#that's the phrase I think I'm looking for

[isa-ghost]

I fully agree with this (/genuine). And I do wish people would stop using it because of the historical-and-still-current context behind the phrase.

But I am curious about what OP's opinion is about a take I see a lot in defense of using the phrase as a quirky (perhaps even cringe) positive phrase. I've seen loads of people say "well over time words/phrases/images can get a new context behind them that overwrites (but doesn't erase) the previous bad one. It takes power away from the people who use [thing] in a derogatory way." Basically the same kinda logic we use when reclaiming slurs, I guess? Maybe that's too extreme of a comparison though, I dunno. Another example I thought of is how Tupperware is (was?) a company, but we call *all* plastic containers similar to that Tupperware, which completely diminished the company's sway over product competition since it became a blanket term. I'm probably oversimplifying that a bit but it was another interesting educational post I read on here ages ago. I tried looking for it on my blog but the only thing that came up was the post about how they went bankrupt.

Anyway, to an extent I agree with the idea of "new positive context," but like with basically everything, I think there's nuance to it. I think there are times where changing the context behind something simply doesn't work and/or shouldn't be the route people go down, period. And of course there are instances where people abuse the idea and use it as justification for shit they shouldn't. Same kinda deal as "death to the author."

But also the internet (and perhaps younger queers in general in this case?) has a terrible habit of completely disregarding important context or at the very least not acknowledging/respecting said context to the degree they should, if they do so at all. And I'm as sick of that as plenty of other people are.

So I guess that is to say I can see both sides of the argument and am curious to hear if OP (or anyone else) has some additional info that I lack? If there's things about this I can be taught beyond "hey this is an ongoing issue, stop enabling the people who seek to use it to harm us by using it like it's something cute and quirky," I'd really like to learn what those points may be. Especially because then I could take those myself and further spread the word by educating people just like OP.

I think once upon a time I was actually a "we can reclaim this with a new positive context and take the power away from the people who use it to do harm" person myself but then I came across posts like this one and actually put some real thought into the topic and changed my mind? (I say that with uncertainty because I don't actually remember ever explicitly agreeing with takes in favor of the positive context use). Which is another reason I'd appreciate further discussion about why this is a case where "new positive context" shouldn't be the way people go about it. The stronger the argument for it, the better or whatever, right?

Also I'd like to provide a precautionary clarification that I'm asking OP/anyone else here if they have additional insight instead of "googling around" or something myself because I personally tend not to trust stuff like that since misinformation is so rampant, especially with how common the use of ai-generated bullshit is. It's also, in my opinion, better to hear things directly from people you Know for certain are from [group] or have experience with [thing]. I digress.

i fear the battle is lost at this point but i still flinch every time i see "gay panic" used as a cute positive phrase. Like let's go on say wikipedia.org for a second and try typing that one in folks

edit: i caved and looked in the notes and my god you people are stupid. Stop talking about this like it's ancient history. The gay/trans panic defense is quite literally still legal in the majority of the US. Look at this map since you apparently don't have wikipedia or like any kind of search engine on your computers

[aropride]

fascinated and distressed by chase's disordered relationship with sexuality + his emotions abt his own trauma & abuse

thru the beginning of the show he doesn't even realize he's hot despite being objectively attractive. when he finds out he's hot he then realizes people pretend to be interested in him as a person in order to have sex with him and gets super upset about it

he starts having a bunch of meaningless sex as a coping mechanism when cameron leaves him. and also a lot of other times. whenever something bad happens, basically, he starts going out with a bunch of women, just to feel something, presumably

^to the extent where hes known within the hospital as a slut. and has had sex with an insane amount of nurses. as well as presumably women who are not at his place of work.

he says doing this made him hate himself so he stopped. it's the b-plot for an episode and then he's back having meaningless sex again by the end of the episode

even his coworkers know this about him. and have called it out, masters even says she thinks he doesn't respect women bc, in her words, he's with a different one every few days or maybe he finds comfort in meaningless relationships

goes back to having meaningless sex within weeks of getting stabbed. which is really bad for wound healing reasons too. genuinely it seems like such compulsive behavior for him considering he keeps doing it even when its objectively not only a bad idea but actively dangerous

house even directly says he's "a serial slut" because he's "terrified of intimacy." incredibly accurate assessment

his relationship with his sexuality reads so heavily as someone who thinks they're not good for anything else

see also: dissociation & avoidance

we know he has a lot of trauma especially in childhood- he never really gets into it let alone into how he Feels about it but what we know is already bad & that's just the stuff he's okay with sharing with his coworkers or patients

in general he's very avoidant of his own trauma- when he gets stabbed he says he "can't change what happened, can only make better choices from here" as if it was his own fault, and refuses thru the whole episode to acknowledge that being traumatized by this would be a really normal reaction that he is definitely having. instead he just blames himself

also, he dissociates from traumatic things that happen to him - says "there was a stabbing" rather than "i was stabbed" for instance

when he's talking abt his childhood trauma he does it in a very similar way - he talks about it very bluntly and doesn't ever get into how he actually feels about it.

see also: dr. fawn response

general passive willingness to go along with anything- when cameron says they should have sex in s3 he's surprised and then he just kinda goes along with it. not bc he didn't want to bc he obviously did, but he's just generally very much someone who does whatever other people want him to do. i feel like he and cameron both tend to seek validation thru sex in an unhealthy way that i'm still gnawing on like a dog with a bone i have to go rewatch s3 to really articulate it though

he has a sort of desperation for praise and approval especially from anyone he views as an authority figure. he does whatever authority figures tell him out of this idea that it'll bring him approval and therefore safety

like no matter what house does or says to him he doesn't argue or retaliate or anything. even when house punches him he collapses on the ground in pain and then just keeps talking about the patient like nothing happened.

the scene in 3.10 after house punches him where he's in the ddx room and house walks in and throws the file at him and chase is startled and tries to pretend he's not. and he looks up with this huge fuck ass bruise on his jaw swallows heavily and pretends not to be upset. and house asks if he got that looked at as if he wasn't the one to give it to him and chase just swallows and says he's fine. dr fawn response :(

[certifiedsexed]

hi! transmasc here

is it normal to not feel dysphoria, like, at all? i have big boobs and wide hips, and i think i look great with them. feminine? sure, but it doesnt change the fact im, yknow, still Me. and Me is a boy.

i dunno, i just see people posting about literally crippling dysphoria and i wonder if i'm... doing something wrong? obviously not but i dunno how else to phrase it LOL

Hello!

Perfectly normal. Some people don't have dysphoria. I'd say its probably not as common as having dysphoria is in the trans community but its not unheard of in the least.

The trans experience is vast, Anon. Just like some people have extreme dysphoria, others have none whatsoever. Its completely fine either way.

Hope this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions. <3

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Guys, appreciate Clarita here cuz I'm having to read abt quantum physics again just to write for you ahahah

Love language: acts of disruption hehehe

Enjoy it <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Summary: The witch inside Wanda can't help but feel the spark in you.

Read here: Prologue | ENVY | MULTIVERSAL ANCHOR | FUEL

Spark

Working with Wanda Maximoff was an emotionally crafted torment. From the moment you stepped through the office doors until the instant you left, exhausted, she made it her mission to remind you that she was in control.

"You're late," she'd say, even when you arrived five minutes early. "Is this the level of commitment you think is acceptable?"

Or: "Is this the best you can do?" as she reviewed your painstakingly polished work with disdain.

Every word, every look heavy with contempt, felt like a needle piercing your skin. You wanted to scream, to throw the stack of reports in her face, and leave for good. But you couldn’t. Your future career depended on this job, so you swallowed your pride, suppressed the anger, and allowed her to push you to the limit.

But there was something else. Something that irritated you even more than her brutal demeanor. The look. That look.

Wanda had a habit of watching you with an intensity that felt almost predatory, her eyes trailing every inch of your body as if she were deciphering a riddle only you held the answer to. Sometimes, it was so overwhelming that heat rose to your face, but at the same time, there was something... addictive.

You hated how your body responded to that gaze. You hated how your heart raced when she drew near, how the idea of defying her both thrilled and terrified you. It infuriated you that her mere presence could elicit such a visceral reaction.

That day, everything seemed to reach a breaking point.

"I need these reports revised in an hour," Wanda said, not even looking at you as she placed a thick stack of papers in front of you. "And by revised, I mean flawless. If I find a single mistake, we’ll have a very serious conversation."

You stared at the pile, then at her. "An hour? Do you have any idea how much work that takes?"

She raised her gaze, her face a mask of icy authority. "Do you have any objections?"

You opened your mouth to retort but decided it wasn’t worth it. You pulled the papers closer and began to work.

The clock seemed to work against you, the pressure suffocating. When you handed the reports in, your head throbbed, and your fingers ached from typing.

Wanda reviewed everything in silence, her eyes scanning each line. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she looked at you.

"This," she said, spinning the report with her fingers and pointing to a specific phrase, "is unacceptable."

You leaned in to see what she was pointing at. There it was: a single word in the middle of a sentence—comfortable.

"Comfortable?" Wanda repeated, as if the word itself were a personal insult. "You're describing a scenario of critical analysis and use comfortable to characterize the impact of a strategic decision?"

You blinked, confused and already exhausted. "Well, it was meant to demonstrate—"

"It doesn’t matter what it was meant to demonstrate," Wanda cut in, her voice cold as ice. "What matters is that your choice was... inadequate."

She slid the report back to you, not even bothering to disguise her impatience. "Redo it. And this time, choose words that actually make sense."

You grabbed the papers, your fingers gripping the edges so tightly you nearly tore them. It was the third time redoing the same work, each time over a detail only she seemed to find relevant.

Wanda walked back to her desk, leaving you alone with your wounded pride and mounting frustration. You worked quickly but carefully, then handed the reports back. She read them in silence, her eyes moving over each line until another exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

"Again," she said, spinning the papers back in your direction. "Here, you used significant in a way that sounds redundant. Redo it."

That was it. You’d had enough.

"Maybe you should just do it yourself, professor," you snapped, dripping with sarcasm.

The silence that followed was deafening. Wanda looked up, her eyes glinting with something between fury and fascination.

"Repeat that," she commanded, every syllable laced with crushing authority.

Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to keep your chin up. " I think you heard exacly what I said." Your pride seemed to override your sense of self-preservation. "Surely, your hearing is still intact."

Wanda stood slowly, walking toward you with deliberate steps, every movement radiating power. When she stopped in front of you, she leaned down just enough for your eyes to meet.

The office was silent, the tension so thick you could almost touch it. Wanda’s gaze bore into yours, like knives cutting through the walls you tried to put up. Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t a warm smile. Nor one of pleasure. It was calculated, a smile that said she knew exactly how much power she held over you—and how easily she could unravel you with a single word.

"If I were you," she said, her voice low and dangerously controlled, "I would choose my next words very carefully, dekta."

That word echoed in your mind like distant thunder. Dekta. She said it so casually, as if it were something small, trivial. But you knew it wasn’t.

It was Russian; you knew that much. Since meeting Wanda, the language had piqued your curiosity, but not enough to delve deeper. Now, however, you felt the weight of that small word each time she uttered it, the way it made your heart tremble. It wasn’t just a nickname—it was possessive, electric, and it made your skin tingle in ways you hated to admit.

And beneath the glacial control Wanda displayed, something wild roared inside her. Each word that escaped her lips felt like a spark, igniting a fire she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—extinguish.

It was fascinating—and exasperating—how young you were. So young. Almost pure, but with a spark of fire she wanted to extinguish and reignite at the same time. The witch inside her whispered constantly, like a hypnotic song, insisting that you were a rare prize, something that needed to be claimed, molded, possessed.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you might faint. But at the same time, there was something incredibly thrilling about that exchange, something you didn’t want to admit even to yourself.

That was when you realized: you didn’t know if you hated Wanda Maximoff or if you wanted to kiss her right there.

And that thought terrified you.

The silence in the office was palpable—only broken by the rhythmic tapping of Wanda’s nails against the wooden desk. You sat across from her, hands resting on your lap, but your eyes boldly challenged hers, glowing with an intensity that contradicted the shy image you projected.

“You’re so smart,” Wanda began, her voice low and dangerous. “And you really think it’s acceptable to turn in work... of this quality?” She slid the paper across the desk.

You ignored the flicker of warmth in your chest at her direct compliment.

You hesitated for a second, trying to gauge the intensity of the situation before responding. “I thought the content was what mattered. But it seems the presentation is what impresses you, professor.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could almost swear you saw a flicker of surprise painted red in her gaze. It didn’t last long. The surprise quickly gave way to something darker, a careful calculation that seemed to weigh each of your words as if they were pieces in a game she had already won.

“Are you saying my evaluation is superficial?” she asked, her voice controlled but charged with a force that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” you replied, leaning slightly forward. “I just think your expectations are... unrealistic.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Then Wanda laughed. It wasn’t a genuine laugh but a short, cold sound that seemed to mock your attempt to stand up to her.

“Unrealistic expectations?” she repeated, rising to her feet. Each step she took toward you felt calculated, as if she were marking her territory. When she stopped behind you, the heat of her presence was almost tangible. “Do you know what I think?”

You swallowed hard but maintained your composure. “No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

She leaned closer, her voice just near your ear. “I think you’re petulant. A stubborn little girl with a sharp tongue who likes to test limits to see how far she can go before someone tames her and puts her exactly where she belongs.”

“And where would that be?” your whisper was hoarse, almost painful from the tension you felt between your thighs.

Wanda laughed again, a softer sound this time, almost indulgent. Leaning closer until her lips were nearly touching your ear, she replied, “Right beneath me, looking up at me with those doe eyes, begging for my mercy.”

Your heart raced. You could feel each beat like a drum in your ears, but you managed a short laugh, more to mask your nervousness. “If that’s what you think, maybe you need to watch me more closely, professor.”

That’s when something shifted. For a brief instant, you saw something in Wanda’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger or disdain but an indecipherable glimmer, almost dangerous. Fascination? Interest? It was impossible to say, but it stirred something in you that left you unsettled.

“Closely?” She repeated, as if tasting the word. Returning to her chair, she crossed her legs with controlled elegance and rested her chin on her hand. “Interesting. Perhaps I should. After all, you seem to have a lot to learn about respect and discipline.”

The tension between you was stifling. Every word seemed laden with hidden layers, messages no one dared to decipher. “And you seem to enjoy talking about it,” you replied, trying to regain some control. But there was a tremor in your voice, a small hesitation Wanda surely didn’t miss.

The smile she gave you was devastating. There was nothing friendly about it—only a dark pleasure in seeing you falter. “Be careful with your words, darling. You might not like what happens if you keep provoking me.”

You knew she was in control. But what intrigued you the most was how she seemed to be fighting something within herself. You couldn’t ignore the subtle glow starting to form in her hands, tiny red sparks dancing in sync with her uneven breathing. Wanda quickly clenched her fists, as if trying to extinguish it, but the glimpse was enough to awaken something in you.

What was that? Power? Anger? Or something deeper, something visceral she didn’t want to reveal? Your curiosity was piqued, a spark igniting somewhere inside you. Perhaps it was dangerous, but for the first time, you wanted to understand what lay behind the absolute control Wanda so insisted on displaying.

Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides, and a crimson glow began to appear in her eyes. She realized too late that red sparks were dancing at her fingertips, small flickers of long-dormant power now awakened by you.

“You...” Her voice was a low growl, laden with something more primal than words could express. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

Heat radiated from her body, and Wanda had to fight the overwhelming urge to let her powers fully manifest. She wanted—God, how she wanted—to wrap those hands around your neck, not to hurt, but to feel control, to see you bend under her.

But she knew she couldn’t. Not here.

Wanda took a step back, trying to regain control. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, but all she saw was your expression: defiant yet vulnerable. So maddeningly perfect.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she finally broke the silence, her voice low and loaded. “You think your sharp words and rebellious attitude will get you anywhere?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The intensity of her gaze left you frozen in place, and the small part of you that dared to confront her was now silent.

“You irritate me,” Wanda continued, her voice a dangerous mix of frustration and something darker, something she herself didn’t want to admit. “And at the same time...”

She stopped, swallowing the words before they escaped. No. She wasn’t going to give you that satisfaction.

But what she couldn’t hide, what was as clear as the red glow still flickering in her eyes, was that there was something about you that called to her, that provoked her in a way no one ever had before.

You were a spark. A wildfire. A slow, inevitable destruction.

And Wanda knew, deep down, that she couldn’t extinguish you.

She stared at you for another moment, her crimson eyes still glowing. “Leave,” she ordered, her voice firm but not as steady as before. “Now!”

You obeyed, but each step toward the door felt like it led you deeper into a maze you knew you couldn’t escape. As you left, the sound of Wanda’s controlled breathing still echoed in your mind.

Inside the office, alone, Wanda finally allowed herself to relax. But as she looked at her hands, still trembling with residual energy, she knew the truth: there was something about you she couldn’t ignore. Something that pulled her to a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

“She’ll be my ruin,” Wanda murmured, the red glow finally fading. “And God help me, because I want it more than anything.”

[...]

One more night, when you would go to sleep with your thoughts fixed on one another. The night was an escape for both of you, though neither of you truly understood why. When your eyes closed, the world around you dissolved, and there you were.

The setting was simple: a kitchen bathed in the warm light of sunset streaming through open windows. The sound of children’s laughter echoed in the background, and the air was filled with the aroma of something delicious baking in the oven. You sat on the couch in the living room, a serene smile on your lips as you cradled a small, green-eyed baby.

Seline.

You had never seen her before in real life, but in the dream, she was yours, and it made sense in an inexplicable way. She was warm against your chest, nursing with a strong, satisfied rhythm. Every movement she made was familiar, natural, as if it were a moment you had always known.

In the corner of the room, Wanda stood. Her figure was a blend of strength and gentleness as she used her powers to stir a pot on the stove. The red glow danced in her hands, and she seemed calm, almost happy. From time to time, she glanced away from her task to look at you.

Wanda watched you from afar, her eyes capturing the serenity on your face as you held the little one. The scene was so intimate, so natural, that it made something inside her tighten. She didn’t understand how, but she knew she had lived this moment before.

It was always the same scene, the same dream, yet each night it felt more real, more alive.

“Are you comfortable, my love?” Wanda asked with a tenderness that made both your hearts ache.

Your smile was her answer, but you confirmed it with a simple, “Yes.” It wasn’t just a response; it was an absolute truth, and Wanda felt it deep in her chest.

As she knelt by your side, her touch was both reverent and familiar. Her fingers, still warm from her magic, skillfully worked to ease any tension you might have felt. It was an act of care that transcended the moment—it was a promise.

“You make it look so easy,” Wanda murmured, her eyes fixed on Seline, who nestled against you with complete trust.

“Because with you here, everything is.” Your answer was simple but laden with something Wanda couldn’t quite name.

These moments always ended the same way: Wanda leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead, her fingers brushing your skin with the lingering warmth of her magic. Yet there was something in her gaze, something deep and unwavering, as if she were looking at a home she had both lost and found at the same time.

Wanda woke with a jolt.

Reality hit her like a cold bucket of water. The room she was in wasn’t the house from the dream. It was the bedroom of this universe, shared with Vision, but as empty as a cavern.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. What was that? Why did she keep reliving this scene with you, someone she could barely tolerate in real life?

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

But the more nights passed, the more Wanda was convinced there was something between you that defied the laws of time and space. Something that transcended multiverses, as if you were two pieces of a cosmic puzzle, always destined to meet, yet doomed to lose one another.

And somewhere within her, a certainty grew: these dreams weren’t mere figments of her imagination. They were fragments of something greater, something her soul recognized even if her mind denied it.

But the truth was more complicated. Wanda knew she didn’t hate you.

At the same time, you woke up.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart pounding. There was Seline again, a name that seemed to echo within you like a forgotten memory. And Wanda... The gentleness in her eyes, the careful touch, the way she seemed so at ease in that dream world...

You hated yourself for it. Hated that a woman like her could leave you so vulnerable, so desperate for something you didn’t understand.

Back at the office the next day, Wanda was different.

The shell of the unshakable, cruel woman seemed cracked. Her eyes lingered on you for too long, something indefinable passing through her gaze. And her powers, long thought dormant, began to peek through the cracks.

Every time you spoke, every time she grew irritated by your presence, the red glow threatened to surface.

And Wanda didn’t know if it terrified her... or excited her.

The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the window, reflecting off perfectly arranged bookshelves and furniture that exuded authority. You sat across from her, your posture a mix of defiance and nervousness.

Today, something was different.

Wanda didn’t speak much, but her eyes… they were sharp, as if peeling back layers, analyzing every part of you. She had prepared a stack of reports and exercises, each more complex and tedious than the last.

“I want you to review all of this in one hour,” Wanda said, her voice low and cutting.

“All of this?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to do alone in an hour what your students do in a week?”

“Yes,” Wanda answered simply, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Unless it’s too much for you.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate. Picking up the first sheet, you began to work, but the questions were deliberately vague, almost impossible to solve.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, more to yourself than to her.

Wanda looked up, her fingers tapping on the desk. “What was that?”

“This,” you said, holding up the sheet. “The question is poorly written. It doesn’t make sense. Not even the brightest professor could solve it.”

The corner of Wanda’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Perhaps the problem isn’t the question but the person answering it.”

Blood rushed to your face. You knew she was provoking you, testing how far she could push you. But you were tired of it too.

“With all due respect, professor,” you began, your tone sour, “if you’re trying to humiliate me, maybe you should try harder. This isn’t difficult; it’s just poorly done.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. The room seemed to grow warmer.

“Repeat that,” she said, her voice so calm it was chilling.

You hesitated, but her gaze dared you, as if saying you wouldn’t have the courage.

“I said,” you continued, your voice trembling, “that maybe... maybe you should—”

Before you could finish, something in the room shifted. The air around you seemed to vibrate, as if charged with electricity. The temperature truly rose, and a red glow began to emanate from Wanda’s hands, now resting on the desk.

Her eyes... They glowed in a way that seemed impossible.

Time stretched thin, like a taut wire on the verge of snapping. You stared at Wanda, the scarlet glow dancing around her hands like something alive, pulsing. Sparks floated in the air, illuminating the room with a supernatural crimson light, almost hypnotic.

You told yourself you should be afraid, but fear never came. What replaced it was a deep, unsettling curiosity. Powers? Was this real? It seemed impossible, yet there she was, almost divine in her presence, her eyes burning like stars with an intensity that made you forget to breathe.

Wanda seemed less human in that moment — more like something beyond flesh and bone, beyond anything you could comprehend. And yet, you couldn’t look away. Her beauty, already disarming before, now seemed amplified. It was as if the power radiating from her was an extension of everything that made her irresistible.

“Perhaps I should what?” Wanda asked, her voice dripping with irony and danger.

You froze. The red glow intensified, forming tiny sparks floating in the air. Papers on the desk began to slide on their own, and the bookshelves groaned, as if adjusting to an invisible weight.

“I…” you tried to speak, but your voice faltered.

Wanda rose slowly, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours. The crimson aura around her was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once.

“Why does she challenge us like this? Doesn’t she know what she’s playing with?” A darker, more instinctual voice echoed in Wanda’s mind. End it now. Show her who’s stronger.

But then, a quieter voice, almost a whisper, countered. What if that’s what she wants? What if she isn’t just challenging us, but trying to reach us?

Wanda’s eyes flickered as she struggled to maintain control, red energy pulsing around her hands. You, so small and yet somehow imposing, stood frozen in place. Your bravery was foolish, but there was something in the way you looked at her — as if you saw beyond the raw power, beyond the unshakable façade.

“Why do you keep testing my limits, detka?” Wanda asked, her voice low but sharp as a blade. “Don’t you see how this could end up hurting you?”

You didn’t know what to say. Fear and adrenaline mixed inside you, but there was something else… something darker, more intimate. You were fascinated by her, by the power she exuded with every fiber of her being.

“I… don’t know,” you finally murmured.

“She doesn’t understand,” the cruel voice insisted. "She doesn’t know what she’s risking."

"She knows exactly what she’s doing," the gentler voice argued. "She’s seeing what no one else sees."

“Don’t know?” Wanda repeated, stepping closer. The red energy around her seemed alive, pulsing with each beat of her heart. “Maybe I should teach you not to meddle with things you don’t understand.”

Suddenly, the crimson glow burst in a flash that illuminated the entire room. The walls vibrated, and you instinctively shrank into your chair, shielding your face with your arms.

When the light dimmed, the office was a mess. Papers were scattered everywhere, books had fallen from the shelves, and Wanda’s desk bore a deep scorch mark.

You looked at her, your heart pounding in your chest. Wanda was still there, but something about her seemed different. More alive. More dangerous.

She was breathing heavily, as if she’d just run a marathon. For a moment, her eyes met yours, and there was something there that left you speechless.

“Get out,” Wanda finally said, her voice low but filled with an authority that brooked no argument. “Now!”

You stared at her figure, and she looked like a goddess — the incandescent red glow surrounding her gave her a unique aura, leaving you captivated.

With clenched fists and inexplicable courage, you answered, “No.”

The word echoed through the office, charged with a boldness you didn’t know you possessed. Wanda stopped in her tracks, her bright red eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze.

“She’s crazy,” the dark voice commented.

“Or extremely brave,” the other voice countered.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming on her lips. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, the energy around her dimming but not disappearing.

The glow around her intensified, almost blinding, and the air in the room grew dense and suffocating. She looked like a storm about to break, every muscle in her body tense, as if on the verge of destroying everything around her.

“Do you have any idea what you just said?” Wanda asked, her voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.

You swallowed hard, but something inside you refused to yield. “I do.”

Wanda’s gaze narrowed, and the red glow around her flickered, like an unstable flame. She stepped closer, and you had to fight the instinct to back away.

She stopped inches from you, the heat of her magic almost tangible. Her eyes were like portals — intense and deep — and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable under her gaze.

“She’s fascinating,” the gentle voice whispered in Wanda’s mind.

“She’s dangerous,” the cruel voice replied.

“Then why do you keep staying?” Wanda murmured, her voice laced with both threat and genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, but you held her gaze. “Because deep down, I think you want me to.”

That answer hit Wanda like a wave. The voices in her mind fell silent, and she took a slight step back, the red glow around her diminishing even further. She turned her back to you, her hands trembling slightly.

“She saw beyond us,” Wanda thought, confused. "She saw something even we don’t understand."

At last, Wanda spoke, her voice softer, almost broken. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

But the smile you gave in response was full of a certainty that disarmed her completely. “I think you don’t either.”

“You’re just an insolent girl,” Wanda said, her voice laced with disdain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. “You have no idea what you’re doing or who you’re dealing with.”

“Maybe not,” you answered, lifting your chin defiantly. “But you don’t seem to know who I am either. Or what I’m capable of enduring.”

The red glow intensified, casting her face in an ominous light. You could feel her anger, palpable like a wave of heat, but there was something else — a sort of fascination that seemed to disturb her as much as it did you.

“You’re playing with fire, little girl,” Wanda said, her voice low, but full of promise.

“Maybe,” you retorted, your own voice steadier than you expected. “But it definitely seems like you are too.”

For a moment, Wanda was silent, simply staring at you. The glow around her began to fade, but her eyes still burned with an intensity that made you tremble.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” Wanda murmured, more to herself than to you.

“Then show me,” you challenged, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Wanda took another step, now so close that you could feel her warmth, the soft scent of something sweet and spicy that seemed uniquely hers. The red glow around her disappeared completely, but the intensity in her eyes remained.

She tilted her head, a dark smile forming on her lips. “You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

“Should I be?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, you should. But something tells me you don’t learn until you feel it firsthand.”

Before you could process what was happening, Wanda raised her hand—not to touch you, but as if she were trying to summon something. Her eyes glowed intensely for a brief moment, but nothing happened. The power seemed to dissipate into the air before reaching you.

She frowned, confused, and tried again. Nothing.

“Interesting,” you remarked, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. “Seems like I’m not as easy to control as the others.”

Her irritation was evident, but there was something else in her eyes—a mix of fascination and frustration that made your heart race.

“You’re insufferable!” Wanda muttered, her voice laced with disdain but also a strange warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re a tyrant,” you shot back, knowing you were treading dangerous ground.

“A tyrant?” she repeated, letting out a quiet laugh. “If I were, you’d already be begging for mercy.”

“Maybe I want you to make me beg,” you replied without thinking.

Wanda fell silent, just staring at you. The red glow returned to her eyes for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it.

“I already told you to leave,” she said again, but this time her voice carried something deeper, more intimate.

You let out a small growl of frustration—like a puppy—and Wanda found it... endearing.

“And I said no!” You stepped closer to her. “I want to help... I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to see a woman throwing red energy balls around.”

As you rambled on, Wanda noticed something in your eyes that made her power waver, even weaken.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, the crimson glow fading momentarily, replaced by a sharp, cynical look. “Red energy balls?”

“Yes, red energy balls,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “That’s not exactly a typical classroom occurrence, is it?”

Wanda didn’t respond immediately. She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, as if assessing you. Despite her casual posture, her eyes dissected every movement, every nuance of your voice.

“And what do you suggest we do, little know-it-all?” she asked at last, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, holding her gaze with a determination that seemed to irritate her even more. “But pretending it’s not happening won’t solve anything.”

Silence filled the room again, and Wanda realized she was holding her breath. You weren’t backing down, and that unsettled her—not because you were annoying, but because she liked it. More than she should.

“You’re so irritating,” Wanda finally said, her voice low and controlled, as if trying to convince herself.

“You’ve already said that. Repeating yourself today, aren’t you?” you quipped back.

Her eyes flared red again, a flash of intense crimson that made the air around her heat up. “Watch your mouth, brat,” Wanda warned, her voice taking on a dangerous tone.

But you didn’t back away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, as if testing her limits. “Or what? You’ll throw another red energy ball at me?”

Wanda let out a short, humorless laugh, but something in her gaze faltered. It wasn’t fear or anger—something darker, more unspoken.

“You really have no idea what I am, do you?” she asked, a mix of exasperation and admiration in her tone.

“I’m waiting for you to explain.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as if weighing how much you really wanted to know. There was something in your defiant tone, in your unwavering gaze, that made her almost... trust. But trust wasn’t something Wanda Maximoff offered freely.

She sighed deeply, walking slowly toward her desk. Stopping beside it, she placed a firm hand on the wooden surface as her eyes wandered, searching for the right words to begin.

“I’m... more than I seem,” she started, her tone serious. “Much more.”

Her eyes locked on yours again, scrutinizing you, as if deciding whether to reveal what she was about to say.

“There’s a name some people have given me,” she continued, her fingers twitching slightly against the desk. “A name that, in other worlds, carries more weight than you can imagine. Scarlet Witch.”

You blinked, confused but intrigued. “Scarlet Witch? That sounds... conceptual.”

Wanda let out another short, humorless laugh. “It’s not just conceptual. It’s a prophecy. A myth. Something I never wanted, but somehow, I was forced to accept.”

“And what does it mean?” you asked, taking a small step forward.

“It means I’m a Nexus Being,” Wanda replied, her eyes beginning to glow faintly red again. “A unique entity across the multiverse. Someone with the power to alter realities, to shape the very fabric of time and space. But that... that power shouldn’t exist here.”

“Why not?” you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine as her tone darkened.

“Because in this universe, I wasn’t supposed to have powers,” Wanda admitted, her voice carrying a mix of anger and frustration. “I was meant to be an ordinary woman. A teacher. A mother. A wife.”

She paused, her gaze piercing.

“But something changed,” she continued, her voice growing rougher. “Something awakened in me. And I’m almost certain you’re part of it.”

Your heart raced, but you fought to keep your composure. “Me? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did,” Wanda replied, stepping closer. “It’s what you are. Your presence here... it’s like a catalyst. Every time you challenge me, every time you confront me, it’s as if something inside me is trying to break free.”

“And what exactly is trying to emerge?” you asked, your voice quieter than you expected.

Wanda leaned in slightly, her eyes glowing with that burning red again. “The power. The control. The Scarlet Witch herself.”

She took a step back, distancing herself from you as if trying to regain control.

“In other worlds,” she began again, her voice calmer but still tense, “I was a figure of destruction. I did... unforgivable things. I manipulated entire realities. Created a perfect world for myself, where I had everything I wanted. But it all fell apart.”

You could tell she was speaking about something deeply personal, something that haunted her.

“And then, I was confronted. By other heroes. By people who believed they knew best. In the end, I had to undo everything. I had to destroy what I loved most.”

“What?” you asked, feeling a tightness in your chest.

“My children,” Wanda said simply, her voice trembling slightly. “Tommy and Billy. They were real to me. But not to the rest of the world. So I lost them. And I’ve lived with that ever since.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

“And now, here I am,” Wanda continued, her voice hardening again. “Trying to be something I’m not. Trying to be normal. But you... you’re making that impossible.”

“I don’t understand,” you finally said, your voice hesitant. “What did I do?”

“You challenge me,” Wanda replied, her eyes glowing again. “You force me to confront things I’d rather forget, because I can’t make you forget—I can’t manipulate you. And now... now, I’m not sure if I can control this anymore.”

The air around her began to vibrate, charged with energy.

“You should be afraid of me,” Wanda said, her voice low but intense. “Because if I lose control again, I don’t know what might happen.”

But you, with that stubbornness that seemed to both irritate and fascinate her, stepped forward and replied:

“Maybe I’m not afraid because I see something in you that you don’t see. Maybe I see someone who still has a choice. Someone who can be more than this... Scarlet Witch.”

Wanda remained silent, her eyes glowing with something that seemed like a mixture of admiration and frustration. And, for the first time, she didn’t know how to respond.

She stood frozen, your words echoing in her mind, reverberating in a way she couldn’t ignore. She felt your persistent gaze on her, but she couldn’t meet it. She needed to maintain control, to step back from the internal abyss that seemed to open every time you were near.

“Go, girl,” she finally said, her voice quieter than she intended, tinged with both farewell and warning. “And tell no one.”

You hesitated for a moment but eventually obeyed. The sound of the door closing behind you left Wanda alone in the room, the silence filling the empty space around her. But inside her, there was no silence.

She pressed her hands against the desk, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

“You’re losing control,” a seductive, low voice whispered in her mind. Wanda knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t someone from outside—it was a part of herself, a side she had buried long ago.

“No. I’m in control,” Wanda replied softly, as if trying to convince herself.

“You call this control?” the voice mocked, a soft laugh resonating in her mind. “Look at you. Trembling. Afraid. That girl got to you in a way no one else ever has, hasn’t she? Do you really think you can resist this? Resist me?”

Wanda stepped away from the desk, walking to the office window, trying to find a fixed point on the horizon to anchor her thoughts. But there was no escape.

The Scarlet Witch was there, inside her, drawing closer, growing stronger.

“I am you,” the voice continued, this time more primal, almost animalistic. “And you know you want me back. Stop fighting what we are. What we can be.”

“I don’t want you,” Wanda replied, closing her eyes tightly.

“Liar.” The voice was a whisper, but it seemed to fill the entire space around her. “You feel it, Wanda. The power. The freedom. You’ve never been more alive than when I was in control. And now, that girl... she’s the spark. She’s calling us back.”

Wanda took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her. Her hands were trembling, and the air around her felt electrified. She knew her powers were awakening again, harder and harder to contain.

“Stop fighting me,” the Scarlet Witch insisted. “Accept who you are. Who we are. You know I’m right.”

“No,” Wanda murmured, but her voice sounded weak, almost pleading.

“You’re afraid,” the voice observed, amused. “But not of me. You’re afraid that deep down, you like this. That you need this. The freedom, the power, the intensity. And, most of all... her.”

Wanda opened her eyes, now glowing with a threatening red light. She stepped away from the window, walking to the center of the office as if she needed to move to escape the storm brewing inside her.

“She’s not part of this,” Wanda said aloud, as if trying to assert her authority over the voice within.

“Oh, she’s everything,” the Scarlet Witch replied, a light laugh escaping her. “She’s the key. Every time she challenges you, every time she gets closer... you feel it, don’t you? The heat, the energy, the desire.”

“Shut up!” Wanda shouted, her voice reverberating through the office. A wave of red energy pulsed around her, the furniture trembling under the force of her power.

The silence returned, but Wanda knew it wouldn’t last. The Scarlet Witch was there, waiting, like a predator patiently circling its prey.

Wanda sank into the chair, pressing her hands against her temples. She needed to think, needed to find a way to regain control. But the dilemma remained: the more she fought the Scarlet Witch, the more she felt herself slipping into her.

And deep down, what scared her most was the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to fight anymore.

[...]

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quieter than usual. The air was filled with the occasional sound of pages turning and the rustling of the Sorcerer Supreme’s cloak as he inspected a series of ancient artifacts spread across a table. At the center, the Eye of Agamotto glowed faintly, pulsing in shades of green and gold as Strange carefully traced a line between dimensions on a holographic map of the multiverse.

“Finally,” he murmured to himself, his fingers tightening around the artifact. His expression was more tense than usual, a shadow of worry flickering in his eyes.

Wong entered the room, carrying a hefty grimoire. “You found her?”

Strange nodded, his demeanor grave. “Yes. The Scarlet Witch is hiding in a universe we can barely access. She’s weakened, but she’s still dangerous. If she regains her strength, she could become a threat worse than before.”

Wong crossed his arms, his expression wary. “And how exactly do you plan to capture her? I doubt she’ll come willingly if we call.”

Strange gave a brief, humorless smile. “I don’t plan to capture her. I know someone who can.”

~*~

Mommy is coming back!!!

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[vyl3tpwny]

genuine question: why is genesis so low on ur topsters?

also, if you can: could i hear why hawaii: part ii is rated 3.5 on ur rateyourmusic? (as opposed to like. anything higher)

(p. s. your music inspires me to be the sincerest version of myself, and for that i thank you. the impact you've had on my life is unforgettable.)

genesis isn't rated low. my number one album of all time is genesis' "the lamb lies down on broadway", for about 16 years running. my topster is organized by relative colour, it's not perfect but it just looks nice!

—

when it comes to talking about music, what i like and like about it, almost 100% of the time i NEVER want to discourage people, talk down to artists, or claim my opinion as fact. the only time i will actively talk down about art is if it's purposefully harmful (see artists like: Tom Macdonald, etc).

with that said, music by miracle musical - and by extension tally hall - often does this thing where there are a handful of really impressive, well written songs that just blow me away. but then the rest of the album outside of those handful of songs are either just ok/catchy or don't interest me very much. the tally hall gang's highs are very high, and equally their lows are just sort of pace-killers for the albums.

it's dynamics like these that prevent me from liking some of my other albums for similar problems! i think albums like queen of misfits and glitter are bogged down by an absurd amount of boring filler that could have just been left out or reworked to be more interesting, it makes it hard to ever listen to those albums front to back. ironically i don't feel that way about fairytails, my 40-song long ass album, almost everything in it still feels rather purposeful to me. i listen to my own music a lot, and once i've finished a project i tend to try and listen to it and enjoy it from an audience perspective rather than an artist one.

while i'm on the topic, i don't necessarily agree with even rating hawaii pt. ii 3.5 because in the past few years i've completely lost interest in the idea of weighing albums by arbitrary scores. nowadays i like to just give 4-5's to albums i like and then ignore anything else. it doesn't really make sense to me to assign a number score to something with good faith, other than to show that score to other people. interfacing with art is not a black and white process. despite the so-called 3.5/5.0 score i gave hawaii pt. ii whenever that was, the reality is that record has influenced me and i've enjoyed it. honestly that's what matters the most. we can sit here and talk album dynamics, technicalities, compositional proficiency, lyric profundity, and """""consistency"""""" (which is a word music critics love to throw around without actually realizing what the fuck they're talking about) all day, but what matters the most is:

Did you like the music? (Yes/No)

Did it inspire you in some way? (Yes/No) [Optional]

Does it seek to do harm? (Yes/No)

Do you respect the efforts and goals of the artist? (Yes/No) [Should always be the inverse of Question 3; i.e; if you answer No to 3, then you should answer Yes to 4]

honestly if you answer yes, yes, no, yes, then it's a good album. i really don't care. not every piece of art has to push the envelope to new heights and be the most innovative thing in the world - i mean wouldn't that be extremely fatiguing and overwhelming? everyone wants to be a critic and tear down shit that doesn't click with them within the first viewing/listen these days, i don't know why, it's probably an ego thing, bred by the echo chambers in the corners of the internet. but a lot of music criticism can be COMPLETELY discarded in favour of "this just isn't for me", and a lot of people go leaps and bounds, doing mental gymnastics over internal compensations, to just avoid saying the dreaded phrase of "this just isn't for me".

trust me, i'm someone who has immense experience with tearing other people down to compensate for my internal insecurities, it happens extremely often which is why a lot of art criticism makes ZERO fucking sense. it's never about making meaningful commentary about anything, it's always just trying to justify in the format of a dissertation - the subjective experience of "this just isn't for me".

so. do i like hawaii pt. ii? yep. is it a perfect album? no. why did i rate it 3.5? probably because at the time i wanted someone somewhere to perceive me as Very Articulated and Well Educated In The Realm of Discussing Art In Front of Other People, in Order to Appear Superior in Intellect and Refined in Taste, Because I'm Insecure Just Like Everyone Else.

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 38

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You don't know much, do you?"

"Don't you have a car of your own?"

"How would you like to go on your first stakeout?"

"What would you do for money? What would you be prepared to do?"

"Is your job always like this?"

"Are we drunk? How drunk are we? What's happening?"

"If you could change something in your life, anything at all, what would it be?"

"Will you be offended if I ask you something?"

"Why do you wear those gloves?"

"How is it you seem to know more than I do?"

"What's your favourite book? You do read, right?"

"Why are you here? Why are you not there?"

"Has it never occurred to you that sometimes other people might have something valuable to offer?"

"I do hope you're going to liven up a bit. What is wrong with you tonight?"

"Are you saying I smell like a dead cat?"

"Are you sure those things you saw today were hallucinations?"

"How can someone so smart be so stupid?"

"Do you ever know something and don't know how you know it?"

"Are you questioning your sanity?"

"Why are you so afraid to succeed?"

"What's wrong? Why are you frightened of me?"

"Do you ever have one of those moments where suddenly you understand everything?"

"Would you think it bold if I compliment your eyes?"

"I think it's time we sorted out our problem one way or another, don't you?"

"Who exactly are we looking for?"

"What do you want more than anything?"

"How long has it been haunting this place?"

"Have you any idea what it's like to be haunted?"

"Do you like me?"

"Why didn't you share with me what you're doing?"

"Have you ever noticed that people are getting meaner?"

"What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?"

"Look, are you going to let me in on what you're thinking here?"

"When did you become so contentious?"

"You've never done that before, have you? Taken a person's life?"

"I'm not going to see you anymore, am I?"

"What did you really come here to ask me?"

"Are you sick or something?"

"How's the writing coming?"

"Has anyone ever told you how insufferable you are?"

"You don't drink anymore, do you?"

[ingravinoveritas]

That picture of Michael and Tom Hardy...

So I just had to share some more thoughts regarding this picture of Michael and Tom Hardy from the Oliviers in 2004, because there is so much happening here...

This was right after Michael and Kate had broken up, and he was quoted at the time as saying that he was back into dating. I keep thinking about the "and friend" description for Tom Hardy on Getty Images and how that phrase is doing all kinds of work. Given the closeness and the pull between them in this pic, "friend" feels about one step away from "business associate" here, as both terms (and other similar ones) have historically served as coded euphemisms for a same-sex relationship.

What I really love is how much this flies in the face of the "Michael's never publicly been with a man" argument that's been used to dismiss and erase his bisexuality. I know some might say that they didn't "label" whatever this was, so how could you say that they were together...but that's kind of the entire point. That Michael didn't think twice about showing up to an event with a man or how it would look and just let whatever...this was be what it was.

It also speaks to the (what should be common knowledge, but somehow isn't) idea that "official" public relationships listed on Wikipedia are not the only ones that a person has or can have. Those relationships/situationships/FWBs/hookups/whatever you want to call them can happen at any point in time, whether we know about them or not. And when you factor in Michael repeatedly talking about his attractions to men and Tom saying that "I'm actor, of course I have" in reference to having sex with men, it further augments the possibility that something could have happened between them.

As I said in my previous post, I have no idea how I didn't stumble across this picture before now, but I just find it so endlessly intriguing. I'd love to hear what other folks think, though, so feel free to chime in...

[shatcey]

Mirror event (Victor)

Now it becomes clear why Vivi looks so much like hemself in this story. Because it wasn't a dream…

I look at this men standing next to each other, and think… I… belong there. Literally. Right there, between them. I've never felt like I belong to any place, perhaps because I really need to be there.

Okay...

And now Vivi's thoughts. As always, they made my brain explode a bit.

He was ready to kill her if something went wrong, because his children are at the top of his list of priorities (after the queen, of course), but… He still wants her to stay. I'm surprised… Is this a contradiction? Or does he just want to add another seed to his garden of children? Or… she is any different?

This… It's terribly sad. Does this mean that no one will ever want to take care of him? Maybe were afraid to do it? Didn't think of him as a person? It's become a painful topic for me lately… Could it be related to his abilities? Or his status? He is a man who stands firmly on his feet, who achieves a lot, who is the second person in the country. Maybe… No, I'm probably imagining…

Victor often talks about light and darkness. What if it's not just a metaphor… What if he really can see the color of the soul? He's a grim reaper after all. What would make so much sense… He can tell who deserves to die and who deserves to be saved. This makes him the same judge as William.

Sure… Victor drops such a bomb… I'm not even surprised. Bound… He's bound… trapped… restricted. Maybe he just phrased it that way, after all, they all have a grim fate. But… What if it's literal? What if… his fate not allow him to get to close to people? I don't like where this thought leads me to…

You're breaking my heart! Why??? What can't he do? Follow his desires? Or… being too close to someone? He doesn't allow himself to do this because he had some experience in the past… What was that? What happens to the other person? Why did he decide never to do it again? I have… so many questions.

No, don't you dare say that was the last time! I'm going to punch you, painfully….... on the shoulder. You look like a teddy bear, and I love hugs! You got the point, right?

Why is it in quotes? Who told you that? This person was lying! They can, and they will come true. Ally is proof of that. He didn't dream, but his dreams came true. Don't ask me how this is possible! It defies logic…

So… It was a very short story, but it managed to give me a headache. I'm… not surprised at all.

Now I'm curious to know what was in the other stories. I remember reading Ellis' story a year ago, and in the end he killed her. So… It was definitely a dream! If so… how can we read the story from his POV???

Don't tell me… Ally, don't let these guys exploit your abilities!!!! You are not a tool! I'll really going to punch Victor if that's the case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔝 𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 47

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Grian's pov*

You run back to your apartment, you do not appreciate having to do this at all. You had a whole thing pre-planned and they ruined it for you!

Creating an outfit is not the hard part, you can do that pretty easily with the snap of a finger but no matter how oblivuous Scar might be he's still definitely going to question it were you to arrive with an outfit that looks professionally made. You don't think you could justify it without being called out...

...So of course you have to also make it look homemade, like it was made with stuff you had around the apartment in half an hour, what an un-cute start to your sidekick career.

You settle on a pink and blue hoodie and a mask, not the best outfit but you did what you had to to make it look legit... On theme but not outlandish enough to be questioned. And if it is questioned... you'll deal with that later when it becomes a problem.

...And with that you are just in time to pick Hotguy up and make it to Las Nevadas before the commotion ends.

"Cuteguy? Is that?"

"Yep, not my ...first choice but it will have to do... So how do I look?"

"You look like a vigilante when, dressed like that"

"That's hardly my fault Hotguy."

"... Yeah, I know"

...

"You didn't answer, how do I look?"

"Great! I mean, not that you usually look not great, you always look good! But it fits you really well- it looks cool I mean hot I mean...good???"

"Are you.. ok?"

"....I'm... I'm just really tired."

... You can relate with that, a lot has happened in the span of a few hours... especially for you.

"Yep"

"... Sooo, are you ready for your debut?"

"Unfortunately"

"Oh C'mon It's going to be... great?"

He can't even manage to sound like he believes it, zero out of ten encouragement here...one out if ten, at least he's trying.

"So...uh...let's go!"

And he just books it! You are having deja-vu to when Flame did this exact same thing when you met him the first time. What's with super powered people and running away randomly?

"I see how it is Hotguy!"

And you spread your wings and fly to him.

As you approach Las Nevadas you hear the sound of sirens, you forgot about those. In hindsight you really should have thought of the attention a group of notorious villains fighting a group of vigilantes in front of a major casino and hotel would garner, oh well.

You look towards Scar, he is... slightly upset, clearly this is bigger then he expected...you wonder just how little the hero association actually knew and how little of that they actually told him. Considering past presedent you don't have very high hopes.

You kinda wish he would just stop being nice, go a bit apeshit even, for once and tear into them...is that how you use the phrase? You heard Martyn say it during the movie marathon and it definitely fits your opinion on the matter...either way, you really wish he would do something like that even though it probably would cause problems it would also be very satisfying to watch...like Legally Blonde! Nice reference, you learned so much today, you are so proud of yourself.

You land down near the chaos, on top of one of the nearby building, Quackity is gone because he must have chosen to be smart about it and left in the confusion... Flame is currently fighting Xonorth, Worm man is dealing with the Doctor, Seraphin with Mot and you are fighting with you...This is going to get confusing real soon.

You hear Hotguy sighs from your left, you turn towards him, his expression is even more unconfortable then it was earlier.

"This isn't..."

"Well, what now Hotguy?"

"I don't... The association sent us after the vigilantes ..."

You can sense the doubt in bis tone, is he having second thoughts.

"But?"

"I don't think we should target them, we should get the villains...?"

"Uh?"

You turn fully to him.

"T-that makes more sense right? Villains...villains are worse then vigilantes so...they should be the one we get??"

"Makes sense to me?"

"So..."

"So we are working with vigilantes? Even though that's the opposite of what the hero association said?"

"..."

He's silent for a few moments, before you can try to spur him on he steps foward.

"I think so... Just this once."

"Sounds good to me, I'm right behind you."

He turns towards you and smiles, then he jumps into the fray and you follow suit immediately after.

It's a bit much controlling three bodies at once but you think you manage it pretty well! Mother Spore dodges a swipe to the left, Poultryman trows an egg at a guy on the right, Cuteguy slashes a tendril in half... All in all you would say you are doing pretty well.

Chaos is your domain and this almost all vs all is refreshing and sweet and invigorating! Still It's different from how you normally view your domain, usually It's more detached, more uninteresting...but being in the middle of it? Extremely confusing and doubly as entertaining. You get lost in the confusion in the best possible way.

Cuteguy jumps on Mot and Mother Spore summon a mushroom wall around herself and Poultryman uses his wings to deck Paroh. You jump from side to side, fly and swipe and dash and at one point you even do a backflip from no reason other then because It sounded fun and you had no reason not do it...

After a while all the fighting does start to meld together as you get more lost in it, to be fair It's been a while since you have been able to do something like this so you end up being very intense about it-

...

And then you hear a strangled cry and everything goes quiet. You turn. All three of you turn towards the noise, the world itself almost wraps in vortex as you hear a scream of someone very familiar.

You turn and you see a tendril, one of Xonorth's... It's passing right trough Scar's heart, you can see his suit darken around the point in which the tendril makes contact with flesh, you look as crimson blood begins to coat the appendage. You turn and for a second it is silence...And then everything stops.

*End of Chapter 9*

[cryptids]

.

I was just looking through those recently posted tf:one storyboards (crying sobbing throwing up about the megop rn) But I just have to say I do kind of wish they had kept this dialogue in the final movie, bc I've seen SO many people misunderstanding what Orion was trying to say in the scene where he's trying to stop D-16/Megatron from killing Sentinel, and I think this version phrases it better??

Like.... I can't even tell you how many people I've seen say that Orion was trying to protect Sentinel/sacrificing his life for Sentinel's, and then go on to accuse him of being everything from a "liberal" to a fascist apologist lmfao (🤡)

When to me it was clear he hated Sentinel and didn't give a fuck about whether this man lived or died, his concern was with trying to prevent his best friend and person he loves most in the world from committing a murder and going down a path that would turn him into the same kind of dictator.

imo, Orion was trying to say that they'd already won and killing Sentinel in this manner (a public execution without a trial) would set a harmful precedent for a new society. Which is true, what they'd be creating if they took Megatron's approach would be a society where order was maintained through fear and subjugation, and without any kind of fair justice system.

Killing Sentinel didn't achieve anything that would actually help anyone, bc like I already mentioned, they'd already won by then. They liberated the oppressed population and took Sentinel's power away, he no longer posed any threat. Megatron’s only motivation was revenge and he was making decisions out of anger and grief rather than thinking about what was best for everyone. He took the decision of what to do with Sentinel away from the people by taking it into his own hands without letting them have an opinion.

(Before anyone comes at me, I know the desire for revenge is understandable and justified, which is why we're able to empathise with him so much. But that doesn't mean it's always the right choice in every circumstance, especially for someone stepping into a position of power)

I think the line that really got people mixed up was Orion saying "don't be like Sentinel", bc people are so used to the "killing the villain makes you as bad as the villain" sentiment in every movie ever that they automatically assumed this movie was saying the same thing. But when you stop to take the context into consideration it would make a lot more sense if he meant "don't be the same kind of leader as Sentinel", which IS what he meant, it's just worded badly.

And it's the truth too?? we all know Megatron will become a genocidal dictator who will carry out so much of the same kind of oppression he originally fought against, that's like his whole tragedy as a villain. There's so many little ways tf:one shows us this happening at the end (like him branding the decepticons the way he was branded for example).

But anyway......... as much as I wish media didnt have to spoonfeed audiences so much, I think if Orion's argument had been spelled out a bit more unambiguously like this it might have spared me having to see so many bad takes online lmao 😭

Now that I'm done rambling about all of that please look at this wattpad boyfriend chest touch moment

[writersblockedx]

Winters Protection

Pairing - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Summary - When Alexander Piece's daughter begins to rebel, he assigns The Winter Solider as her personal bodyguard.  Warnings - Mentions of violence and death

A/n - I haven't uploaded to tumblr for a long while, but I hope you still enjoy this, I'm likely to make a part two as well! Also happy new year all!

Masterlist

It had become a game. One of which you were known to win far too often. Slipping away from the security detail when they were too busy smoking a cigarette outside, running across the bustling streets of nighttime Brooklyn as you and your friends headed to some niche bar they wouldn't find you. Maybe you had been stupid to think you could continue to get away with it without your father finding out.

It almost should have been expected that night. The early morning sun cast across your rustic, downtown apartment as your intoxicated self stumbled with the key. When you pushed the door open, dark figures stared back at you. Only personalised when you switched at the light and found your father sitting with a class of neat whisky at the breakfast bar. Stood behind him was a broad-shouldered man. One of which you had to assume was another bodyguard. Until your gaze flickered down to the metallic shine of his left arm: The Winter Solider.

Your focus turned to your father first. "Dad?" His name left your tongue with uncertainty as you drew closer into your own home. "What is this?"

He was slow, unusually calm considering the situation. You had been through this enough to know that meant he was truly mad. A part of you wondered if he was about to let his pet loose on you, teach you a lesson you wouldn't forget. "You we're out, all night, no bodyguards, doing god knows what with who knows. I come to learn this is-" He takes a sharp inhale as to calm his furious tone. "This is happening every single weekend. How stupid are you, little girl?"

You kept quiet as he stepped from his seat, downing the rest of the whisky from the expensive glass. "You can't be trusted, do you understand?"

"Look, Dad, I just wanted-"

A harsh throw. Then a clash. Glass flying left, right and center. Your breath caught in your throat before you could even feel the blood dripping from your cheek. But you weren't worried about your torn skin, but rather the thousand-pound glass he had let shatter without a second thought. 

"You are in no position to speak back, right now." You kept your lips sealed and your eyes dry despite the tears which fought to escape. "It's become evident to me you have no desire for your own safety. You are naive enough to flaunt around this city in your short little skirts with no concern for our enemies. If you weren't family, you would be dead." Such a phrase echoed across your mind, sure to keep you awake.

"So, now, you have him." He wandered around to where the Winter Solider had yet to move from, his eyes dark and brooding. "24/7, ensure you don't do anything stupid again."

You rushed up, panic in your eyes. 24/7. No more nights that swept into the morning. No more privacy. Nothing. "Please, I'll stop, I'll be more careful. I'll stop ditching the security detail. But I don't need your science project to look after me."

He stared down. For a moment you thought he might throw something else at the wall. Luckily, he wasn't holding onto anything anymore. "It's too late for that." His gaze turned to the man. "Clean it up."

In an instant, the soldier was moving. Gathering the glass in his bare hands from the floor. A hand fell on your bleeding cheek, forcing you to face your father. "I do this because I love you." Though, you found such hard to believe.

A breath of relief fell from your lips which his touch left your skin. Your eyes not moving to the floor as you listened to the door open and then shut, leaving you under the protection of the Winter Solider. It was in that moment, your body gave in. Tears flooded from your eyes, your knees shook and you forced your body onto the sofa. The distant sound of glass in the background not stopping your hands from meeting your face.

You hadn't been sure how long had passed. Only that when you uncovered your face from your hands, the soldier was facing you with a first aid kit. You watched him carefully as he took out a wipe and some stitches. The wipe hit your wound with a sting that lingered. Enough to cause your hand to grip his wrist, forcing him to a stop. "I've got it." You grumbled, taking the supplies for yourself.

He was still silent. A nod of recognition before he continued to clean the floor. You were left to your tears, cleaning the wound and forcing your body through the pain. You had no care for the man, barely such, that you left in your kitchen that night. From the stories you had heard, you should have been more concerned about the monster cleaning up broken glass. Yet, he now served to protect you - as much as it pissed you off.

You somehow found yourself soundly sleeping off the argument, the intoxication and the pain. No worries for the man, no hospitality. You hadn't even wandered where he slept. However, you had questioned whether he did need sleep. The Winter Solider seemed almost robotic. He obeyed orders from the highest command. Even if that meant being stuck in Alexander Pierce's eldest daughter's apartment, ensuring she wasn't going to sneak out.

It confused your senses when you awoke to the smell of food. The distant sound of the cooker crackling. It pulled you out of bed, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt to find the soldier cooking breakfast rather than pulling men in half. "What- erm" You wiped your tired eyes. "What are you doing?"

He didn't even look away when he answered, "Orders."

 "And they are?"

He severed up the simple plate of scrambled eggs on toast before turning to you, plate in hand. "Care for you, ensure your safety, whatever means necessary."

With a furrowed brow, you took the plate. You couldn't deny the smell was inviting. "And that includes cooking me breakfast?"

"A night of intoxication. Carbs help." He informed.

Despite your confusion, you sat at the breakfast bar and began eating, trying to ignore the murderer who stood across from you. Only a moment passed before he spoke up, "Where is the bathroom?"

You pointed up, "First door on the left." And you watched, even more confused as the man's back turned to you, disappearing up the stairs. It only took a minute before the sound of the shower could be heard; guess your father wasn't lying about the 24/7 bodyguard.

It had yet to hit you how much your life truly was about to change until later on. As was usual, you were ready to head into town. Not for a bar-hopping trip, or a late-night date, just coffee with a friend. Something simple, something that your father once deemed safe. Yet as you headed for your front door, walking right passed the soldier, he stood. His voice forcing you to look from your phone screen, "Where are you going?"

You had been so close to slipping away. "Out." Your words were followed with a shrug. "I'll not be long."

In between the time of responding to the message and looking back again, the winter solider had acquired a leather jacket and a pair of gloves. "You don't have to come with me. I'm just meeting a friend." You almost laughed at the thought of needing a bodyguard for coffee.

"It's orders." He repeated.

You should have expected this from my dad. "Really? I'll be safe, alright?"

"If you want to request me to not join, you're going to have to call pierc- your father."

You dreaded nothing more in that moment. You knew what his answer would be. Some long, metaphoric lecture, and you'd still be faced with the answer of no. "Fine, just erm-" You looked him over. "Be subtle, please."

He nodded before trailing behind you as you headed out onto the streets of Brooklyn. A few eyes followed you and the brooding man who didn't leave your side, didn't speak, yet seemed like he was awaiting something. Ready to pounce at any sign of danger. He wasn't like any of your past bodyguards. He wasn't scrolling through hinge in the meantime, nor was he yearning for a cigarette. He was here for a job and it seemed as if nothing was going to stop him. 

By the time you reached the quaint coffee shop, you spotted your friend already sipping a brewing drink in the window. A smile grazed your lips as you looked back at the soldier. "You're not coming in are you?"

The expression you faced suggested you had no choice, "It's-"

"Order. Yeah, I get it." You finished for the man before a sigh fell from your lips as you pulled at the door. "Just, maybe sit a few tables away from us, please?" You begged and such was responded with nothing but a silent nod.

"Finally!" Called your friend as she stood from the wooden table, her eyes still lingering over the muscular man at your side. "And who is this?" She was seconds away from laying her hands around his biceps.

"New security detail." You answered with nothing but a stern expression.

Her brow raised, "To watch over you while we get coffee and talk shit?" Even she seemed to find it laughable. She was used to joining their nights out with unknown men looking out for you. But this was different, it was a whole lot more intense. And, quite frankly, getting on your nerves. 

"Let's just say my dad got tired of me ditching my bodyguards, he's trying to teach me a lesson, it won't last long." Or so you liked to tell yourself. Your head snapped back round to the soldier as you continued, "But he's not going to sit with us." It was as if he needed a reminder.

The soldier stared only at yourself. A stern nod before he wandered towards a distant table, still with a good view of yourself. However, it was good enough for you as you followed your friend towards the spot she had been keeping warm. "He seems...quiet." Your friend put politely.

You looked over your shoulder, already meeting his gaze as if it was glued to your figure. It faulted your smile as you gazed back to your friend, "He's one of my dad's projects." And projects was putting it nicely. You didn't know everything, but you knew enough. The man who was sworn to protect you, was a killer, blood red hands, and a list of victims to follow.

"Not one you can ditch then?" There was a hit of mischief in her eyes. It seemed to have become a tradition that any club nights had to have the thrill of running away. Now, it seemed less as a thrill and more of a danger.

"No, not really." You answered with a sigh to her disappointment.

And so as the conversation swiftly returned to the mundane gossip, you couldn't help but feel the need to look over your shoulder. You thought with the presence of a bodyguard that need would dissipate. Instead, you couldn't help but worry about what your new bodyguard was truly capable of. And how much you were going to see while he was assigned to your safety. 

[jejelovescats]

My (probably inaccurate) analysis on Spy x Family chapter 109

From what we currently know, Melinda clearly has some kind of hatred towards her husband, now we can say this is because of a potential mental illness (or physical damage that led to a mental illness) OR the (probable) abuse taking place, physical/psychological.

Now, we don't have a proper backstory on Melinda to say that there was any physical damage that took place, especially something so severe to the point it caused her a mental illness. The likelihood of abuse taking place is much more likely since we DO know that she has visited the psychiatry department in some point in the past, somewhere around when the war took place. Now, off the top of my head, there are a number of reasons why she could have visited, first being the pressure and stress of being a first lady, especially in the war period, or is it because she reached a point where she wasn't able to handle her emotions BECAUSE of the abuse?

I would like to focus on the latter since I find it much more probable. Now I did say earlier that physical damage could cause mental illnesses, the phrase "physical damage" doesn't exclude abuse. Maybe the abuse reached a point where it caused her mental distress.

Now I would like to discuss Melinda's relationship with her family, starting off with her children (this will be more focused with Melinda's relationship with Damian since we don't know what she thinks of Demetirus yet)

Now Melinda's relationship with her family is uhhh, complex to say the least. In the bus hijacking arc, Melinda refers to her son as "my treasure" while simultaneously referring to him as "my curse". Now what we can note is that everything was fine up until Damian asked her not to tell his father that he cried, that's when her thoughts started to go haywire.

Now at this point we ask ourselves, "Why are Melinda's thoughts towards Damian like this?" in my opinion its either because he's Donovan's child (which explains why she refers to him as a curse) or that she's afraid he'll be just like his father?

Now the answer to both of these questions crawl back to Donovan. Now we also need to ask ourselves "Where did Donovan and Melinda's relationship stand before they got married?" If it was an arranged marriage, the (probable) abuse would make more sense but if they were originally in love, that's a WHOLE other story. if so we would need to ask

-"what happened to turn their relationship into this?"

-"why did Donovan start treating his wife that way?"

I honestly really do believe that they were originally in love hence Melinda's mind trying to look for any reason why her husband turned into something that brought her so much distress (ergo the "My husband is an alien)

It would make more sense if they were previously in love

Or at least, Melinda was tricked into thinking he loved her

If so, then he had to have an ulterior motive maybe he took advantage of the fact he knew she cared about him?

If Melinda cared so much about a man to the point of risking her mental and (potentially) physical health, then there has to be some kind of history on why she fell in love with Donovan in the first place, why she (probably) never questioned his (probable) abuse , blaming it on the fact that "My husband is an alien" it's like she doesn't want to believe that her husband (a man she loved) would abuse her, although I would really love to know what Melinda thinks of Demetrius, I'd assume something similar what she thinks of Damian.

"Why can't they divorce or why can't she report him?" Well there are a number of possibilities including the fact that if she loves him, she wouldn't want to divorce him and it is evident that she loves him so much to the point she never questioned his abuse hence the "My husband is an alien" since she doesn't want to believe that a person she loved so much would hurt her (again, Donovan abusing her is NOT confirmed yet I'm just saying what I think if it were true) OR she doesn't want to tarnish her reputation because even if she did report him, he could make up a lie for people not to believe her "would you really believe a woman who's convinced her husband is an alien?" since he does have more power over her. That being said, people are more likely to believe Donovan since they only see Melinda as "the former first lady" not a mother nor a wife. As well as the fact that when she reports him with no success, the abuse will most likely get worse.

And I also noticed in her list of symptoms that she had insomnia, is it caused by the fact she thinks husband is an alien? That her mind is trying to block out the fact that her husband is abusive? There's just so many possibilities! I can't wait to see what endo has in store for us!

conclusion: Melinda has a crappy husband and needs a better one bc that's what she deserves and also get her a better therapist this woman is mentally ill you don't wanna make it worse by getting her an unlicensed and inexperienced fake therapist 😭😭

[martincrushcameback]

LOOK- Varmijet, to me, would be so happy being the most boring guy you'd ever meet with the most boring hobbies that somehow Torty finds totally endearing.

To me, Varmi is the kind of guy who, once he's finally settled with Torty, settles HARD into total boring domestic life. I'm talking dad belly on his skinny body, newspaper, house robe, silly fuzzy dog slippers his wife gave him, morning coffee and toast. I'm talking following the same exact boring routine every single day for the next 50 years.

I'm talking enjoying only the quietest, most introspective, and "old person" hobbies. Bird watching and model train label accuracy levels of mundane. Stamp collecting, paper airplanes, newspaper crossword puzzles, only reading books about 15th century hats or something.

Embracing house husband life because wow he doesn't have to do much to make their lives happy for once and her job is great so he doesn't HAVE to push himself to the extreme all the time. Making his wife breakfast because she is a whirlwind and he burns the eggs every time and every time she eats it anyways and tells him she likes it because they're HIS boring burnt eggs and he will not admit it would crush him if she ever pointed out he burnt them but she knows and she's not a great cook either.

His life sucked until he met her and then they fought because OBVIOUSLY what you do when you're attracted to a person is verbally dis them and cause bodily harm right? That's what his brothers always did??? But like NO she's perfect and soft and passionate and he wants to pull all his hair out and finally she's like ok you know what you're my passion project. And suddenly it wasn't him having to try and figure out How To Flirt And Be A Human Person, now she's just decided they're a couple and they can do couple things and he is massively introverted but she's basically the sun to him an all encompassing and terrifying ball of energy he adores way too much.

And so domestic married life has fixed this pathetic little meow meow of a man. Turns out life is a whole lot simpler when he just wants to chill and pet his weird cat that will not leave him alone and it chews on his slippers and coughs up hairballs on his pillow -never her pillow, how is that fair you little demon?- And he's happy and his wife is happy.

I feel in my heart that he's SUCH A BORING GUY who needs the enrichment of a very introverted and boring life of routines and soft pillows and coffee and crosswords and scrabble. Let the man know too many intricate facts about the history of old war planes that would bore anyone to tears EXCEPT Torty.

He's the guy who only knows how to hype one person: his wife, and nobody else. He will fight you in the pit if you dare look at her the wrong way but also he calls her names and she calls him names and they're allowed to only complain at each other and people think they hate each other and they're like "what gave you that idea i would die for him/her" and like two seconds ago they were threatening to murder each other over spilled coffee and mismatched socks and now she's braiding his hair while he tells her that he thinks "gerbil" is a stupid word.

@ranfordgallus i was having varmi thoughts

Picture him sitting in old-timey pjs with a house robe on and the stupid fuzzy dog slippers and he's eating a bowl of some generic plain oat cereal and he's focusing WAY too hard on the crossword with Zakitty in his lap trying to chew on his sleeve. He calls out to his wife "Torty what's an 8 letter phrase you tell to someone you care about?"

"I LOVE YOU?" She calls back.

He half chokes on his cereal. "TORTY YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT-!"

And she comes in and looks at him confused because- "I'm your WIFE??"

This is a daily occurrence.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

I thought about drinking just now. It's been two and a half years, minus a day or two, since my last drink. My life has been transformed into something beautiful beyond my imagination since then. There's that phrase, I think it's from the Basic Text, "lost dreams awaken." They surely did.

Things for me today are better in every metric I can think of than they were before I quit. I can look myself in the eye and think "damn, son, you're doing alright," sometimes at least. For the first time in my life, I think I actually kinda like myself.

But still, I feel like a husk. And still I want some fucking gin. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But underneath all of the progress lies this same fundamental problem: I feel empty.

Maybe I need God. I know that's what some would say. I'm not a believer. Not even in a "the universe is looking out for me, man," kinda way. I wish I believed. I wish I could give narrative structure and cosmic meaning to things. But I unfortunately or fortunately believe the universe is utterly devoid of meaning, except that which we create for ourselves.

And lately, meaning has felt impossible for me to make. Maybe it's a signal that I need to actuate change. Maybe it's just hard sometimes. Maybe I couldn't be anywhere besides where it is that I am.

I don't really know. I just know two things. First is that I'd really, really, really like a fifth of gin in my hands about now. Second is that, for better or worse, tonight's not the night I find myself strolling over to the Liqu-O-Rama.

[eggs-attorney]

[<<< First] [< Prev]

Reiker: (Well, the battered pieces on the legs definitely aren't normal. Come to think of it, they kind of match with the ones in the other photo...)

Reiker: (Given the background of the photo Flash took, it's likely that this was at the maintenance appointment, but why wouldn't she fix his legs? That's gotta be part of the job description... That, and Yanshu doesn't seem like the type to be friends with a spy. Let me see if there's anything-)

Reiker: (... Wait, on the autopsy photo! That mark…)

Reiker: I'VE GOT IT!!

Rythen: Tch… Usually the turn of phrase is "objection", my dear boy.

Reiker: I'm not going to object to my own client's statement, but I am going to amend it using evidence!

Rythen: This really is an "anything goes" trial, isn't it…?

Reiker: Just… Listen, I was able to find another one of those marks on Flash's body.

Eggman: Oh? So you're saying even more of this Robian's parts were counterfeit!? Wonderful! NOT GUILTY!

Reiker: (If he didn't look so fierce, I'd joke about taking him up on that…)

Reiker: If you look here, you can see that mark, and If you look at it a little closer… I think I can tell exactly where those parts came from, and it definitely wasn't a spy.

Eggman: Just spit it out, Strait.

Reiker: Yanshu made Flash. That's why she made sure she was the one doing his maintenance, that's why she let him leave without replacing the counterfeit parts, and most importantly, THAT'S WHY SHE COULDN'T HAVE KILLED FLASH!

Yanshu: AHH!!

Eggman: Yanshu, is this true!?

Yanshu: P-p-please don't have me roboticized, s-sir! I promise I'm not a spy!!

Yanshu: It'sJustThatIMadeHisAIAndIHadHimInMyComputerAndMyWatchAndHeGrewAndIWasLonelyAndIGotAttachedAndWantedSomeoneToHugAndHeSaidHeWouldIfHeCouldAndItWasSoSweetAndIThoughtAboutItAndGotIdeasAndGotCarriedAwayAndI-!

Yanshu: [Sniff] I… I figured n-no one would miss a few recycled p-parts… It made him so happy... P-please, I'm so sorry!

Eggman: … Why on Earth do you think I'd have you roboticized?

Yanshu: B-… Because I used your parts…? I-I took them out of the disposal bin and modified them myself and I-… [Hic] My manager told me that stealing parts is one of the worst things I could do!

Eggman: I certified each and every one of my organic staff personally. As much as I prefer robots, you and your cohorts getting creative making working parts out of whatever scrap I leave behind means I don't have to. Do you have any idea how time consuming it is recycling all this junk?

Yanshu: Y-you... But he-! Ooogh...

Reiker: Mr. Payne, given this enlightening information, I hope we can agree to a not guilty verdict here?

Rythen: Ha! As if! You really don't see this for the petty farce it is? Do you forget I have an eyewitness to the crime!?

Reiker: Ah yes… That would be Yanshu's manager, right?

Rythen: Indeed. In fact, I'd like to call Mr. Axel Bolton to the stand to testify on what he saw that day!

Reiker: Good. I have a few questions for him myself…

Rythen: Can the witness state their name and occupation?

Axel: Axel Bolton, Head Robo-Tech for the Main Division.

Reiker: Are you… Supposed to have that in here?

Axel: Sorry, tinkering helps my thinkering. Killing two birds with one stone.

Reiker: (Tinkering helps his-... Is he a child?)

Eggman: That's the trademark efficiency I hired you for! Now then, can you testify to the actions you saw Ms. Yanshu take that day?

Axel: Happy to!

Testimony 4: Maintenance Supervision

1:) So I had just gotten back from lunch. Yanshu was the only one working, so I decided to go check on her.

2:) I went over and immediately noticed the weird personality core in the E-5000 she had.

3:) The screws weren't ours, and she was panicking. I told her to look for some other tools while I took a crack at it.

4:) She couldn't find any, and my next appointment came along, so I told her to keep at it and left.

5:) When our shift ended, I found the maintenance sheet on my desk with no note! Or parts!

6:) As per protocol, I dropped everything and chased after the 'bot, but when I arrived… It was too late.

Reiker: (We shouldn't still be talking about this, but I feel like he's already slipped up with his wording here… I should take advantage of it and point out the error!)

[Next >]

[charminglygrouped]

Hi there! Love you stories and your take on Austen (as you know). Today though, I have a question about canon for you, if you wouldn't mind:

when Austen compares portraits she's seen to her P&P characters, she notes that she hasn't spotted anyone that resembled Lizzy; but that crucially mr Darcy wouldn't have allowed a portrait of his wife to be exhibited anyway. (Forgive me that I can't recollect the exact phrasing.)

This always seemed weirdly possessive or jealous to me, which — while Elizabeth had a say in anything — seemed both unlikely and to point to a strange relationship dynamic. But perhaps I'm missing something here. Can you make sense of it?

Cheers, Athena

Dear Athena (lately sprung from head of Jupiter);

I think the context of this remark is important. As you note, it's not as though Austen has determined that Darcy wouldn't allow his wife's portrait to be exhibited, merely as a result of her own reflections: at the time when she writes this, she has already tried to find Elizabeth's portrait and failed.

The letter in question was written to her sister Cassandra on Monday, May 24, 1813:

[...] Henry & I went to the exhibition in Spring Gardens. It is not thought a good collection, but I was very well pleased—particularly (pray tell Fanny) with a small portrait of Mrs. Bingley, excessively like her. I went in hopes of seeing one of her Sister, but there was no Mrs. Darcy;—perhaps however, I may find her in the Great Exhibition which we shall go to, if we have time;—I have no chance of her in the collection of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Paintings which is now showing in Pall Mall, & which we are also to visit.—Mrs. Bingley’s is exactly herself, size, shaped face, features & sweetness; there never was a greater likeness. She is dressed in a white gown, with green ornaments, which convinces me of what I had always supposed, that green was a favourite colour with her.* I dare say Mrs. D. will be in Yellow. […] —Monday even—We have been both to the Exhibition & Sir J. Reynolds’,—and I am disappointed, for there was nothing like Mrs. D. at either.—I can only imagine that Mr. D. prizes any Picture of her too much to like it should be exposed to the public eye.—I can imagine he wd have that sort [of ommitted] feeling—that mixture of Love, Pride & Delicacy. Setting aside this disappointment, I had great amusement among the Pictures; & the Driving about, the Carriage been open, [sic] was very pleasant.

— Jane Austen's Letters, ed. Deirdre Le Faye. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press (1997), pp. 212-3.

So she already knows that she has been unable to find Mrs. Darcy's portrait, and is trying to determine upon some reason why this should be so. She can imagine that Mr. Darcy would not like his wife's portrait to be in an exhibition of artworks, if pressed to come up with an explanation for its absence—that is, given the fact of the work's absence, that seems to be the most likely reason for it—but I think there's a distinction between saying this, and saying that she does imagine him not liking his wife's portrait to appear, apropos of nothing.

Even accepting that she does imagine this of Darcy, though, I don't think we should read this to mean that Austen is implying a difference between Bingley and Darcy in this regard. I imagine that, at the time that first paragraph was written, she wasn't thinking of the location of the painting in any literal sense—i.e., she didn't imagine the fact she had seen it at an exhibition implied the existence of a real-life Mr. Bingley, in-universe with her, who had lent the painting to the exhibition. She was just looking for any image that suited her idea of Mrs. Bingley, without reference to where it appeared. Later, however, when she has been unable to find Mrs. Darcy at either of the additional exhibitions she has gone to, she comes up with a post-hoc explanation for that fact by playfully switching to a literal lens, and bringing the physical locations and real-world provenance of the paintings into play.

Also accepting that Mr. Darcy did have such a mixture of "pride and delicacy"—I think we could only understand that feeling by placing it within its proper context. Patrick J. Noon (of the Yale Center for British Art) says that the titles of portraits are at this time "more often than not" changed when they are exhibited publicly, presumably so that artists could exhibit commissioned works while allowing the sitter to maintain anonymity (Rainbolt p. 41). So Darcy is far from the only person who would hesitate to have a painting shown in such a public way.

And these exhibitions were very public. The exhibition at which Austen found Jane Bennet's portrait was given by the Society of Painters in Oil and Water Colours (now called the Royal Watercolour Society), a prestigious society to which painters could only gain membership by being voted in by current members. The original goal of the Society (which was especially relevant around 1813, due to the war with France) was to demonstrate that watercolours could stand beside oils as a "prestigious public art" (Fenwick & Smith p. 1, emphasis mine); and that water-colours had national and nationalist importance, as they were "uniquely suited to the depiction of [England's] scenery and climate" (ibid.). This was a change from an 18th-century view of watercolours as suitable to quickly add some colour to a map or an etching or something, but not suitable to stand on their own as the medium for a painting.

(It seems completely bizarre to me that Fenwick & Smith don't mention this, but I imagine that the ideological work being done from the middle of 18th century onwards to take watercolours from private to public, from personal to national, from amateur to professional—was synonymous with the task of taking them from feminine to masculine. Serious, important, professional art is defined as art which men do. Women might paint watercolours of their friends as a refined accomplishment, but they were explicitly disallowed from being full members of the Society, and very few of them were ever 'associate' members.)

So these exhibitions have ideological, national, and political importance. An article on the Society in Ackermann's Microcosm of London is explicitly concerned with the development of English excellence in watercolours, and anxious that the improvements in English painting since the 1770s be recognised.

The Society's exhibitions are also significantly concerned with money. They were public, commercial enterprises, with fees being taken at the door, and some of the exhibited paintings available for sale. The male members of the Society would share the profits and debts thereof; the female 'associate' members shared any profits that were realised, but were not liable for debts.

The article in the Microcosm considers the history of English painting broadly, and the Society's exhibitions in particular, in this dual national and financial light: the excellence of English painting is held back by the fact that portrait-painting was, until the time of George III (1760), "almost exclusively patronised and rewarded," to the detriment of any other genre of painting:

the personal vanity of individuals, and the disposition of artists to make their works a source of profit rather than fame, [...] led them to cultivate a branch of their profession that returned their assiduities with emolument, instead of embodying upon their canvass the splendid achievements which confer immortality upon those who have performed, and almost equal honour upon those who record them in representations executed with taste, spirit, and expression. Whilst artists are content with that remuneration which portrait-painting affords, we shall in vain look for the sublime features of bold composition, or the imposing graces of chaste and decided elegance.

The founding of the Royal Academy (in 1768), then, was a good thing because it "a more extensive taste" for painting "was excited and encouraged" by the fact that artists could be paid for painting landscapes, classical scenes, &c., as well as for portraits of private individuals. The article continues to talk about money, how artists of the Society of Painters in Oil and Water Colours may have been attracted by the "possibility of deriving some profit from the exhibition of their work," and the fact that "exhibiting their works to greater advantage" would increase "the facility of sale by such arrangements as the first page of their catalogue announces."

The article also talks about how the paintings are laid out in the various rooms, and how audiences are likely to react to them based on their placement. Watercolours, and even more tasteful oil paintings, must suffer by comparison to oils that consist of "half an acre of canvass, covered with the strongest tints, enriched with the most gaudy colours, and glazed with a varnish calculated to heighten the already too powerful effect." I mention this because it shows that the exhibited paintings are being evaluated: if Elizabeth's portrait were exhibited, audiences and critics would decide whether it possessed "the imposing graces of chaste and decided elegance," and thus justified its existence and its exhibition; or whether it was "gaudy," or had been produced for no reason other than the personal vanity of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. And then the critics would write up that review and publish it in Microcosm of London or Repository of the Arts or somewhere.

We have evidence that Austen is aware of this kind of evaluation in her letter itself: she acknowledges that the collection offered up for the censure or approbation of the public at the Spring Gardens "is not thought a good collection."

I think all of this context is important because it's not like she's saying that Darcy wouldn't allow the portrait out of his house or out of his sight or anything—just that he might not want it exhibited to the public to this degree. But also I think there's a danger of taking this sentence too seriously, lol. I don't think she's literally imagining a scenario where Elizabeth wants the portrait to be exhibited and Darcy forbids it. She's just trying to come up with an explanation for her own disappointment in a personal letter to her sister.

*See here for a summary of the quest to identify this painting.

Bibliography

"Exhibition of the Society of Painters in Water Colours," in The Microcosm of London: or, London in Miniature. Rudolph Ackermann, ed. Vol. 2. London: 1808. pp. 25-36.

Simon Fenwick and Greg Smith, The business of watercolour: a guide to the archives of the Royal Watercolour Society. Ashgate, 1997.

Martha Rainbolt, "The Likeness of Austen's Jane Bennet: Huet-Villiers' 'Portrait of Mrs. Q'." English Language Notes, Dec. 1988, 35-43.

See also

"Observations on the Rise and Progress of Painting in Water Colours," in Repository of Arts, Vol. 9, no. 49, January 1813, p. 24; ibid., Vol. 9, no. 51, March 1813, p. 146.