," Lena says. Her smile softens. "I saw the books in your barracks. You like to read?"
Elation floods Red Daughter-- Lena had noticed! Not only noticed, she has inferred her love of books, as though she had some preternatural ability to see into Red Daughter's mind.
"I do," Red Daughter says with an answering smile.
"Then you should visit. Or do anything else that interests you on the way. And if you do go, you should find some books to check out and bring home."
Home. Home feels like a distant memory, as far away as Kaznia, and quickly being eclipsed by the feeling she has here and now in Lena's presence. A sudden wash of disappointment fills Red Daughter that Lena would not be joining her on her exploration.
"I would feel much better if you would come with me."
Lena sighs softly, the sound kind to Red Daughter's ears. Her lips purse thoughtfully as her brow creases, before her gaze brightens.
"Come with me."
Red Daughter follows Lena to the small elevator that takes them to Lena's office. It is not her first visit upstairs, but it is the first to occur while daylight streams through the windows. She watches as Lena rummages through her purse, then emerge with a soft "hah!"
"Here," Lena says, opening a small plastic case. Inside sit two communication pieces, not unlike the devices the soldiers used in field operations. Red Daughter carefully plucks one from the case and puts it in her ear.
"When you get downstairs, call the number in the phone. We can talk while you explore, and you tell me whether you like that drink."
Red Daughter feels a beaming smile of her own creep over her features.
"Yes," she says softly. "I would like that."
---
To Red Daughter's surprise, the streets outside L-Corp are relatively empty.
"I had expected there to be more people."
"It's Saturday," Lena says in her ear. Classical music plays in the background, a peaceful soundtrack to a bright, comfortable day. "I expect you'll run into more people when you get closer to the park and restaurant areas."
She's correct. Individuals, partners, and families all mill about the city center enjoying the sunshine. It disorients Red Daughter for a few moments until she adjusts. Lena speaks to her through the overstimulation.
"You're doing really well," Lena says. "Just focus on me. Do you see the shop on the opposite corner?"
"Yes," Red Daughter answers, grateful for the smooth cadence of Lena's voice.
"That's where you're going. There's likely a line-- if you don't know where the end of it is, ask around until you do."
Red Daughter nods. She can do this. She's on a mission-- a mission to acquire coffee, and render a report. She navigates across the street, following the streams of people until she reaches the door of the cafe.
She does indeed find the line, and proceeds to wait in her assigned spot, slowly moving forward until she reaches the counter.
A friendly looking woman meets her gaze. "What can I get you?"
Red Daughter glances at her phone, but looks up a moment later, resolute. "Flat white two pumps hazelnut."
There a small noise in Red Daughter's ear, communicating Lena's surprise. After she pays, she finds a relatively quieter corner to wait in.
"That's not the drink I recommended," Lena says in a low voice.
"I want to try what you like," Red Daughter returns. When her drink is announced, she takes a long pull and swallows quickly.
"It is awful," she tells Lena.
Lena's answering laugh fuels her grin all the way to the library.
----
With Lena in her ear, Red Daughter quickly learns how to navigate the library and its seemingly endless stacks of books. There is so much information, so much knowledge, that she feels utterly incapable of absorbing it all. Yet she wants to.
There is still much she does not know about this world. So much she yearns to.
"There's a limit to how many you can take home," Lena warns. "So choose carefully."
She provides recommendations at Red Daughter's behest, and though Red Daughter finds a seat in the library to read there, she lingers only a moment before she rises and makes her way back to L-Corp.
Lena looks up in surprise when she enters, carrying her heavy load of books with ease.
"Back so soon?"
Red Daughter shrugs. She is glad that Lena doesn't push for a reason-- she isn't ready to admit that she isn't interested in being anywhere Lena isn't.
---
She rarely returns to the laboratory after that. Instead, Red Daughter finds herself integrating not only into life in America, but into Lena's life. Where Alex kept her cramped in a stone cell in the bunker's barracks, Lena grants her leave to make herself comfortable in a spare room of Lena's own apartment.
They share meals, discuss politics and philosophy and literature. While Lena works diligently at her computer after hours, Red Daughter reads. Oh, how she reads. Every novel makes her yearn for experiences she's never had, every geography makes her long to see every corner of the world.
She could, she knows. She could see each corner twice over in the space of a breath, but she wouldn't live them. Wouldn't drink in their cultures or peoples, wouldn't witness the sunrise or sunset... she wouldn't be with Lena. For when she imagines herself in these far off places, in the scenes of her books-- Lena is always right there with her in her mind.
It is on one such evening, spent in quiet, comfortable coexistence, that Lena issues a soft, "oh."
When Red Daughter glances up at the sound, she finds Lena staring at her.
"I just realized..." Lena says softly, hesitantly. "I'm sorry, but-- I've never asked you your name."
Red Daughter blinks. It hasn't occurred to her either. Such a thing is trivial when alone in the same room, as they so often are.
"The General called me Red Daughter," she returns, considering. "But Alex sometimes called me his Snowbird."
Lena's gaze darkens, almost imperceptibly.
"Do you like either of those?"
Red Daughter pauses. The General's name for her doesn't feel right anymore, after so long away from Kaznia. It was more a codename than a name, she knows. Now, no longer a soldier, it doesn't fit like it used to.
And Snowbird... it was Alex's name for her. Though she has come to accept the mistakes Alex had made, that he had become the villain he had tried so hard to vanquish, it still feels precious to her.
"No," she says simply.
Lena nods. "Is there a name you do like?"
There isn't one. None of the names from her books seem appropriate, as she is real and they are not. But... Red Daughter's thoughts drift to the forged identification in her wallet, which she sees every time she pays for coffee.
"Josie."
Lena's brow crinkles for a moment before it clicks. "Oh! No, that was just an alias I chose at random. We can change it--"
"No," Red Daughter says quietly. It is the name on her library card, after all, the identity under which she has learned and lived since joining Lena. "I like it."
A smile answers her, soft and gentle with eyes as warm as a fire's cooling embers.
"Very well. Josie."
---
True to Lena's expectations, it isn't long before Supergirl comes searching for her, with Lena.
"I know you're hiding her, Lena," Red Daughter-- Josie-- hears through the bathroom door of Lena's office ensuite. But instead of demanding where she was, Supergirl has a different question.
"Why?"
Red Daughter stands poised to break through the door the moment Supergirl threatens Lena. As much as she wishes to avoid the caped crusader, she will not allow Lena to come to harm.
"I'm afraid that's none of your business, Supergirl."
Lena's voice is cool and crisp, leaving little room for argument.
"She's dangerous--"
"Only as dangerous as you," comes the calm reply.
"Lena..."
"She doesn't wish to speak to you," Lena stands firm.
Red Daughter can almost hear the scowl in the hero's voice. Looking through the door with her x-ray vision, she sees fists on hips, and slender arms folded in equal defiance. After a tense moment, Lena softens minutely.
"Just go, Kara."
Kara's scowl deepens with displeasure, then splinters into realization. Red Daughter remembers the words inscribed in the reporter's diary, the anguish of having to keep her true identity secret from the person she called a best friend. She hadn't told Lena.
Yet Lena knows.
"Lena..."
"Go."
Finally, Supergirl acquiesces-- too cowardly to stay and fight for their friendship, to explain herself. Only then does Red Daughter emerge. Lena turns to face her, a grimace on her face.
"You know the truth," Red Daughter says, unneccessarily.
Lena shrugs half-heartedly. She resumes her seat at her desk, and Red Daughter returns to the couch where her newest book awaits. After a moment, Lena's voices breaks the silence.
"You never asked what happened to my brother."
Red Daughter looks up to meet her gaze. "Supergirl."
She has seen the news footage of his demise, the fatal fall from Supergirl's hands. But Lena shakes her head.
"No," she says, voice heavy. "Me."
Red Daughter feels her brow furrow. The admission is unexpected, and she doesn't quite know what to do with it. But the rage she feels towards Supergirl does not transfer to Lena.
"I did not understand, before," she says quietly. "How you could turn away from Alex. From your blood. But... now I see the cruelty of his ideals. A cruelty that did not exclude you, Lena."
Wide eyes sparkle with tears.
"You tried to turn away, but he would not let you. And if there is one thing I understand about Alex, is that he would not have stopped."
Lena gives her a mournful smile. "He must have truly valued you, Josie."
Red Daughter looks at her quizzically.
"To let you call him Alex," Lena continues. She shakes her head. "He always abhorred that name. He was only ever Lex."
---
Supergirl lies in wait for her. Red Daughter can feel her hovering just out of Lena's sight, waiting for a moment to get Red Daughter alone. When the apprehension and anger grow too great, Red Daughter makes the choice to stay home one day, instead of going to L-Corp with Lena.
"Are you sure?" Lena asks, concerned. It is out of character for her to decline an opportunity to be at Lena's side.
She nods. "Yes. I need to visit the library."
"Would you stop by for lunch?" As soon as the question passes her lips, Lena's cheeks flush. "I mean, of course you don't have to..."
"I will bring your favorite," Red Daughter promises.
Lena nods, relieved. "Okay. Then, I'll see you then."
Red Daughter nods. As soon as Lena's town car pulls away from the curb below, Supergirl alights on Lena's balcony. She scowls at Red Daughter through the glass, who does not hesitate to join her in the open air, lest the hero decide that Lena's windows weren't worth keeping in tact.
"What are you," Supergirl demands. Suspicion emboldens her.
"I am your match," Red Daughter replies. She meets the hero's gaze with a hard stare. "Lena told you to stay away."
"She's being foolish--"
"And you are a coward who mistakes kindness for weakness. Just as Alex--" She falters. "Just as Lex did."
Supergirl glares at her. Red Daughter wearhers it easily, unfazed as she continues.
"Leave Lena alone," she says, "or I will make you regret the day you came to Earth."
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I have a lot to say about Jeannie Epper. Most of all, I loved her. I always felt that we understood and appreciated one another.
After all, it was the 70s. We were united in the way that women had to be in order to thrive in a man’s world, through mutual respect, intellect and collaboration.
Jeannie was a vanguard who paved the way for all other stuntwomen who came after. Just as Diana was Wonder Woman, Jeannie Epper was also a Wonder Woman.
She is so beautiful to me. Jeannie, I will miss you.
So. We’ve come here in my life where I just need to talk about ships I love and everyone has to see this. Only not but whatever. I’m gonna try to break this down old school in how I remember shippers manifestos in livejournal days, complete with images. And thus to begin:
What is Star Trek: Voyager?
Unless you live under a rock you’ve probably just heard of Star Trek, maybe not watched it but heard of it. Starting in 1966 the Original Series was released, ran for three years, was canceled due to an infamous error in Neilson ratings and established the franchise. There was an animated series people often forget about, six movies for the Original series, and then in 1987 they brought it back as a live action show called Star Trek: The Next Generation. It did so well and engrained itself in the conscious of many people that they often refer to it as the best Trek but believe me that’s a debate on it’s own. And thus had it’s own spin off, Deep Space Nine in 1993. While not as popular as TNG it’s grouped into what people call the 90s Trek. With the last one being the last spin off in 1995: Star Trek: Voyager.
Where DS9 introduced the first black captain (though it took three years for him to get that promotion, boo), VOY introduced the first female captain lead of a Star Trek series. The premise of the show was that on a hunt for some resistance fighters both ships are pulled through the Alpha Quadrant to the Delta Quadrant. Approximately seventy-thousand light years from home. Due to the choice made by the captain, Kathryn Janeway, they are then stranded there and the crews of the ships band together on Voyager to make their way back to the Alpha Quadrant and get home.
That’s an extreme simplification but basically Lost in Space for Star Trek.
And that leads us to the characters of this essay:
B'Elanna: I'm surprised you're putting time into this.
Seven: Initially I did find the activity irrelevant. But then I realized that it's important for the crew's morale, and for my relationship with Lieutenant Paris.
Here's an interesting fact for you: Carolyn Jones, who played Morticia Addams in the popular TV series "The Addams Family," wore a ring on set that only cost 6 dollars. According to her husband, Peter Bailey Britton, one of Carolyn's close friends was interested in the ring, thinking it was made of diamonds. Despite its low cost, the ring was a unique piece of jewelry that added to Carolyn's distinctive style as the beloved matriarch of the Addams family.
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Todd in the Shadows, Folding Ideas, AND Alexander Avila all left comments on this new video, and Somerton promptly deleted them. So other users are reposting their deleted comments.
