#even knowing that it could erase their existence

[dreamsarebutterflies]

I didn't mean this particular scene or by the end of the manga but BEFORE that obviously. Ranma's character development is never stopping and that's what I love the most about his character: he's willing to learn and I do believe he knows himself too. After all, you need to if you try to be a master of martial arts.

Independently of the curse itself, parental pressure played a role in this idea of what a man is supposed to be. First, Genma and his mother made a freaking pact to make a MAN™ out of him. The alternative is DEATH. That alone would put things into your teenage head.

Despite this, he inherited his mother's kindness and he's genuine. Those parts can be seen as feminine in the most traditional ways. He wasn't raised to expose these qualities to the world, which makes him awkward at times when he wants to be nice to Akane for example. To be fair, he turned out fine as far as traditional boys go. He can be a jerk but he's a good kid who has actual affection for all these crazy people coming at him and Akane. If they get into trouble or ask for his help, he'd probably assist them.

Ranma wishing to be a FULL man isnt something new but the reasons evolve as the story goes on. Not necessarily because he changes or because he meets new people but we, as an audience, learn more and more about him.

You cannot ignore that this kid who didn't see his mother for ten years and lived in his father's fear of disappointing her for the whole while he was cursed, deeply wished to cancel this part of him so he could get home and see his mother again (and get rid of one more threat to his life). This reason surely existed before she was introduced. Because, as you said, Ranma has no idea what a home is. His mother was initially home. Now, the idea of Home is Akane and what brought them to be together. You cannot tell me he didn't put it into his head, one way or another, that for him to deserve to stay there with her, he had to be a Man™.

Isn't an explicit notion but the simple fact that Ranma mentions getting back to Akane as he is here is a hint that he wanted to return to her as a complete man again at some point. So it was an objective as well until now. It's not insane to interpret it that way, because she believes in him and he learned not to disappoint. But it's okay if he fails this time because he knows that's not really what Akane needs or wants, she knows and accepts him as he is, entirely.

Now he even has a reason not to be selfish, unlike his father. If you stretch it, you can assume that Ranma breaking the curse has never been something that he wanted for himself, it was yet again all about what his parents wanted for him. What always shocked me when I started the show years ago was how docile he was in the first episode. Meeting Akane, he learnt to express himself more and was finally allowed to want and need things for himself. He didn't need to live in survival mode anymore, not just because he had a roof and free food but because people around him are not threatening him on a daily basis. Until then, he never had to make real decisions for himself. Akane gave him a safe space to be who he was and think outside of his parents' unrealistic expectations.

Also, that's just an idea but: Ranma seems to believe in breaking the curse to make Akane happy. I wonder if that's also a way to erase the primordial fight: he lied to her and pretended to be a girl on day 1. Before this event, Akane was very welcoming and nice to him. Probably the first person to act that way towards him in years, mind you. Perhaps it would be a way to make things right.

Martial arts are Ranma's life, but the training trips with Genma were more about survival. In a way, he doesn't start living until he finds a home with the Tendos, but even more, Akane is home. When he's at death's door, Akane is the one who brings him back. She is his will to live.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

listen I'm not normally this mean but I have to say it

because this has been stewing hatefully inside me for months

if I could explode two leaker translations out of existence one of them would be this

it literally ignores a whole verb and bizarrely misinterprets a few other words, which totally diminishes the importance of what Katsuki is saying

in what universe does THIS WORD

Wiktionary

mean "for a while"?

especially combined with THIS??

Jisho

Katsuki uses a combination of verbs to describe how things are: "competing with each other" and "chasing." the leaker totally disregarded the second one for some reason.

because of how the leakers spread misinformation and how a chunk of the fandom holds a grudge against the official translation, tons of people just straight-up don't even know that this is neither official nor accurate. and it kills me.

IT KILLS ME TO SEE THE VERB FOR CHASING—a word of huge importance for bkdk specifically—ERASED WITH "AND STUFF"!!!!

IT KILLS ME TO SEE KATSUKI'S "ZUTTO KONO MAMA" MISTRANSLATED INTO "FOR A WHILE"!!!!

god I can't believe anybody in the fandom accepts this. I’ve seen people accuse the official translator of “hating bkdk” and “erasing bkdk,” but apparently the leaker can just ruin Katsuki’s most tender, intimate confession and it's all good? people are just gonna keep using this in their meta posts and fanworks?? we’re not gonna collectively acknowledge this fucking sucks!?

cool

the official translation is a work of art and everyone should fucking appreciate it.

I don't ask for much guys but I'm begging you to stop making me see that miserable butchering of my boys all over again

[outrunningthedark]

you could probably guess from my lack of live posting last night, but i did not watch the episode yet and have been putting the pieces together via gifs/text i don't know what's gonna happen, BUT i like that the urge to reach out was MUTUAL and not just buck chasing after a guy who left him (even though that guy had good reason!), you know? and now that several days have passed since *those* interviews, i also want to say that i feel like the will they/won't they vibes re: the phone calls have left the door open for tommy to return, but that hasn't been confirmed or written in 8B scripts that don't exist (lol), hence why everything has seemed so...final. (which...if that ends up being the case...still doesn't erase the blasé attitude. "Never say never" would have sufficed!)

[iturbide]

If a Baby™️ Grima were summoned to Askr, would older Grima like them or no? When (male) Grima first was added he had that thing about self loathing and wanting to destroy his "female self" tho that was technically a Robin he was talking to...

This is probably going to be up to individual interpretation. There's probably not going to be any kind of consensus, because there's no real consensus on Grima as a character: everyone sees them in a slightly different way, so everyone will have their own opinion about hypotheticals like this.

For me personally? I think that Grima would be extremely protective of a younger version of themselves. Even though this younger Grima might not really be their past self (and maybe even because of it), the older Grima would do everything in their power to safeguard that baby from the suffering they endured over so many centuries.

If this does happen to be their formative self? So be it: let them disappear, and let something that has known true kindness take their place in the world.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 2

Whatever was wandering the streets was either easily lost, or it was never interested in pursuing them in the first place. Either way, Fiddleford leads the weaving route through the city until he returns to his base of operations, Stanley and Stanford in tow.

It was a mechanic shop once, Fiddleford thinks, servicing whatever vehicles traveled down the streets of this city. There was a break room with a couch that Fiddleford had taken as a bed, but beyond that there wasn’t much for comfort. It had tools though, built for smaller hands with only three digits, but Fiddleford could make use of them well enough, even with one hand.

“Nice place ya got here,” Stanley comments, running his hands over the hollow shell of what was once a vehicle. It wasn’t too dissimilar from a particularly small car from their dimension, but the actual mechanics of it were missing.

“It serves me well enough,” Fiddleford says. “Y’all right?”

“As well as to be expected,” Stanford says, carefully taking in the room. “What was that out there?”

“Hell if I know,” Fiddleford scoffs. “Somethin’ fixing to kill us, I’ll tell ya that much.”

“You’re certain?” Stanford asks, looking Fiddleford over.

“Y’all are the only livin’ creatures I’ve seen in the past 6 months here that haven’t gone for the throat,” he glances at Stanley, who looks away almost sheepishly, “for the most part.”

“You were going for his throat, so…” Stanley gestures as Stanford, shrugging one shoulder. The other hand remains in his pocket, shoulder held stiffly.

“I could have handled myself,” Stanford grumbles, face flushing slightly.

“You’re damn lucky I recognized you,” Fiddleford says plainly, turning away from the twins to approach his work table.

“Yes, well,” Stanford clears his throat, embarrassed. “Thank you, for that, I suppose.”

Fiddleford hums in acknowledgment. Stanley perches himself on the hood of the gutted car, and watches Fiddleford carefully. Stanford turns towards the door, staring out the windows and into the streets of the city, arms folded behind his back.

“So what’s the deal with this place anyway?” Stanley says, just as Fiddleford started to settle into the silence between them.

“I wonder the same thing,” Stanford says, turning on his heel to face them. “Clearly there was an intelligent life form here once, likely smaller than us judging by the scale of their infrastructure, but I haven’t seen any in our, admittedly brief, time here.”

Fiddleford freezes, mind going blank for a moment as his heart drops. Then, all at once, his mind rushes back to life with an anger and dread that had become very familiar in his time here.

“You wanna know what happened here, Stanford?” he says lowly, turning back towards his former colleague. “Lemme show ya somethin’, you’ll get a real kick outta this.”

Stanford and Stanley exchange a weary look— a decade apart hadn’t fully erased whatever unspoken communication exists between twins, it seems— but both follow as Fiddleford leads the way to the back entrance. He swings open the door to the parking spaces behind the building, and presses a hand to the wall across from them. Painted low on the wall in what Fiddleford can only assume is blood is a triangle sporting a top hat and a single eye.

“Look familiar, Stanford?”

Stanford freezes, staring at the painting with wide eyes. Stanley laughs, uncomprehending of the meaning of the symbol.

“They… they all worshiped him?” Stanford says, and if anything, he sounds faintly offended. “He never mentioned…”

“I’ve only ever seen his likeness scrawled on walls in blood,” Fiddleford hisses, staring at Stanford as he processes the information. “This ain’t any kind of worship I’ve ever heard of.”

“… what are you implying?”

“You’re smart, Stanford. You know damn well what I’m getting at.”

“Well, I’m not,” Stanley interrupts, moving towards the wall and jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to point at it. “You know this guy, Sixer?”

“It… appears to be a portrait of my Muse.”

“Your muse,” Stanley echoes dryly, turning to look at the triangle. “Yeah, real inspiring.”

“You don’t understand,” Stanford huffs, before turning his glare on Fiddleford. “Neither of you do. I understand the implication you’re trying to get across—“

“Fiddlenerd thinks your ‘muse’ ended this world?” Stanley cuts in, trying to make sense of things.

“I don’t think that’s what happened, I know it to be the case,” Fiddleford hisses. “You shoulda heard the way he bragged while he was tryin’ to turn my ribs into a fine paste. Party of a million life times, he said, next stop, planet Earth.”

“You’re lying,” Stanford says, voice carrying all the certainty that his face doesn’t.

“Why on god’s green earth would I lie about somethin’ like this?” Fiddleford snaps.

“I don’t—“ Stanford steps away, running a frazzled hand through his hair. “You’re upset with me, you’re just trying to upset me too.”

“When have I ever done that sorta thing?” Fiddleford replies, following. “Things’ve changed here, I’ve changed, but you know me better than that!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’ve misunderstood something!”

“What happened when you went through the portal, Stanford?”

“Nothing! We just ended up here!” Stanford defends, and it sounds like the truth. A tension Fiddleford didn’t even realize he was holding dissipates.

“The calibration must have been thrown off at some point. Thank the lord,” Fiddleford sighs, running a hand through his hair. “How ‘bout you try askin’ that muse of yours what was supposed to be on the other side of that portal?”

“I will! I will ask him, and you’ll see that this was all a big misunderstanding!” Stanford snaps, jabbing a finger towards Fiddleford’s chest before turning tail and retreating into the garage.

Fiddleford scoffs, and then sighs, leaning heavily against the wall. He’d considered asking Stanford for help finishing his prosthetic, but that no longer seems appropriate. His hand is shaking too hard to do much anyway.

“So…” Stanley says, drawing out the o. “What the fuck was all that?”

“It’s none of your business, Stanley,” Fiddleford snaps before he can think better of it.

Stanley just raises an eyebrow at him, and he immediately gives in.

“Nah, you’re right. I’ll admit, I don’t exactly know the half of it,” Fiddleford sighs. “Stanford, he came up to Gravity Falls to investigate anomalies, ya know?”

“Sure,” Stanley agrees. It’s very clear that he didn’t know, and Fiddleford, not for the first time, wonders about the circumstances of their reunion.

“And as far as I could tell, he enjoyed the work, but it was drivin’ him crazy not to know the source of it all. So, at some point, he got in contact with Bill,” Fiddleford jabs a finger at the bloody portrait. “Hell if I know how, but Bill got him started on making that god-forsaken portal, said it’d answer all his questions. That’s ’bout when he called me in to help.”

“What were you doing before then?” Stanley asks, and Fiddleford is slightly surprised by the question.

“Well, I was workin’ on these portable computermajigs, y’see? All the power of a computer, all in the size of a briefcase.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Stanley says, and Fiddleford can tell he’s mostly just indulging him. Still, it’s nice.

“It woulda been. Shoulda stuck with it, rather than leavin’ my wife and kid behind to bring about the end of the world.”

“Woah, wife and kid?” Stanley interjects, as if that’s the most alarming part of the sentence he just said.

“Is that such a surprise?” Fiddleford huffs, more amused than aggravated. Maybe he’s just happy to talk to someone again.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I just… made some assumptions about some things. Wow,” Stanley shakes his head. Fiddleford has no idea what that means, but, “You were saying?”

“He called me in to help build the portal. It was all well and good, I didn’t much mind it, I liked bein’ with him again, but eventually, well, I got to wondering about where the idea came from. That man’s a genius, but not ‘suddenly knowing exactly how to construct a transdimensional metavortex’ genius,” Fiddleford continues. “He wouldn’t tell me, but he’d be actin’ weird some nights, sleeping even less than usual, gettin’ real clumsy, real mean, started calling me Specs.

“I don’t rightly know the nature of their relationship, but Bill, whatever manner of demon he is, he could possess Ford while he slept. He could keep working on the portal after his body gave out. It was easy enough to connect the dots from there, I reckon.”

“Shit,” Stanley whistles.

“True that,” Fiddleford agrees. “I tried to get Stanford to stop, I recognized the danger of this project, but… he wouldn’t even consider it. He insisted on going through with the test, and, well…”

“That’s how you ended up here,” Stanley finishes.

“More or less. I ended up… somewhere, some void between dimensions. That’s where I met Bill, face to face. He dropped me here to get a sneak peak of what he was plannin’ on doin’ to Earth,” Fiddleford concludes.

“So this Bill guy lives in that space between dimensions and was trying to get Ford to build him a way into our world?” Stanley summarizes. “So he could what, just destroy it like he did this place?”

“Far as I can tell, yup,” Fiddleford sighs.

“Well, shit.”

“Yup.”

“That’s crazy,” Stanley says. “All this is crazy, you realize that, right?”

“Yup.”

“Leave the guy alone for ten years and he’s suddenly building a doomsday device,” Stanley grumbles, gesturing with one arm.

“Try five years,” Fiddleford laughs tiredly. “Can't leave that man alone for a second, I swear.”

They both pause for a beat, glancing at the building Stanford had disappeared into.

“We should—“

“Yeah, yep, let’s go—“

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[brick-van-dyke]

If there's one thing I've respectively noticed from Zionists and defenders of Israeli war crimes, it's that every source, argument and potential avenue to explore each explanation is riddled with cherry picking, moving the goalposts and mental gymnastics to explain why their conclusions, which typically are barely even related to the sources they use, somehow overshadow literal reality and what we see with our own eyes.

While scrolling, one example I came across was the repetitive misrepresentation of BLM, antifa and quotes from Martin Luther King Jr, as well as statistics, scholarly journal articles and government website information. These are all good sources, yet every single time they're mangled completely until the only possible "interpretation" of any of them is "well Israel is right to defend itself after shorting rockets beforehand because the retaliation was brutal and all Arabs are bad by default therefore". As if any of these sources are even about individual exceptions of Israel versus hatred towards Arabs.

I think what I find most absurd, as someone in the middle of their own studies, is how every bit of critical thinking and logic goes out the window as they do every single thing possible to do what professors worldwide say NOT to do when evaluating sources. It's like watching a race to see who can tangle and misconstrue scientific information to fit their world view the fastest. Then said people say "um actually I studied at university before so it's actually not wrong that I'm doing this exact this everyone is warned not to do because I have a permit". Ignorance I can forgive, but willful and arrogant manipulation? That's another thing entirely.

[carefulfears]

thinking about scully sitting on the floor of mulder’s apartment just holding him as he wept after his mother’s death and after she told him through tears that it’s time to stop. it’s time to stop looking for his sister.

and how she had already told him that once, seven years earlier, a month into their partnership, when she chased him out of a police station and told him to stop running after his sister because it won’t bring her back.

she called after him to just stop, because she’s the scientist, and that’s the logical conclusion that she had reached.

except later that night, he told her why he does it. that he’s been closing his eyes and walking into that room, thinking maybe, when he opens them, his sister will be there, since he was 12 years old. “every day” of his life.

and she never told him to stop again.

until seven years later, when she rocked him on the floor, and then the next day was asked “why do you want to bring all this back up now?” and answered, “someone owes it to mulder.”

so she started looking. she reopened files, she tracked down records, she went to his mother’s house to dig through the trash. she confronted CSM about what he knew, she flew to california, she held hands and prayed.

she looked at mulder and said “it hurts me to tell you this” and stayed steady in the truth anyway. she listened to him read to her about a 14-year-old girl’s pain, held his hand and told him to get some sleep. she stayed up, kept looking, and found it. “i got it, mulder. i couldn’t believe it when i saw it. it was like it was looking for me.”

the police report from when samantha ran away.

she read the hospital records, went to the home of the nurse who signed the intake report, asked him if he wanted her to go herself.

she left him by the car and walked up and knocked, asked about a patient in 1979. she listened as the nurse described how “you couldn’t forget her or how frightened she was. scared for her sweet life.” and the man who came for her, who wouldn’t put out his cigarette.

earlier the day before, she had been told to just stop. “word of advice, me to you: let it be. you know, there’s some wounds that are just too painful ever to be reopened.”

and she had responded, “this particular wound has never healed. and mulder deserves closure.”

after seven years, she knows now, that you can’t just stop chasing. she knows how heavy grief is, and she‘s seen the effects of carrying it alone. of walking into the worst night of your life every day, eyes closed, hopeful.

you can’t just stop, and you can’t really have closure, but you can help someone carry it.

and ultimately, that’s what made this the end of the road. sometimes the heaviest burden of grief is feeling that pain is all there is left of someone, and that alleviating it would be to abandon them.

scully’s right, this wound has never closed, but there’s freedom in shared remembrance and shared dedication. she doesn’t ask him to stop until he’s ready to know the truth, and she’s willing to find it. she doesn’t ask him to rest until it’s safe for him to, because it’s not forgetting samantha. she knows and she remembers.

[euthymiya]

I love my best friend so much literally want to chew that girl and swallow her so she resides in my intestines like fr

[cuteniarose]

Sometimes I wish I had more people interested in my creations, but then I get hit by thoughts like “Imagine the outrage you’d be faced with if your Avatar Suiren AU was more popular. This is the fandom that still cannot ‘forgive’ Korra for SOMETHING THAT WAS DONE TO HER, calling her the worst Avatar for losing the connection to her past lives (which came about because she HAD RAAVA LITERALLY RIPPED OUR OF HER) and acting like that is somehow a worse offence than, say, inaction leading to genocide. The hate you’d get for intentionally making Suiren the last Avatar would be IMMEASURABLE” and go “… actually, I’m glad that for the most part it’s just @katkastrofa and I–”

(Though then again… would it even be an AU by yours truly if it didn’t contain at least one cancellable offence? 😁)

[thestarlightindex]

oh god what do we call a world that simultaneously exists as two mirrored versions at once

[shi0n]

i cant believe i interacted w all those people while they knew. and i didnt. like my existence must have been so comical and embarrassing to look at.. sorry for my drunk vent posts will happen again. me and the mutuals (neighbors) listening to music so hard from my speakers rn

[thetimelordbatgirl]

With all the mystery around who Ruby is and who her mom is, I really, really hope it isn't actually the Trickster like others have been saying, because while yes it would be nice to see something from SJA appear in current DW, it also would just feel weird at this point as the Trickster was such a Sarah Jane villain that it just feels wrong to give him to the Doctor as an enemy just because Sarah Jane is gone.

[mydr3aminvi0let]

i wear a lot of skirts and pink and whatnot as my style has developed with me & my personality but when one of those age regression girlies latch onto me....i do not like that

[unusualshrimp]

i hate mental health content like "heal your inner child 🥺" what if i HATE that thing and want to beat it to a pulp. is that allowed because i think that would fix me

[dog-girl-zezora]

...

[fatedevour]

anyways wishlist item is dottore with the other harbinger(s) mid-conversation when the reality change happens. And either they all know and sharing a look or only dottore does and his abrupt mad laugh raising eyebrows because it makes no sense in this reality for the conversation they were having. But it’s Dottore so it’s not THAT weird and the exasperated sigh before asking wtf is going on with him