#wagnes

[pastenaga]

I love their dynamic this season

I don't know who made this drawing base, but I leave here the original ref anyway ;w; :

[hislittleraincloud]

O em gee...Wagnes...or Agnid...or even WAGNID 😭

AGNES HAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL IN THIS FANDOM, WHY AREN'T Y'ALL WRITING MORE OF THAT?

ETA: Idiots who come upon this now, I've already given you the real-world legalities and the developmental reasons why Agnes is safe to ship with the others. Stop crying about it since you know it's the better match for either/or Wednesday and Enid.

[pedritogames]

Essa é a Wagnes de "Vai, Cachorro. Vai!", mas no estilo de "Gui e Estopa".

[aubreeno]

Some domestic Wanda and Agatha. WE COULD HAVE HAD THIS.

[tragicallywicked]

hi !! 🥺 i've noticed you're accepting requests, so i'd love to see a wandagatha/harkximoff moodboard aesthetic based on the fanfic golden petals in her lungs on ao3. i am totally in love with your moodboard designs 💕

Ohhhhh that is so sweet of you! Thank you so much ♡ i absolutely love that fic so I’ll definitely add it to the aesthetics to do list. Thanks for suggesting!

[hislittleraincloud]

Plain enough for Jemma shippers?

"But what I do say is leave the real people out of it, but have fun shipping the characters if you want, yeah, all fun and games."

I dunno how much clearer it can be.

[hislittleraincloud]

The Invisible Likeness of Being: Agnes DeMille as a Queer Coming-of-Age Allegory

(a.k.a. Invisible Girls II)

Alright, pull up those chairs again, because it's going to get long. I could write volumes about youth and queer culture (real world, pop, etc.), but I do have other things I need to be writing. Feel free Ask or continue the discussion in Comments.

Invisibility as Queer Adolescence

Agnes’s refrain of being invisible maps onto one of the most recognizable queer experiences. A lot of isolated queer kids start here: unseen by their families, unacknowledged by peers, and unsure of how to even recognize themselves. Invisibility is both protection and prison. For Agnes, it is painfully literal. She tells Orloff and the body parts of how she feels, but later tells Wednesday (and Enid) why: that her mother has left her behind for a new normie family, either unable or unwilling to deal with having a "mistake" of a daughter who can vanish as she does. Ignored (though also monitored) by her father, she does not exist at home, so she struggles to exist anywhere else.

This invisibility hits harder because of her age. At 13/14, Agnes is right where identity exploration begins to press forward. These are the years when crushes, attachments, and first attempts at self-definition take shape, and when figurative social invisibility can feel unbearable.

Projection: The First Step Toward Identity

Agnes latching onto Wednesday means more than just ‘psycho fangirling’ because Wednesday embodies what she cannot claim for herself: unapologetic difference (and indifference, since it's Wednesday). This projection is the first step of queer coming-of-age: Queer kids at 13 or 14 often idolize or obsess over figures who seem to live openly/freely not because they want to consume them, but because they see in them the possibility of their own reflection.

This is why her fangirl obsession isn’t just comedic exaggeration. It dramatizes that awkward, desperate stage of identity-seeking where admiration, envy, and desire blur. At this age, those feelings are especially heightened: Too big for the child self, not yet shaped into the adult self. This can be said of any of the three girls, by the way.

From Invisibility to Recognition

The heart of the allegory comes when Agnes admits that she feels more invisible than ever at the Some of Your Parts support group. This is the hinge moment of queer coming-of-age. Invisibility is no longer sustainable. The longing shifts — from projecting onto others to demanding recognition for the self. It is the step between hiding and claiming. Agnes embodies that fragile, formative stage: when the invisible child starts insisting on being seen.

Finally Seen by a Peer: Preceding the Dead Dance

Technical nitpick: I wish Marshall had included a close-up of Ortega's face in its shocked expression. We can barely see it from this angle.

Agnes spends most of her arc trying to be seen through mimicry: first by orbiting Wednesday, then by attempting to “become” Wednesday with her full-on Single White Female stunt. In Episode 7/”Woe Me the Money”, the cycle breaks: Enid stumbles upon a crying Agnes, the failure of her costume transformation laid bare.

Instead of ridiculing her or dismissing her obsession, Enid does something Agnes has never received from a peer: She listens and acknowledges her. She pushes Agnes not to vanish into someone else’s identity, but to embrace her own. Even though Enid doesn’t phrase it as directly as “I see you,” the sentiment lands with equal force: a peer finally recognizing Agnes as more than an invisible shadow. It's fertile ground for queer exploration and is only amplified in the next few scenes where Agnes asserts herself to Wednesday by telling her that she no longer cares what she thinks about her, echoing a queer coming out moment: The defiant shift from craving approval to claiming one’s own visibility, the instant when a young queer person stops begging to be validated and instead begins to live their truth.

These moments matter because it reframes Agnes’s invisibility: Recognition doesn’t come from authority figures, but from a peer struggling with identity herself (as Enid fears for her future as a possible Alpha). The Dead Dance becomes a symbolic rite of passage: a queer allegory where one girl tells another that it’s okay to exist in her own psycho, messy, searching self. For Agnes, it is the first flicker of visibility that doesn’t rely on projection or imitation, but on being acknowledged as who she is.

Experimentation: Orbiting Enid

In the last episode, Agnes didn't fully mirror Enid’s bright style or extroverted warmth, but she edged toward it. After the disastrous attempts at trying to be “seen” by Wednesday, she then orbits Enid after the dance, testing out what belonging might feel like without fully crossing into imitation. This is another recognizable queer stage — the blurred line between “I want to be like her” and “I want to be with her.”

At 13/14, queer crushes often start here (and a lot of times, earlier). Admiration and attraction fold together, leaving the young person unsure where one ends and the other begins. Agnes’s near-glomming onto Enid captures that confusion perfectly. (If you watch her after Enid kindly rejects her offer of a list of boys, you can see acceptance and a glimmer of curiosity; as if she's still trying to figure out how to be valuable to Enid. Old habits, as they are.)

Belonging Among Peers

What cements Agnes’s allegorical weight is how her arc parallels Wednesday's and Enid’s. Season 1 centered around mother-daughter tensions: Enid’s yearning for maternal (and pack) acceptance, Wednesday’s struggle under Morticia’s shadow. Agnes belongs in that same framework in Season 2. Her invisibility and maternal abandonment position her as a peer in the show’s meditation on what it means for young women to come of age under pressure, rejection, and difference.

By placing Agnes alongside them, we recognize her not as a joke or a side plot but as a crucial figure in the larger allegory of visibility. Her arc insists that queer identity is forged not only in flamboyant declarations, but in the quieter, painful journey from erasure to recognition.

Media Literacy and the Importance of Reading This as Queer Allegory

Why does this matter? Because media often disguises or misdirects queer longing. Characters like Agnes get written off as creepy fangirls or comic relief when beneath those surface tropes lies allegory and to stop at the surface is to miss the point. Media literacy — the ability to read subtext, to ask what invisibility and queer longing might represent — is the tool that transforms Agnes from a caricature into a symbol.

For queer youth around Agnes’s age (13/14), this practice is more than analysis; it’s survival. It gives them permission to see themselves in characters not explicitly labeled queer, and to recognize that invisibility, awkward crushes, or clumsy attachments aren’t pathology, but part of the universal arc of queer becoming.

Actual media literacy teaches us that Agnes’s story isn’t disposable or comedic background; it’s an allegory of identity-in-motion. It shows that visibility often begins in longing, projection, and the painful confession of being unseen, and for queer kids watching, that allegory can provide the mirror they may not find anywhere else.

Sidebar, with Enid: A Popular Example of Adolescent Identity Exploration

I'm gonna interrupt here for a minute to tell you all that queer TV has been showing us this queer youth questioning identity for 25 years, and I can think of one winding link back from the current day media that we have: Ryan Murphy’s Popular (his cackle-worthy YA comedrama precursor to Glee) which aired on the WB during Y2K. It featured not one, but several episodes featuring LGBTQ+ youth (and adults) and the identity issues that they faced back in the day. Character Harrison John’s mother was a lesbian, whose relationship he wanted to hide from his friends. There was a 🔥decidedly🔥 gay🦭 “new kid” Adam Rothchild-Ryan portrayed by Wentworth Miller; there was an episode devoted to a trans shop teacher who was transitioning from male to female (and in other episodes, LGBTQ+ and gender identity issues were explored).

But the one relevant example I’d like to use is Lily Esposito’s journey to self-discovery, because the heart and tone of Agnes’s journey made me remember this particular scene (which is what the scene between Enid and Wednesday in the lupin cages also reminded me of):

Two things: Lily Esposito was an excellent character (they all were, they had a perfect ensemble cast) and excellent Latino (Mexican) and social justice representation (she was a raging SJW a decade before the term became pejorative). Secondly, the hilarious little bitch who asked about tongues being involved in the kiss is Nicole Julian, portrayed by Tammy Lynn Michaels who, right after Popular ended, went on to film the short film D.E.B.S. in 2003. The original D.E.B.S. short film was Angela Robinson’s USC film school project that was her way of breaking into the industry and planting a queer narrative in mainstream genre film. As many of the queer fans know, Robinson directed “Hyde and Woe Seek” and “Woe Thyself”, the body switch episode that is beloved by a lot who have watched.

This wasn't allegory, it was explicit, but for queer kids watching, they could certainly feel that confusion and frustration of not knowing what’s up or down or where they belong. Invisibility isn't just literal, as it is with Agnes, but it's spiritual as well, and Lily was, as she admitted, just exploring her identity. Everybody wants to be seen, but all teens are struggling to find their identity at that age, and this struggle also includes Enid Sinclair coming to terms with her possible Alpha wolf status. (And for the record, the girls in this video were mostly a lot older than 16 and 17; cosplaying high school aged teens is not at all new. A few of them were pushing 30, like Hunter Doohan was in Season 1. There was a joke about older people playing teenagers in-universe.)

The de Mille Echo: Her Name is Deliberate

Agnes de Mille was a woman asserting power and artistry in a masculine sphere in 1940's WW2 wartime America. In her memoirs, she often reflected on how she was dismissed or underestimated, forced to carve out her own space to be taken seriously; not only as an artist, but as a woman working in a field dominated by men. Sound familiar?

The choice to name her Agnes resonates beyond coincidence. Agnes George de Mille (1905–1993) was an American choreographer who revolutionized Broadway by weaving ballet and modern dance into musicals like Oklahoma! and Carousel ; she was a key advocate for the creation of the National Endowment for the Arts, and by her name and profession she becomes a meta-shadow here in both Enid and Agnes’ identity arc.

Enid’s brief solo ballet sequence before her first Alpha wolfout invokes that same tradition of movement as character revelation: Dance as a language of becoming. Later, the namesake’s own moment of visibility arrives when she dances with Enid at the Venetian Masquerade Gala. In queer terms, both moments stage choreography as a connection between repression and release: Enid’s solo dance preludes her transformation, Agnes’s joint dance is a dance of freedom for recognition. Together, they fold de Mille’s legacy into a queer allegory of visibility, desire, and self-making.

Striking a Pose at Nevermore: Queer Visibility from Vogue to The Dead Dance

The whole gala sequence doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Its visual language borrows from a decades-old lineage of queer-coded pop culture spectacles, most famously Madonna’s 1990 MTV VMA performance of “Vogue”.

Madonna orchestrated the performance with the same type of 18th-century court styling as the gala: justaucorps/frock coats, panniered gowns, and baroque poses transformed into voguing choreography. It was a queer reclamation of aristocratic aesthetics, channeling drag and ballroom culture into the mainstream.

Although Madonna’s performance was styled in a Marie Antoinette-inspired French Rococo mode and the Venetian Gala draws on Italian masquerade tradition, both share the exaggerated silhouettes and theatricality of the 18th century. For queer readings, the distinction in geography matters less than the shared act of camp reclamation.

For queer young adults in 1990, Madonna’s “Vogue” was more than a hit single: it was a lifeline, both a psychic salve and a call to arms to cast off one's inhibitions and to live freely as who you really are. At the height of the AIDS crisis when gay identity was stigmatized and often invisible in mainstream media, Madonna took the drag ballroom culture born in Black and Latin queer communities and elevated it unapologetically for the mainstream media on a global scale. For countless young queers around the world, seeing voguing presented as art, beauty, and empowerment meant recognizing themselves in a culture that had previously been underground.

The lyrics of “Vogue” mattered, too. Lines like “It makes no difference if you’re black or white, if you’re a boy or a girl ” spoke directly to those who felt marginalized for their identity. The song reframed difference as something to celebrate: “Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.” For the queer teens at the time (myself included, as I was the same age as Enid is), those words became a mantra: a call to visibility, to step into the light even when the world tried to erase them.

Visually, Enid’s and Weems’s dresses in particular at the gala evoke that same mix of Madonna’s 18th-century styling with camp theatricality. Their looks rhyme with Madonna’s court-drag styling and two generations later, with Lady Gaga’s own citations of the performance in her video. For queer viewers, the connection is immediate: opulent historical fashion being queered through performance, exaggeration, and parody.

By placing our invisible girl Agnes into this visual and lyrical tradition, the dance aligns her allegory with this longer queer history. She’s not just dressing up to be seen; she’s moving through a space coded by queer artistry, from ballroom vogue to pop spectacle. To read the dance (and her arc) this way is to understand that visibility is never neutral: it’s forged and sustained through the resilience of queer culture across generations.

This is why the dialogue between Madonna’s performance and the Venetian Gala/"The Dead Dance" is more than visual; it’s spiritual. Enid and Agnes are framed in baroque poses and voguing gestures that visually cite Madonna’s legacy, but the deeper connection is a reawakening and a convergence that carries her original message forward, turning queer invisibility into presence.

The scene thus becomes not just a masquerade, but a queer-coded ritual of recognition, summoning the spirit of Madonna when she told queer youth everywhere: Screw the haters. You are seen, you are beautiful, now let your freak flag fly. In the biology lab before the dance, Enid all but conjures that same spirit for Agnes, reminding her that visibility doesn’t require imitation: it requires the courage to stand as yourself.

Closing Thoughts On Agnes (also a TLDR;)

Agnes is the invisible girl who wants to be seen, much like queer kids who feel unseen and long for recognition and validation; choosing to read that subtext is an act of queer media literacy, and a lesson in how stories like this can reflect truths that, for a lot of queer kids, mainstream narratives written by straight cisgendered people still leave unsaid.

[hislittleraincloud]

I'm a proud Agnes Shipper.

That's not a typo, because I'm a multishipper and would/could write/ship her with anyone.

In my fanon (the W.O.W. drabbles), Agnes is such a big Wednesday Addams stalker because they share a birthday, not just because she saved the school. She had already been smitten/fascinated/had a huge girlcrush on Wednesday because of her uniqueness. I write from experience, since I had a weird ass stalker like that in high school too (but obviously not to the caricaturish degree).

Agnes Demille is slightly coded as a "freshman". Freshman and Juniors have one year between them [Sophomore], but are two years in age apart. Generally (and tightly speaking), in American schools:

You turn 15 during your Freshman Year.

You turn 16 during your Soph Year.

You turn 17 during your Junior Year.

You turn 18 during your Senior Year.

That would make her only two years apart from her and you are lying off your asses if you've never heard of a freshman dating a junior. I wrote this in the Invisible Girls post, but apparently I have to say it again:

There is no uniform manner in which adolescents are socialized, especially in fiction. FICTION.

And fiction is the safest place for you to explore the dynamic, especially since fear has been driven into your skulls about what you should and shouldn't be doing offline. Vermont's laws in particular give younger people the freedom to be with who they want, within age and reason (anyone less than 19 years old). Not that we should even care about that, we're writing in a world full of supernatural shit. A world FULL of supernatural shit that I don't fucking see anyone considering when it comes to sex. Mention #Thingclair on TikTok and you get a bunch of Gen Z stares who don't understand why you'd ship a hand with a sixteen year old girl.

Agnes is an Invisible Girl. She's seen much more than you're giving her credit for, and she and Enid click, since Agnes is the kinder version of Wednesday who's open to colorful clothing and being there for her. And while Wednesday mainly sees her from a utilitarian point of view (and as a lowkey threat, given her powers), Enid was the first real bond of a classmate seeing her.

And the reality:

No one at all is shipping Evie with Emma (and if they are, they're degenerates). That is precisely what scares Emma into going so hard against the fictional ship, because she is a victim of Jemma/people who ship her with Jenna. She doesn't want the same thing to happen to her and Evie, but again: We're not doing that. I would never.

And I, unlike a whole swath of fandom, have a GOOD GRIP on reality and fully comprehend the difference between an actor and their role. I honestly can't believe I even have to try to beat that concept into your heads, since we have seen the effects of treating actors like their fictional characters, and it never ends well for the actors. We're seeing it right now with the cast of The Summer I Turned Pretty

I don't know how y'all kids are doing this, but the line between fantasy and reality MUST be repainted into a thick, solid line.

Stop treating actors like their characters. It's a role. A JOB. They're doing because they enjoy the job and like to entertain the public, but shit like this ruins everything, and that's what concerns Myers re: Agnid shipping, since she's been through and is still going through that Hell with Ortega.

Imma repeat it in all the fonts:

Stop treating actors like their characters.

Stop treating actors like their characters.

Stop treating actors like their characters.

Stop treating actors like their characters.

Stop treating actors like their characters.

Stop treating actors like their characters.

Stop treating actors like their characters.

You all have to get the Hell out of that smoke and back into your lane.