#me rising from the grave :

[fedoraspooky]

Just saw some posts about how all the recent irritating changes at tumblr were made for the purpose of chasing growth.

And all i can say is, there's something kinda beautifully ironic about the possibility of tumblr's eventual downfall being due to their endless need for Biggering driving the natural wildlife away.

[hawnkoii]

Hi guys <3

[silhouetteofacedar]

Halves

One of many little moments on a long journey.

AO3

The views along Washington State’s Cascade Loop are breathtaking, according to the brochures from the stand in the lobby of their motel in Chelan. Just past the pseudo-Bavarian enclave that is Leavenworth, Highway 2 hugs the curves of the Wenatchee River through Tumwater Canyon. The scenic byway is tucked between the churning waters and dramatic, towering crags of quartz crested with pines. It’s early spring, and the mountains slowly shake off their winter coats to reveal fresh leaves on the aspens and the first blooms of trillium creeping along the ground. 

Dana Scully sees none of this.

It’s an unfortunate aspect of their work as federal agents; thousands of miles traversed across the continental United States, untold hours spent in anonymous rental vehicles with mysterious odors and pilling upholstery. She knew when she joined the Bureau three years ago that the travel involved would be less than glamorous, but there’s something particularly demoralizing about viewing America the Beautiful solely through a windshield splattered with insect carcasses. 

Scully always falls asleep on long car rides; lulled into slumber by the hum of the engine, the murmur of tires on asphalt, the fact that Mulder sometimes stops talking long enough for her to drop off. She wonders if it’s because his jaw gets tired; in the relatively short time they’ve worked together she’s never known him to run out of things to say.

Her sleep thins on the edges as Mulder wakes her with a soft brush of his knuckle on the tip of her nose. She hears him say they’re still a few hours away from the Seattle field office, but he’s hungry and his long grasshopper legs need a stretch. 

Scully hums in assent, eyelids still heavy as she rearranges herself into a more upright position in the passenger seat. They’ve arrived at one of those proverbial wide spots in the road that bears a “Welcome To” sign, as though that gives it a sense of place when it boasts little more than a gas pump and a convenience store. 

Apparently, this place is called Cole’s Corner, and a hand-painted banner next to a particularly stubborn melting snow berm says there are world-famous milkshakes up ahead. 

Mulder pulls into the gravel parking lot outside what looks like a small house with pink and teal trim. A neon sign advertising banana pancakes hangs in the window.

Scully is hungry and groggy from her nap in the car, her hips and legs stiff from sitting too long.

She gathers her coat around her and slips out of the sedan, the scent of wet pine and moss filling her nose. Droplets of mist bead the shoulders of her coat, clinging to the wool. She can feel her hair creeping into fuzzy curls at the nape of her neck, coaxed into a frizz by the damp Pacific Northwest air. It’s been about a year since they were first in this part of the country together, tearing through waist-high ferns in the dark cedar groves of Bellefleur, hands outstretched. That first case together felt like a rebirth, wherein she shed her old self like her red bathrobe in candlelight in front of her strange new partner. The rich scent of damp earth and rotting logs filled her lungs as she was baptized by the cold Oregon rain, forever changed.

Heavy droplets begin to fall, and she pulls her collar tighter as they ascend the steps to the diner’s front door.

The restaurant is small but warm, every inch of the walls covered in 1950s pop culture memorabilia. A jukebox plays Buddy Holly in the corner; an Elvis-shaped clock swings its pendulum legs in time. Something greasy and heavenly is sizzling in the kitchen, the aroma pulling her in. Scully smiles softly; leave it to Mulder to stumble upon the kitschiest restaurant in the entire state of Washington.

They settle into a small corner booth with sticky grey vinyl seats. They create an odd picture at the table in the midst of hikers in denim and windbreakers; two figures of dramatically different heights draped in layers of dark fabric, heads inclined towards each other with an intimacy that can’t be easily explained. They’ve composed this images together countless times in greasy spoons across the country, travel-weary and disoriented by differing time zones. Sometimes they talk; occasionally they argue. Often they get mistaken for a couple, which irks Scully primarily because she mistakes them for one too. It’s unconscious; Mulder’s warm, firm hand on the small of her back sends messages to her weary brain that her body frequently assigns to the Boyfriend category.

Mulder has that effect on her often. He bursts through barriers, occupying space that had previously only been inhabited by intimate partners. He crams himself into her psyche, poking through neatly filed expectations and burrowing into her soul, creating his own uniquely shaped spot in her being. 

She tries not to think about it; tries not to notice his full lower lip, the charming mole on his right cheek, the way he leans in too close when he talks to her. How he curves over her, his warm voice in her ear. At the office, she feels alert and well-armed against her physical reactions, can easily take her thoughts captive before they get away from her. But when she’s drowsy, far from home, hungry, those base feelings rise faster than she can tamp them back down. He makes her feel small in the best ways and she’s in danger of losing herself in the cover of his wingspan. 

She needs caffeine.

All the waitresses at this establishment have the same name tag; hot pink with the name “Flo” etched into the plastic. A cheery, bespectacled young Flo with blond braids takes their orders, pours cups of too-strong coffee. Scully chooses a BLT, light on the mayo. Mulder orders a grilled cheese sandwich with ham and tomatoes and a cup of chicken and rice soup. 

Scully gazes out the fogging window, slowly warming and wakening in the cozy bustle of the diner. Johnny Cash sings of a ring of fire. Plates clatter in the kitchen, a spoon clinks in a chipped coffee mug. Raindrops fall.

Silence feels more friendly these days, a comfortable pause filling what little space remains between her and Mulder. Words have become only one of the many ways in which they communicate. Their hands carry on their own conversation as the waitress brings their plates; understanding and collaboration in the simple passing of a napkin or nudging the salt across the table.

Mulder picks up a half of his sandwich, toasted a golden brown and cut neatly at a diagonal. “You want a bite?” he asks, holding it out across the speckled formica tabletop, and Scully realizes that it’s the first thing he’s said aloud directly to her since they got out of the car. She hesitates, then leans forward and takes a small, crisp bite out of the corner. Their knees brush momentarily, and she sits back in the booth and considers the flavors of butter and melted cheddar on her tongue.

“Good, huh?” Mulder asks, taking a bite himself. “My dad made them this way, but not on a griddle. Open-faced in the broiler so the tomatoes could get browned.”

Scully nods, stirring her coffee and blowing on it gently. “I haven’t had a grilled cheese in years,” she muses. “It’s the perfect rainy day food.”

“We can trade halves, if you want,” he suggests.

A small smile creeps across Scully’s mouth. Her Mulder has a delightful boyish streak that she pretends not to find appealing. “Race you to the playground afterward?” she jokes. Regardless, she picks up a half of her BLT and places it on his plate, taking the remaining half of his grilled cheese. 

He flashes her a brief, dazzling smile before taking another bite of his sandwich. Scully feels her cheeks warming slightly and turns her attention to her lunch. A full Mulder smile, with bright eyes and teeth, is almost too much for her to bear. A dart of sunlight spearing through a sky blanketed with soft gray clouds. 

Maybe someday she’ll tell him how he makes her feel, how sometimes her heart tumbles in her chest at the sight of him. How his most annoying moments are simultaneously the most endearing, how she’s beginning to love him just a little in spite of herself.

Maybe he already knows.

But for now they’ll just trade portions of their lunches, pass the ketchup, pool the crumpled bills in their wallets when the check comes. Travel in silence as they drive over Steven’s Pass, the view ahead blotted by low-hanging clouds.

[solvynessa-solvynessin]

part one

[jazzkrebber]

I love how in sab it's such a big plot point that Mal's gonna die before Alina and she'd be forced to live without him but then zoyalai comes in just like "yeah we're not gonna do that" and they girlbossed their way through life

[bamboo-is-a-lie]

CRITICAL ROLE MONSTER-FUCKERS I BID YOU TO RISE-

[redlance]

Some rando in my Exp comments section:

Me:

These fucking idiot witch hunters who don't do their fucking homework before they start accusing people, honestly, kinda make me laugh. Because accusing me of using an AI service that didn't even exist until SIX YEARS after I started writing this story, honestly makes you look like the twat you are. People like this, who going around blindly pointing their fingers at people with no basis for ANY of their claims are everything wrong with the creative world today. And they should be fucking ashamed of themselves. I hope they never find joy in anyone else's creativity.

[raspberryjellybrains]

yknow a moment from the comics i think about a lot is, when the fates slash morpheus' face, he bleeds and keeps the scar. the entire series, we see him face all kinds of adversaries, taking damage as much as he deals it, and never once does he bleed. there's no scars on his body, and we see all of it. he's smooth in a way that feels chosen, time and time again, until the idea of choice loses meaning. he's like that up until his final hours, and when he meets his end, it's with one, large, jagged scar on his jaw.

when matthew asks him why he kept the scar, he says that alianora had promised before she left that one day, they would bear matching scars. he could've healed it with a thought, but he didn't, because he remembered that promise. but why did he adhere to it?

did he realize he had wronged her, and wished to, in some way, repent? did he want to face death with a badge of that repentence? was it an admission of guilt or a cosmic balancing of scales? was he simply fulfilling some obligation to narrative symmetry?

he admits, once prompted, to having wronged alianora when talking with desire disguised as himself. when did he realize he was wrong? as soon as she left? when calliope left, too? was it related to pulling nada back out of hell? did it take seeing her, one final time as her dreamworld collapsed? what prompted this realization, and would he have admitted that to anyone, let alone desire? is facing his sister and his most trusted advisors and the cosmic entity witness to all his crimes that admission, or is it something else entirely? what does it mean that he shows off the most corporeal, emotional, fragile, and mortal part of himself as he dies? how is any meaning added to or taken away from because he takes on the wound whilst protecting his people?

it's just a lot, and there's no answer to any of this because its one of the last things morpheus does. my personal interpretation is that he sees the scar as a way of showing that he has changed, and understands he can never change enough, and that's why he needs to die. its equal parts admission and final grasp at control of his own narrative, saying "I must die, but I will die fittingly and with honor." and you don't have to subscribe to this interpretation! if you have a different one, by all means, share! i just think its a very interesting detail to include and dissect.

[terracyte]

he likes the mushrooms

[calmbigdipper]

So many Kavehs — which one is your favorite?

[astraystayyh]

i cant believe im blessed enough to live in the same timeline as hwang hyunjin that allowed me to witness these pics unfold in real life time

[indianajcnes]

Harold Ramis behind the scenes of GHOSTBUSTERS (1984)

[krisseratops]

(KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK) Trick or treeeeeat!!!

Alright! Happy... uh...

*Checks calendar* *Starts sweating* *Chucks it into a document shredder*

Happy Whatever! 🎃🎄 Here's a fluffy treat for your long wait! Lord knows we could all do with something sweet right now...

Context: I started this before Venom War #4 came out, sooo... yeah. Also, reality is what I make it, and I'm making it gay. AF. Canon merely exists for inspiration and cherry picking 😌 So without further ado, here's what could have happened in that arena if Flash had arrived a little earlier and life was kinder. Enjoy!

---

Flash crashes into the middle of the family brawl, decked out in full Anti-Venom, classic-style, because frankly the situation calls for it. And by "it", I mean "looking fly as fuck". It earns him about 1.5 seconds of stunned silence before he gets full-body tackled by Eddie who promptly proceeds to mash their mouths together in front of absolutely everyone. (A petulant "Daaad!" can be heard in the background. It is ignored in favor of sucking face.)

It takes a good while for Flash to remember that they’re kinda in a hurry. It takes even longer before he can get a word out.

F: Mmmh...Eddie, as... nnnh... happy as I am to see you again (in the, uh, flesh...?), we really don’t have time for this right now. There are these... things called zombiotes wreaking havoc all over-

*Flash gets tactical assault kissed by Eddie. Again*

E: Do not presume to speak to me about time, Thompson. You cannot even begin to fathom how long I've been waiting to do this.

F: Nnnnhh... fine. Five minutes, then we go save the city.

E: Ten.

F: *Sigh* Do I even have a say in the matter?

E: No💖

*Belligerent smooching resumes*

*Off to the side, Sympeter is staring at them longingly*

S: ...

P: ...

S: ...I want in on that.

P: I don’t.

---

I am so normal about them I swear

[gwaedhannen]

!!! celebrian in valinor fic!!! 👀👀👀

It probably won't be out for a while yet, since I still need to figure out what the heck I'm actually doing with it. Right now I just have pure angst. Which is fun! But I'd like to get to some healing eventually.

She cannot bear Gil-Galad, so altered by the release of his long burdens that she hardly recognizes his serenity. She cannot bear Celebrimbor, once her dearest friend, now forever overlaid by his dangling corpse and his accursed shackles binding her husband and her mother to his doom. She cannot bear noble grandmother Eärwen, who has never walked the far shore and known its inundating grief. She cannot bear kind grandfather Arafinwë, always with the correct words and actions to just for a moment, make her forget how marred she is. She cannot bear radiant uncle Finrod, for what are her scars against his? She cannot bear uncle Angaráto, nor aunt Eldalótë, nor cousin Orodreth, nor the absence where uncle Aegnor should be, for her story is of little note next to the tragedies and triumphs of their age. She cannot bear the dozens and hundreds of family, old friends, old acquaintances, well-wishers she has never known. “What a pity. What a pity. What a pity!” She doesn’t want to heal. She can’t heal. The scar tissue is all she is now, layer upon layer, down into the marrow. She should have stayed and persisted in that half-life among her true family. She should have faded into a memory of rain on silver glass. She should have laid herself down in Elladan’s gardens and let grief wash her to the Halls of Awaiting. She had to leave. She couldn’t let them bury her. Couldn’t let them see what she is. Queen of Ruination! Spoilt and turned, not even worth twisting into an orc. A footnote in a story nobody will ever read.

So it goes. Moping and wallowing in her deserved misery as the scars heal and start to fade. Until one day she looks up from the embroidery she is mangling and sees another footnote has seated herself across from her. “Hello, cousin,” says the once-Princess of Minas Tirith, of Nargothrond, of a sunken grave. “Gwindor and I have a third ticket to the Flinnrysc concert tonight. You’re coming along.”

Yes I know Celeborn has family too but shh, I'll think of how to integrate them later (and I'd need to come up with names for Galadhon and Galathil's wives).

[haru-chi]

(I don't read their manga so all I'm gonna say is purely my theories and assumptions or maybe wishful thinking on my part to suit my taste, so I'd be really grateful if manga readers don't spoil anything for me be it I hit the nail or not)

in this anime the story really starts from Himmel's death and the impact his death left on Frieren more than she actually thought resulting in her being left with deep regret. His death left no impression on me at first tbh. I mean we don't know anything about him enough to care, Heiter's death was more impactful at least to me ...

but then the more I watch the more I realize the core of this story as much as it's Frieren's journey to understand human's emotions so not to repeat the same mistake twice as much as it's about getting to know Himmel's with her so it's gonna be the death that breaks you down later on kind of way.

I thought it was cleaver that we were put in the same boat as her, we actually know nothing about him like her, so through this journey we're also gonna get to know the "real" Himmel with her.

the more she'll learn about human's emotions the more she'll understand alot of things she might've brash it away cuz she either never pay attention or don't get the real meaning of his words/actions like the fact that he actually LOVED her :)

something else that got me thinking is this ..

at the end of his funeral, she was left staring to this ring for a while ... so LISTEN TO ME .. what if this ring here is a gift from him to her ...

what if it was from the time he confesses his love to her or even worse he proposed to her but she either didn't get what he actually meant or declined or something between those lines aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa STOP ME FROM DIGGING DEEPER OMG

so, through this journey she'll learn the true meaning of those words and feelings the more she learns about human's emotions .. and the worse part what if she realized she was in love with him too by the end of the story but never understand her own feelings ????

she said she's gathering new magics cuz he was praising her whenever she learned something new, also the ghost she saw was Himmel's ghost not her teacher as she was expecting so that proves she actually care about him more than she herself realize ><

this gonna be very tragic, yet I wants this to be the core of the story since I'm just weak for those kinds of stories AND I'M ALREADY CRYING EVEN THOUGH I DON'T KNOW IF I'M RIGHT OR NOT YET I GET EMOTIONAL SEEING THEM TOGETHER YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND !!!!

I don't know how and why my mind decided to go wild with those ideas that now I see the anime and its story differently than what I signed up for at first ... WHY AM I IN LOVE WITH A DEAD MAN YET AGAIN !!!!! I THOUGHT I SURIVIVED WHEN HE DEAD BEFORE I DEVOLOP ANY EMOTIONS FOR HIM YET HERE I AM IN THIS HELL BECAUSE OF HIM AND FRIEREN !!!!! T^T

Did I hit the nail ?? did I ?? please say I did so that I can be happy this shaping up to be my kind of tragic story .. but then I don't wanna know or hear any spoilers ... I'm tempted to jump to the manga to see if I'm right or not but I must resist till the anime end at least ><

[shrugsinchinese]

Begrudgingly glancing over because the sleeper agent in me woke up at the essek mention