#every time I tell people I have very poor vision they joyfully go 'oh but at least you can get it corrected now :] look at the tech go' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anonthenullifier · 4 years ago

Text

An Awakening

Vision learns the truth of his life prior to Westview which leads to an honest conversation with Wanda.

Ao3 link

There is nothingness and then there is a calliope, it’s jaunty little ditty shocking his mind enough that Vision’s eyes snap open. Blades of grass tickle his cheek and an aura of flashing lights draws him up, palms pressed firmly onto the ground as he hoists himself up into a seated position. His body aches, a faint echo in his mind of being violently torn apart, but it is a feeling that fades the faster he thinks about it. Since it seems important, he tries to move his mind away, hoping that if he doesn’t explicitly focus on it that it will not be forgotten.

Vision nods, goes to stand up, but finds his legs not responding fully, knees buckling under the weight of a fleeting memory of immense pain. A hand loops under his right bicep, the woman’s other hand coming to rest on his back as she helps him up with an aggrieved, “Why can men never admit when they’re hurt?” The snark behind the comment feels forced, the same underlying terror on her face as all the other residents here.

That’s when he remembers, most of it at least. He was on his own reconnaissance patrol, inching ever more methodically toward the edge of town to see how far Wanda’s influence reached. The horror of his findings, their frozen, crying faces, almost knocks him back to the ground, but luckily the woman’s hands are still there to steady him. “Thank you.”

“Did you go in the funhouse?” It’s not really a question the way her voice falls, more of a statement with a rhetorical uptick at the end. “Heard it’s really disorienting with all the clowns.”

Vision doesn’t recall such an attraction anywhere in Westview but then he looks up, following the still present music in the air, and finds an entire carnival before him. Red and white striped tents tower out of the ground, stalls for food send plumes of greasy smoke into the air, and numerous game stalls are lined up where stuffed animals and blowup hammers hang joyfully from the walls. This is new. What is also new is that there are houses and roads beyond Ellis Avenue, which seems right, as if it was always like that, but there is a niggle of unease that tells him this isn’t true, if only he could access the information that makes him feel that way.

“Oh, um , thank you.” His costume is, at least by his understanding of how Billy and Tommy reacted, not sick by any means. Regardless, he finds his hand moving on its own accord to grip the cape, wanting to feel the object of her jealousy. It feels different, slicker and more aerodynamic than the one Wanda left in the closet. He yanks it a bit farther forward and notes that it is also a much more subdued gold with flecks of crimson in parts. A glance down also confirms that his green and yellow ensemble is gone, replaced by teals and reds, no athletic shorts covering the skin tight ensemble.

This is all wrong.

Vision knows the town never had a circus, nor the rows of houses beyond Ellis, he knows that he was not in this outfit and that everything feels just a bit off.

“Do you want some coffee or a ride back home?” The concern in her voice goes deeper than one would expect, even though she did find him injured on the ground, something more wavers in her words. Vision decides that he needs more answers than questions and, even though he hates taking away people’s autonomy, he reaches towards her temple. “Woah,” the woman swats his hands away, “I have pepper spray.”

“I will not harm you.” Oddly her face softens and she drops the threat, allowing him to send a pulse of golden energy into her head.

The change is instantaneous, the woman’s face becoming far more animated, “Vision?! Oh my God, you’re okay!” This is now the second awakened person to recognize him, to be excited at the prospect that he is there to help. “Oh what the hell!” Vision watches the woman’s hand run along her gaudy canary and ruby diner uniform, one that is common in little run down diners on the highway, a thought that he doesn’t quite know how to substantiate since he doesn’t seem to have a memory of such a stop and yet the knowledge is there. As she inspects her clothes, grunting in disbelief and irritation built into every movement, she confuses him further, “I’m an astrophysicist and this is what I get? So disrespectful.”

Neither Norm nor Agnes responded in such a...laid back way to be awakened, both in immeasurable pain that this woman seems to show no signs of. “Miss, are you okay?”

“Doctor, not Miss.”

“My apologies.”

She turns a bright, closed lip smile towards him, reaching out her hand as she says, “I’m Darcy.”

He takes the proffered hand and gives it a polite shake. Even though it is clearly unnecessary he adds, “And I’m Vision.” What he says next is a bit of a surprise to him, mainly because he doesn’t feel like he has a basis for the assumption that she will know the answer, but for some reason he has full faith she can help him, that she wants to help him. “Who am I? What,” he surveys the carnival around him, “what is happening here?”

“Straight to the big questions.” It is not derisively or caustically stated, in fact there is far more affection than one would expect from a stranger. Darcy glances around, nervous for the first time, “I’ll try to be quick, I’m sure your wife’ll be here soon.” This fear is not new, sadly, the same insinuation made by Norm about Wanda’s involvement. “Let’s see, you’re Vision, obviously,” a small, self conscious chuckle goes along with the statement. “You’re an Avenger,” luckily, she senses his desire for more, quickly adding, “group of super powered people, well, not all of them have super powers, some just have really amazing tech, but anyway you’re a team that fights bad guys and saves the universe.”

“Wanda and myself, we were-“

“Yep, joined at the same time and then fell in love, really cute.”

This confirms what Agnes said, which suggests that perhaps her other words were true as well. “Am I...dead?” All joy leeches from Darcy’s face, a deflated nod going along with the tightening of her lips. “How?”

Darcy looks around again and Vision can’t help but join her in the action, can’t help but feel a little bit nervous about who doesn’t want him to know this. “Shortened version - big purple angry grape named Thanos was collecting all the infinity stones, this includes the Mindstone,” Vision’s fingers rise up to brush the gem. “Wanda had to kill you to try and stop him.”

“She killed me?”

Quickly context is added, “Only because you,” she levels a finger at his chest to emphasize his role and take blame off his wife, “insisted she do it.”

None of what she says makes sense. “Why would I do that?”

The next statement is said in a way that typically is coupled with a playful fist against the shoulder that leads into a jovial shove. “Being all self-sacrificial’s kinda your thing. Which is super noble, don’t get me wrong, but a bit rough on the people around you, like asking them to kill you for the greater good.”

Which is a fair point and one he will need to cogitate on at a later time, “Why did Wanda, specifically, have to kill me?”

“Oh because she was the only one strong enough to destroy the Mindstone.”

A logical assessment that he can easily believe his former self to have made. “Was she successful?”

Darcy’s voice quiets somewhat, a slight tremble in her words, “She was. But then Thanos reversed time, brought you back, and murdered you right in front of her.”

Suddenly his worldview shifts, new meaning and understanding emerging as to some of Wanda’s actions and her strong reaction to his accusations the other night. Despite this dawning of understanding, there is still a major question he feels hasn’t been answered. “But then how are we here? How am I,” he falters on the next word, as early as this evening not thinking it was something that could be false, “alive?”

“That’s the million dollar question. No one knows.” A high pitched whizzing vibrates in the air, punctuated by calls of Vision! “I gotta go,” she begins to walk away, but turns back with an anger not yet present in her words, “Quick FYI, if you meet a guy named Hayward, don’t trust him, he’s a dick.”

“I um, will not, thank you.”

She starts to leave again and then stops, “Also, we don’t have proof it’s all Wanda. Food for thought.”

Vision appreciates the comment, “Thank you.” It is when she actually walks away that he is the one that has a realization of not re-invoking whatever trance the people of the town are in. “Darcy!” She turns expectedly towards him as he approaches with his hands out and ready to take the pain from her, except she swats his hands away, yet again.

“Stop it, I’m a better ally awake.”

Based on the prior two people he has spoken to in their awakened state, this seems a poor choice for her. “Does it not hurt?”

“I mean, yeah, feels like I went on a tequila bender last night and haven’t had water in weeks.” How she remains so lighthearted is beyond him, but he admires it immensely, “but I can’t help you if I’ve forgotten.”

Though he isn’t sure it is in her best interest to remain in such a state, the idea of a confidant is appealing. “Very well.”

Seconds after she walks away, blue streaks materialize around Vision, both his sons and his wife appearing suddenly in front of him. This is unusual but he doesn’t get a chance to inquire about their speedy entrance, Billy rushing towards him first with a relieved, “Dad!” Vision catches him, using the momentum of his son’s leap to lift him and hold him close, Billy’s arm wrapping protectively around Vision’s neck. Tommy follows shortly after, his run far more powerful as he slams into Vision’s torso with a tight hug.

It is Wanda who hesitates, her eyes faintly glowing red, a deep, concerned frown on her lips. “Vizh,” her voice cracks and his heart breaks at the pain she tries so valiantly to mask. Vision manages to get one of his hands free enough to motion Wanda closer. She accepts the offer, one arm winding around his waist and the other laying on Tommy’s shoulders.

They have only been home for three hours and yet this is the tenth Wanda has found herself standing in the doorway, hand propped along the wooden frame. In the room Vision lies in bed, eyes closed and resting, Billy is wrapped around him, his arm thrown across his father’s chest and head buried just under the vibranium dot of Vision’s chin, and Tommy is curled snuggly into Vision’s other side. The boys are still in their costumes, Billy’s cape sprawled behind him on their mattress and Tommy’s now flat hair looking a bit crusty from the spray dye. It’s an idyllic scene and yet Wanda fights back tears, shoving the drops away from her eyes as if they are an enemy that needs to be thwarted.

She almost lost Vision...again. The boys almost lost their father at ten years old, an age for which grief is overwhelming and confusing, can shape a life forever, or so she intimately knows.

Reluctantly her body pulls away from the door, arms crossing over her chest as she walks back downstairs, not once considering peeking in on her brother in the guest room. That is a problem she is still trying to figure out, the man a stranger, an antagonist, but with her brother’s name. There are too many inconsistencies in his behavior, too many contradictions in his words, half of them true to her brother and the other far too knowing of events that occurred after his death. Unsurprisingly he and Vision clash, a thought that briefly makes her mouth perk up, always having a belief that if her brother lived he would have begrudgingly accepted her relationship while also making it his personal duty to make jabs at Vision, who Wanda always knew would take it with a silent dignity that was then removed late at night when he’d insist on lengthy conversations with her to figure out the insults. That’s what life was supposed to be. What life is now, technically.

The gurgle of water washes away these thoughts, her focus now solely on filling the kettle and getting it on a burner to boil. Except the distraction is short lived as she sits down at the kitchen table to wait, fingers interwoven and glowing faintly of the residual scarlet energy she had to use tonight. Wanda fixates on her fingers, bending and straightening them, unsure how she knew what to do or even had the power to expand the town. But that’s not the most troubling incident of the night. No, what pesters at her resolve is a simple thought: Why did Vision want to leave? They have everything here - a house, Billy and Tommy, each other, and the time they always tried so hard to find.

Wanda startles at the creak of the kitchen cabinet, heart still racing as she takes in the curve of Vision’s shoulders and the vibranium band along the back of his head. Silently he makes her a cup of tea, hands moving calmly through the ritual he created, the cup always the same distance from the kettle, bag placed at the bottom with the string hanging out precisely two inches, both hands holding the kettle (one on the handle and one at the base) as a perfect arc of water fills the cup, and finally one and a third spoonfuls of sugar. The sequence completed, Vision walks the cup to the table, placing it gently down with barely a clink from the porcelain. She expects him to sit down across from her, to silently stare for a minute or so before bringing up the town again, reopening the wounds of their last fight because they never actually resolved anything other than to try and act normal around the boys. But he doesn’t, instead he takes her hand, tugging it until she stands, and then he hugs her, engulfing her entire being in his presence. The firmness of his chest and the tinny waft of vibranium are just as soothing as the kisses he peppers along the top of her head, each one more doting than the last. “Vizh,” Wanda reluctantly pulls back a few inches, hand squeezing between their bodies until she can cup his face, “are you…”

“I know,” he kisses her properly now, not like the emotionless peck earlier in the day, this one imbued with all of his love and all of his concern. “I know enough.”

A chill moves through her body, limbs growing rigid and heart almost coming to a complete stop. “What do you mean?”

Vision’s fingers move up to trace lines through her hair, palm coming to rest on her cheek. The surety of his prior statement lessens, mouth sinking lower until it’s a shallow frown. “I know that I am,” it is unlike him to pause like this, to seem to want to avoid a conversation he himself brought up, “that I was dead.”

Her denial is immediate and viscera, “What are you talking about, why would you…” but then his doleful gaze meets hers, the ridges of his synthetic skin bunched together in a show of deep, aching pain, though it is clear from the way he holds her, the way he places a far too gentle kiss to her forehead, as if the action itself might knock her over, that he is more concerned for her than himself, which is the epitome of who he was...who he is. If there is anything she can offer that matches this unerring compassion, it has to be honesty because clearly hiding the truth from him will not stop his incessant march towards the truth. But that is easier to think about than it is to actually commit to doing. Wanda swallows down a sob and fights to keep her voice calm. “You were.” The confirmation is too much, her chest heaving as all the memories rush to the forefront of her mind--her hands erupting in red at the feel of the Mindstone fracturing, at the almost silent I love you , and then having to watch him come back only to die in a far more brutal way.

Strong arms that shouldn’t exist continue to encase her, draw her deeper into the comfort of his embrace, the feel of his fingers running through her hair with the same gentle “Wanda” he always said when soothing her. Deep down she knows it is all a lie, this life, this man, this blissful existence. Because as a Maximoff there is only one constant in life and it is sorrow, biting, empty, unavoidable sorrow. Which begs the question of how, exactly he found out. A question that infuriates her and invokes the well know feeling of being caged in by the inevitability of her life.

Wanda steps out of his arms, trying her best not to show how much pain that simple movement creates, her body screaming to remain against his forever, but selfishly she needs answers more than anything, needs information to help her regain some level of control over her emotions, has to know why he put his family through so much just to find out this awful truth. “Why aren’t you happy here?”

A denial forms quickly, his body taut at the accusation, “I am happy Wanda, how could I not be?”

“Because you left, you...you abandoned us today,” Wanda knows she shouldn’t use the next part in anger or for gain, but she needs her husband to understand the severity of it all. “Did you know Billy can sense you?”

Vision’s “He can?” is hard to read, both concerned and in awe, with something else she can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yes, and his first experience of that was feeling you try to die because we apparently aren’t important enough to stay alive for.” The comment hits as intended, Vision stepping back, horror forming in the spasming muscles of his face as he looks up towards the ceiling, towards where he left their sons. “What are you trying to find out there?”

Vision’s simple, “The truth,” is aggravatingly vague, thankfully, or not depending on how this goes, he clarifies, “There is something wrong in Westview, Wanda. The people are in agony.”

A fed up laugh comes out with her “Aren’t we all?” Only Vision can’t find the humor, the gears in his eyes twisting clockwise and counterclockwise while he stares at her, face ladened with a suffocating sympathy.

He takes a step towards her and she steps back, not missing the way her reaction hurts him. “Wanda, it is not like you to inflict pain on innocent people.”

Since they started this new life, her memories have been hazy, coming in and out of consciousness, enough clarity to understand that whatever is happening in Westview is preferable to outside of it. After tonight, after Pietro’s comment about her dead husband, it’s all there and she realizes that she’s never gotten to say out loud what she did, what Thanos forced her to do, the Avengers too scattered with all that needed to be attended to after his defeat to focus on anyone but themselves. So she squares her shoulders, lifts her head and puts all of her self loathing into her next comment, “If that’s true, then why did I kill you?”

This time when Vision steps towards her she lets him grip her arms, let’s him guide her until her face is pressed into his chest, allowing her to hear the beating of his synthetic heart. “You were only doing what I had asked.”

“Well it wasn’t worth it,” her voice is muffled by the teal sweater he’s wearing, “and I can’t, I can’t forgive myself.”

His arms tighten around her, one hand gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt and the other holding her head to his sternum. “You did nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame-”

It doesn't take a telepath to know what empty words he is about to mutter. Wanda forces herself from his embrace and stares hard into his eyes, “Don’t, Vision, just don’t. It won’t change what happened.”

Reluctantly he accepts it, moving cautiously back to the original topic of their discord, “Is this,” he gestures vaguely around them, “the result of,” it is still hard for him to say, which she appreciates because she can’t say it easily either, “my death?”

“I don’t know,,” this time he seems to accept her ignorance, which allows her a chance to actually consider it more. All she can really recall is the crushing loneliness and the suffocating despair of losing the last person she loved in the world. It’s not a stretch to assume that had something to do with now. “Maybe?” If he knows about his death, she reasons that she might as well tell him the other nightmare she discovered upon her own rebirth, something she’s tried to block out as best she can. “It could also be from finding out some shady government organization was experimenting on your corpse.”

Shock is too gentle a word, hatred a tiny bit too strong for the tone of his voice, “That does not seem like an activity I would condone.”

“It’s the exact opposite of what you requested.” Wanda thinks back to that day, and unlike Vision, pure, unabashed hatred flowed through her veins when she received an anonymous tip. Hatred at S.W.O.R.D, at the scientists going against Vision’s will, hatred at the world for being so awful, and hatred at her teammates who let it happen, who didn’t seem to consider that agencies like that lie, that they would never want the body only for “safe-keeping.” All Vision wanted was a burial and she was determined to provide him that, to allow herself the closure she needed. So she broke in, sickened at the way they’d disassembled him and had separate monitors attached to his limbs and head. “I broke in,” Vision holds his breath as she talks, “I took you from them and all I remember is flying away. I was going to bury you in the forest, like you wanted.” That’s where her memory stops and where Westview begins. “And then we were driving to our house after getting married.” Finally he releases his breath with a shuddering gasp. “That’s all I remember, you have to believe me that I have no idea what’s going on.” Unlike the other night, he wordlessly accepts her ignorance, mind likely still reeling from the revelations she shared. It is this lack of judgment that emboldens her to say what’s been swirling through her mind whenever the knowledge of reality sets in, a thought that should carry with it guilt but she can’t muster up guilt when she finally has what she has been denied over and over again. “But I’d be lying if I tried to convince you that I don’t prefer what we have in Westview.”

With a hand on her back, he leads her to the table, pulling out the chair in front of the barely steaming tea, and then he sits directly next to her, tenderly taking her left hand in his own, thumb rubbing absentmindedly along her wedding ring. “I cannot fault you in any way for that feeling. If not for being complicit in the pain of so many, I would wholly embrace this life we have now.”

His tacit disapproval is only slightly less painful than his yelling, but she has to begrudgingly accept that he may not be completely wrong. Whatever pain he has sensed in others was enough to make him tear through the barrier and risk losing his own family. “But what if,” still she fights against figuring it out, unsure she can handle what it might lead to, “what if fixing this means I lose you again,” which is already incomprehensible, but is made even more harrowing by the next possibility, “what if it means losing Billy and Tommy too?”

Tears lick at the corners of his eyes, a war waging on his lips of how to proceed. “It will be horrifying and it will be immensely difficult but you,” he grabs her other hand, his fingers forming a vice around her own and she isn’t sure if he is trying to convince her or himself more, “are so remarkably resilient.”

Sometimes she wishes his density manipulation applied beyond just his body. “Clearly not, Vizh. Look around us.”

Vision doesn’t, instead he looks down at their enjoined hands, a shaky breath recentering his thoughts. “I think we may be, as they say, putting the cart before the horse.” The verbal shift is so utterly ridiculous that she chuckles, an action that causes him to smile nervously. “Did I use it wrong?”

“No, it just, you always say it so academically.”

“I see.” Finally real, genuine amusement flits across his face. “Well, regardless, we don’t know what is happening, unless there is something you aren’t telling me.” It is not an accusation in the slightest, in fact it is said as an aside, almost hopeful that she’s waiting to surprise him with the solution.

There is a lot she hasn’t said, but none of it seems vital other than perhaps one observation. “I definitely have control here,” this itself is painful to admit. Where he is merely complicit if he remains here, she is actively continuing it, “but, I don’t, I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t know how I’m doing this.” Vision takes in the admission, brow furrowing as he no doubts files it away in his future mysteries to solve mental folder. “Like tonight,” she thinks back to when Billy told her about the soldiers, to the moment she realized what Vision had done, “All I knew is that I needed to save you because I couldn’t lose you again. I didn’t have any idea of how or what to do, but I felt like if I just put all of my powers into it, that something would happen.”

It’s amazing how easily he transitions into his cool and clinical investigator voice, “Is this the first time you’ve felt that?”

“No. I mean sometimes I have an idea of what I’d like,” such as when she saw the beekeeper come out of the sewer and then vanquished it, “but other times I just have a hope it will be fixed.”

“That is a start.”

Wanda waits for more and when it doesn’t arrive,she pushes for it, “What does that mean?”

He releases her hands and pats his legs, an odd energy reinvigorating in him. “We must figure out the source of these alterations. Clearly it is not just you.” A fact she can’t say for certain but doesn’t have the heart to correct him on, enjoying how it feels like they’re a team again instead of bitter foes. “I met someone tonight who has knowledge of our prior lives.”

This is unexpected and terrifying. Perhaps the only good thing is that she knows it is not Pietro, because she is not willing to trust him, but to be fair, she isn’t sure she can trust whomever Vision found. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Darcy, she says she is an astrophysicist and has a seemingly strong grasp on what happens outside of Westview.”

Vision is not a very strong judge of character all the time, quick to trust and slow to lose hope in a person, as evidenced by his continued trust in her, yet she asks him anyway. “Are you sure we can trust her?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay.” For now she lets him hold on to that belief, knowing that she will be able to assess this person when they meet. Which also means she knows, deep down, that if this person ends up like Monica, one of S.W.O.R.D.'s cronies, that she’ll be forced to take control again.

The sincerity of his “Thank you,” and the tenderness with which he grabs her hand again, bringing it to his lips with a bit too much romantic melodrama, brings about a fluttering warmth in her chest she has so dearly missed, one that chases away all the disparaging thoughts of what is to come, “truly, for your honesty.” Wanda simply smiles in return, not entirely certain her honesty is worth much at the moment.

It is a relief when Vision maneuvers the conversation to a happier topic. “You said Billy could sense me tonight?”

Pride spreads her lips into a toothy grin, “He’s a natural telepath.”

Vision shares her feelings, sitting back with a satisfied smirk. “We shall have to see if he has your telekinesis as well.”

“We will. Also, Tommy has superspeed.”

Vision’s paternal delight perks up his entire body. “Remarkable.”

“They’re pretty impressive.” Wanda finally picks up the tea and takes a sip, not caring it no longer holds any warmth, far too enamored and distracted by Vision launching into a suggestion of a training regime for their sons, the Maximoff family seeming to be front and center in his mind. If there is any kindness in the world, they deserve at least one night to care about themselves and no one else.

#wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #darcy lewis #scarlet vision #mine

20 notes · View notes

alamble23 · 7 years ago

Text

Re-watching The King of the Delta Blues ....

JFC, you guys, are they EVER going to stop torturing us with the clips from “Hollywoodland” during the previouslies? RUB A LITTLE MORE SALT IN THE WOUND WHY DONTCHA?

I feel like a broken record pointing this out every week, but the casting and music departments on this show KILL.IT. Kamahl Naiqui is amazing as Robert Johnson.

The infamous, incredibly tasteless, truly awful joke: I just seriously don’t get what Anslem Richardson and the writers room were trying to accomplish here. Lisette over at Fangirlish theorizes that Rufus is making fun of Wyatt for loud sex that isn’t actually happening (because things between Wyatt and Jess aren’t going particularly well), and I suppose I can get behind that interpretation, since nobody else makes mention of it? I just really think this could have been done in a way that was A. WAY less ambiguous; and B. didn’t make Rufus and Wyatt look like idiotic jackasses.

Anyway, moving on to Wyatt and Lucy being barely civil to each other. Wyatt, honey, own this. This is like the mother of all “be careful what you wish for” scenarios, dude.

Rufus is now in the lead for “worst bunker boyfriend ever” but it’s gonna be a dead heat as long as Jessica remains on site and Jiya’s visions keep getting worse.

Speaking of Jessica, no Tonya Glanz in this episode, and to be quite frank, I didn’t miss her. No offense to her as an actress, but there’s plenty of tension to be mined there without Jessica actually being on my screen.

Ahem.

That Lifeboat cockpit is pretty effin’ cramped. How do they even have ROOM to add a fourth seat?

Drunk Uncle Connor is funny and sad all at once.

“Well, if you’re not here to provide intelligence, what are you good for?” I love snarky Wyatt. (And he has a bit of a point, even if he made it as meanly as possible)

Oh, Connor, being drunk on your first mission is not an issue with this crowd. Just ask Wyatt.

Mama Bear Denise, laying down the law about Flynn going on the mission, and handing over the one thing he’s wanted since he showed up in the bunker - a gun.

“Keep them safe.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way. *wink*” Of course Flynn is going to be flippant when Wyatt is deadly serious.

In the Bunker of Terrible, Horrible, No-good, Very Bad Decisions, Mama Bear and Brother Bear plan the Rittenhouse raid while Baby Bear looks on, horrified.

Incidentally, ladies, the word is C-A-V-A-L-R-Y.

I would love to know what lie Wyatt came up with when he told Jess that he was gonna be gone all day.

Mason waxing philosophically about the wonders of time travel, rudely interrupted by alcohol-induced travel sickness. You lasted longer than Wyatt did, at least.

I’d say Don Law took this whole mess rather well, all things considered.

Much of Robert Johnson’s life is not very well-documented, which allows the show to really play up the urban myths surrounding him; another variation on the fate-vs-free will argument.

Meanwhile, at Rittenhouse of Horrors #1, Wyatt gets in just a little TOO easily, until he’s ambushed by a redshirt. (also, Mama Bear, get your clock straight - that was Wyatt’s two, YOUR eight. The redshirt came at him from the front and to his right.)

That fight sequence was hella confusing - I still can’t figure out how Wyatt managed to turn his sidearm back on him. And why is Wyatt not using the phonetic alphabet? Jiya may be a civilian but I’m pretty sure she could have figured that out.

The lack of security at Rittenhouse of Horrors #1 leads me to believe that Carol might have gone a little bit rogue with that snatch-and-grab job last week on Mama Bear.

And Mason as good as admits that he had a pretty good idea what he was getting into when he accepted funding from Rittenhouse. Asshole.

This conversation between Flynn and Lucy ... ugh. It just makes me stabby. “Sometimes I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.” NO. JUST NO. That shit is not romantic, it is fucking creepy. My apologies that I can’t remember who posted this analysis not long ago, but someone made the argument that Flynn is treating the version of Lucy that wrote the journal like a ficitonal character, not a flesh-and-blood person. It’s an excellent bit of meta, and frankly, I wish I’d seen it sooner.

Hi, Sleeper Agent! I am guessing that the individual they killed at the top of the episode was actually a backup agent, who might have been sent back when Rittenhouse discovered that the team went back to San Antonio? It’s about the only explanation that makes sense to me.

True story: when I woke up yesterday morning and got caught up on the West Coast live tweets, I saw tweets from Matt and Abby referencing strawberry milkshakes and I had NO IDEA WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT.

So, this conversation basically confirms that Lucy’s journal does not reference every mission, correct? If it had, wouldn’t Flynn have avoided the Hindenburg? Or does Lucy just specifically not reference Amy? Too confusing.

Mason, do you honestly think that Mama Bear is jusst gonna let you waltz out of the bunker? SHE HAD YOU ARRESTED, YO. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE IN JAIL.

Back at Rittenhouse of Horrors #2, what the heck was Wyatt doing while Jiya was cracking firewalls? Did he go back to the bunker?

I am totally here for Jiya defending Wyatt.

That being said, Mama Bear has a point.

And we get to the fateful, yet too-brief confrontation between Wyatt and Carol Preston. Wyatt, of course, can��t take the shot at Carol, I think partly because he recognizes her value as a potential source of information, were he to get her out of there alive, but mostly, let’s be real, because he couldn’t do that to Lucy. She knows nothing about this mission, and she would never forgive him for making that decision. He;s caused her enough pain already, he won’t add to it, not like this. Not if it’s avoidable.

Good lord, Nicholas Keynes is a TERRIBLE shot. I mean, yes, modern weapons are very different than what he would be used to, but they didn’t have him go to a gun range or something, just in case? No wonder he died in WWI. Also, the fact that Wyatt is barely winded, tells me that none of Nicholas’ bullets did more than graze him. Bullets+Kevlar leave NASTY bruises.

And add Connor Mason to the list of people who have been put in the untenable position of “kill-or-be-killed” on a mission. If they do this to Jiya at some point, IMMA REVOLT.

“Fanboys don’t save the world, Rufus!” - Yeah, but Fanboys and Fangirls do sometimes save their favorite show!

This scene between Rufus and Connor is so brilliant. Malcolm and Paterson just knock it out of the park.

Speaking of Paterson knocking things out of the park .... this pep talk is amazing.

It reminds me a little of one of my favorite quotes from The West Wing: “Decisions are made by the people who SHOW UP.”

Free will wins again.

Poor Jiya. You think she feels left out, always having to stay home?

Oh, Wyatt. That is the face of someone DEEPLY REGRETTING his recent life choices.

Imma just pretend that the episode ends right here, with Mason joyfully reliving his small part in making music history. “That was my yeah!”

Nope, Lucy’s new drinking buddy DIDN’T HAPPEN. Jiya’s vision of what is clearly the season finale DEFINITELY DIDN’T HAPPEN.

I’m going to be at the beach next weekend, hopefully indoctrinating some friends into the Timeless cult. Until then, #Clockblockers!

#nbc timeless #s2x06: The King of the Delta Blues #lucy preston #wyatt logan #jiya marri #rufus carlin #connor mason #denise christopher

1 note · View note

cakane463 · 6 years ago

Text

🐣 #RubysEasterHat – April 1883 #Easter #GodeysLadysBook

Ruby’s “Easter Hat”

“I wish I was dead, so there;” and Ruby Brown stood the picture of lovely despair, gazing down at a yellow mass at her feet, consisting of six dozen crushed eggs. Poor Ruby had been a whole month saving and hoarding these treasures which were to play an important part in the purchase of a lovely “Easter bonnit,” Aunt Rushy had contemptuously called it, when Ruby had said in a pleading tone: “But auntie, all the girls are going to have pretty new hats to wear Easter Sunday.” “Easter bonnits, indeed,” snapped Aunt Rushy, “better be thinkin’ of the good Lord, and how he riz on that day, then hey their minds on bonnits.” “But auntie—”“Now, no buts, Ruby Brown; girls in my time wusn’t thinkin’ eternally ’bout bonnits and gimcracks; and Easter Sunday wasn’t made a show day for bonnits, either.” “If I could have the eggs, auntie,” pleaded Ruby, ignoring her last remarks.“Well, take ’em; I don’t, know as I care, if you can save enuff ‘tween this and then. You’ll hey to hey a bonnit eny how shortly after Easter.” Ruby ran joyfully out into the coop to gather the first installment, after giving Aunt Rushy an affectionate little hug.“That child always will get the best of me long as grass grows and water runs,” smiled the spinster aunt, grimly—who had been mother and aunt for many years, nearly eighteen now, since her dearest and youngest sister had died, putting baby Ruby into Jerusha’s arms, murmuring “Be kind to her, love her for my sake,” and had died; and the young girl well repaid the care and grim sort of love lavished upon her. No one knew what ever had become of gay, wild, dissipated Will Brown, Ruby’s father, whom people said had once been Jerusha’s lover, and who had deserted her for the younger sister, pretty Helen.The eventful morning had come on which Ruby’s eggs were to be disposed of. Blithely and gayly she started forth, a neat willow basket on her arm, her eyes shining like twin stars, and cheeks rivaling summer roses. A stray robin chirped dubiously overhead in the budding but leafless trees, and visions of the “Easter hat” floated before Ruby’s vision, with which the young minister who had just been settled at the “Caworth village” church, should be ensnared; for all the girls, Aunt Rushy said, “wus casting sheep’s eyes that way. Ruby tripped along in the crisp March air, satisfied with herself and the whole world, when alas! for human hopes and joys how fleeting, Ruby caught her foot in some tangled weeds, and fell headlong upon her precious basket of eggs, and for a moment felt as if the whole world had crushed all the joy and happiness out of her young heart and life. In her great sorrow she gave vent to the ejaculation, “I wish I was dead,” as she slowly arose from the ruins of all her (eggs) hopes.

“Can I be of any assistance?” asked some one behind her.

Ruby started and looked around, to encounter the amused smile on the young minister’s face.

“I hardly think any one can remedy this disaster,” stammered Ruby, dismally viewing the mass at their feet.

“Eggsactly,” laughed Mr. Howard.

“Don’t laugh,” said Ruby, suddenly bursting into tears.

“Don’t cry, I beg. I will try not to laugh,” he said anxiously.

“How foolish I am,” said Ruby, bravely trying to smile, “but I have lost my Easter hat.”

“Your Easter hat?” he asked, a little nonplussed.

“Yes. With those eggs I should have bought it,” sighed Ruby.

“Hem! Well, is it absolutely necessary to have Easter hats, Miss Brown?”

“Oh no. Still, every one does, you know,” said Ruby, gravely.

“No, I did not know it before. Do you not think you could enjoy that grandest and loveliest of anniversaries without a new hat, Miss Brown?” he asked, looking into the sweet face searchingly.

“Oh, yes I could,” replied Ruby, blushing rosily. “I think I have been a little vain, and I am punished this way,” and Ruby laughed quite merrily.

“Not one left to tell the tale,” he answered, joining in her laughter.

“Only on my dress and mantle,” laughingly said Ruby; “that will tell all.”

“Allow me to remove a few flecks from your hair,” and he bent forward with a dainty cambric handkerchief, removing the golden spots from the soft, curling brown hair; both faces had taken on an added hue of pink.

“May I walk back with you?” he asked a little eagerly, as she turned to go home, after their united efforts to clean the basket, which they partially succeeded in doing. Permission was shyly given, and soon they were chatting like old friends, and Ruth was surprised that she felt no greater disappointment in the loss of her “Easter hat.”

“Well I swun if here doesn’t come the minister ‘long with Ruby,” ejaculated Aunt Jerusha, peering out of the window. “But—heavings and airth, what is that yaller all over the front of your

dress, Ruby? How de do, Mister Howard: walk in. What on airth—”

“Oh Auntie, its my ‘Easter hat,’ cried Ruby, almost hysterically, ‘look at, me! Only for Mr. Howard coming to my rescue, I don’t know what would have, become of me.”

“Well I never! such a child,” gasped Aunt Rushy, shocked beyond measure at Ruby’s appearance before the new minister.

How was she to know that he was thinking she was the loveliest and most sensible girl he had ever met?

Ruby went to church “Easter Sunday” with her winter’s hat, and the Rev. Clinton Howard thought the face so sweet and good beneath it, that all the new “Easter hats” sank into insignificance in contrast; but Ruby looked around at the pretty sprays of rose-buds, mignonette, violets, and pansies, and could not help but feel a little pang of envy. How could she know that the young minister was not admiring the pretty faces so sweetly adorned? And how could she know that while the organ sent forth its grandest music, and the anthem, “He has arisen from the dead,” swelled from the lips and hearts of that Christian congregation, that the thought had come to him (and was not an irreligious one) that the Lord had ordained Ruby Brown for a minister’s wife, and that another Easter she should wear an “Easter hat,” and it should be bridal white.

So Ruby’s “Easter hat” was worn the very next “Easter,” and all the good folks said never a sweeter bride blushed beneath an “Easter hat,” than the minister’s young wife, née Ruby Brown, now Mrs. Clinton Howard. Even Aunt Rushy had indulged in the fashion for once, and came out in an astonishing beflowered hat, and she explained in her earnest emphatic way: “I don’t know but it is a sort of a hangin’ out of a signal, of how happy you air, by decking out in posies, that our blessed Saviour riz to glory that day; never quite looked at it in that air light before, come to think of it. I don’t see how I ever wanted to put down sich kind of rejoicing. Ruby does look like a picture in hem, and the eggs after all did get her ‘Easter hat,’ so Clinton says.”

Godey’s Lady’s Book— Louis Antoine Godey began publishing Godey’s Lady’s Book in 1830. He designed his monthly magazine specifically to attract the growing audience of literate American women. The magazine was intended to entertain, inform, and educate the women of America.

Learn more about Godey’s Lady’s Book (1830–1898)

Source

Collection: Godey’s Lady’s Book

Publication: Godey’s Lady’s Book

Date: April, 1883

Title: Ruby’s Easter Hat

Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

https://www.accessible-archives.com/2014/04/rubys-easter-hat-april-1883/

#RubysEasterHat #Easter #GodeysLadysBook

0 notes

cakane463 · 5 years ago

Text

🐰👒Ruby’s “Easter Hat” – April 1883

For much of the 19th century Godey’s Lady’s Book’s editors used the magazine to showcase the literary work of American authors. This short story, Ruby’s “Easter Hat”, appeared in the April 1883 issue

Ruby’s “Easter Hat”

“But auntie, all the girls are going to have pretty new hats to wear Easter Sunday.”

“Easter bonnits, indeed,” snapped Aunt Rushy, “better be thinkin’ of the good Lord, and how he riz on that day, then hey their minds on bonnits.”

“But auntie—”

“Now, no buts, Ruby Brown; girls in my time wusn’t thinkin’ eternally ’bout bonnits and gimcracks; and Easter Sunday wasn’t made a show day for bonnits, either.”

“If I could have the eggs, auntie,” pleaded Ruby, ignoring her last remarks.

“Well, take ’em; I don’t, know as I care, if you can save enuff ‘tween this and then. You’ll hey to hey a bonnit eny how shortly after Easter.”

Ruby ran joyfully out into the coop to gather the first installment, after giving Aunt Rushy an affectionate little hug.

“That child always will get the best of me long as grass grows and water runs,” smiled the spinster aunt, grimly—who had been mother and aunt for many years, nearly eighteen now, since her dearest and youngest sister had died, putting baby Ruby into Jerusha’s arms, murmuring “Be kind to her, love her for my sake,” and had died; and the young girl well repaid the care and grim sort of love lavished upon her. No one knew what ever had become of gay, wild, dissipated Will Brown, Ruby’s father, whom people said had once been Jerusha’s lover, and who had deserted her for the younger sister, pretty Helen.

The eventful morning had come on which Ruby’s eggs were to be disposed of. Blithely and gayly she started forth, a neat willow basket on her arm, her eyes shining like twin stars, and cheeks rivaling summer roses. A stray robin chirped dubiously overhead in the budding but leafless trees, and visions of the “Easter hat” floated before Ruby’s vision, with which the young minister who had just been settled at the “Caworth village” church, should be ensnared; for all the girls, Aunt Rushy said, “wus casting sheep’s eyes that way.”

Ruby tripped along in the crisp March air, satisfied with herself and the whole world, when alas! for human hopes and joys how fleeting, Ruby caught her foot in some tangled weeds, and fell headlong upon her precious basket of eggs, and for a moment felt as if the whole world had crushed all the joy and happiness out of her young heart and life. In her great sorrow she gave vent to the ejaculation, “I wish I was dead,” as she slowly arose from the ruins of all her (eggs) hopes.