when you remember that korra, the protagonist of a popular children’s show, is a bisexual woc who struggles with emotional trauma/ptsd, and isn’t ever shown to have completely “overcome” said trauma, but instead learns to cope with it and lives a fulfilled, happy life with her girlfriend.
We got a clue to how the different dimensions work. These three dudes are obviously iterations of the same Rick who all encountered the same event in varying degrees of severity. It could just be that these three dimensions are right next to each other, but the numbering convention suggests that they’re true splits from one original dimension, caused by that event.
If that’s true, it means that every time a major event occurs, timelines splinter into different offshoot possibilities. The Ricks that stay most “normal” keep their original dimension number and the others take on an iteration of that number based on the level of divergence. This also helps account for how the population of the citadel bounced back so quickly after the massacre in S301. As time goes on more splits in dimensions means a constant influx of more Ricks and Mortys.
Not every rick invents the portal gun. The portal gun is rick’s ultimate source of power and what allows the citadel to exist. From what we learned from the half-truths in S301′s portal gun origin backstory, Ricks ostensibly go from dimension to dimension giving portal technology to other Ricks rather than each Rick inventing it on his own. Plus we saw in the last episode that the Mortytown Rick tries and fails to make portal fluid, and cop Rick calls it out “bootleg,” plus the factory Rick demands a portal gun because he must not be able to make one of his own.
For the Ricks that didn’t invent their own, portal fluid and guns are regulated and not allowed to all Ricks freely. It begs the question of how many Ricks actually invented the portal gun on their own. In theory, it would only take just one figuring it out and then sharing it with all the others.
More evidence for Evil Morty = Rick’s original Morty. This has been a fan theory since Evil Morty first showed up but after S307 the evidence is even stronger. Evil Morty dodges questions about his original dimension and Rick, instead diverting with “we moved around a lot.” That basically leaves the door wide open for the reveal of him being Rick’s og Morty.
Plus, if the moving around part wasn’t a lie, that means he and Rick skipped universes Cronenberg-style more than once (Rick did say he’d pulled that stunt before). Think how disillusioned just one dimension move made our Morty, it’s no wonder Evil Morty turned into what he is if he went through multiple ruined dimensions. Beyond that, our Morty has been shown to be getting more jaded and downright cruel this season, enough that people were thinking he was turning into Evil Morty. If our Morty has devolved into his current state with just being around our Rick for a few years, imagine how the Morty our Rick was around since when he was a baby would have turned out.
Cop Rick is alive for a reason. He killed Cop Morty and turned himself in expecting to be shot off into space, but in the end he’s released by Ricks under evil Morty’s control. Him being alive still is not insignificant, even if just for the narrative and character implications more than plot reasons.
Cop Rick’s first instinct is to trust. He trusted the Morty in the room with the crib. He trusted Cop Morty to do the right thing. He wants to believe in true justice and the goodness in people, and acts on that belief no matter the outcome for him.
The real gut punch is he’s not just an outlier. He shows that Ricks do have an infallible sense of justice when it’s not smothered out by narcissism and nihilism. We’ve seen that our Rick, despite being an asshole, will choose to do the right thing- even if it’s the hard thing- at crucial moments: He puts the collar on Morty instead of himself when they’re falling to their deaths in the void, he turns himself in to the Galactic Federation in order to save his family.
Cop Rick is still alive because he’s the hero our Rick would be if he wasn’t such a jaded asshole. He’s the proof that despite everything, Rick is at his core trying to be good. Maybe that kind of Rick is valuable to Evil Morty, or maybe it was just valuable to us to see this side of Rick so explicitly.
Evil Morty wants control. Evil Morty is living the ideal Morty existence, in control of himself and the universe around him. It’s all he’d want after a life where Rick was always in control, where he could do nothing to stop the machinations of the universe from nearly crushing him every adventure. As we saw really plainly with Copy Morty, when a Morty gets enough knowledge, experience, and freedom, they can’t stand being treated like sidekicks anymore. No wonder the Ricks put them in a school designed not to teach them to be more competent on adventures but instead to keep them helpless and subservient.
It’s easy enough to follow the same trend in our Morty. He’s been fighting for more control all season– He chooses not to try to rescue Rick from prison. He’s fine with going against Rick’s plan in the Mad Max world. He’s the one who makes them go on the adventure with the Vindicators (and Rick loses his shit when he doesn’t get to be the only one saving the day anymore). And perhaps most telling, Morty’s ideal toxin-free self abandons Rick entirely and creates a situation where his whole job is to manipulate and control other people.
Evil Morty is what happens when Morty’s struggle for power goes to it’s furthest degree. He wanted so bad to not be the sidekick anymore that he’d do anything, even if it meant becoming the villain.
Everybody is talking about the Mike/Eleven relationship this season (and not without good reason) BUT I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT THERE AREN’T MORE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THE GLORIOUSNESS THAT IS THE MIKE AND WILL FRIENDSHIP.
Just a few examples of this goodness:
Mike literally refusing to leave Will’s side pretty much from the moment he got infected by the shadow monster until the final episode.
Mike sleeping in a hospital chair next to Will’s bed at the lab
Will confiding in Mike about all the shadow monster episodes
“I’ll take care of him. Let me take him home.” (on halloween night)
Mike instinctually trusting Will about Dart being the demogorgon no questions asked
“If we’re both going crazy then I guess we’ll go crazy together.”
When Will had forgotten a lot of things because of the virus, but he hadn’t forgotten Mike
Mike trying to phone Will throughout the school day when Will didn’t show up to school
Joyce trying to send Mike home when Will’s infected and Mike is just not having ANY of that bullshit
The only time we see Will’s facial expression change when he’s under the control of the shadow monster is when a single tear rolls down his face after Mike has finished telling the story of the day they met
Oh no Will’s in trouble! *first thing we see is a camera pan to Mike’s worried face*
Oh so when Will wakes up in the disguised shack of course Hopper will be there in case something goes wrong. Joyce and Jonathan obviously, because family. Oh and Mike Wheeler, despite the fact that the rest of their gang of friends remained in the house.
are you telling me that mike and will are like family because i am not emotionally ready to deal with that
When they’re all telling stories to get Will to snap out of it and Will’s own mother and brother have told heart-wrenching emotional stories and nothing’s come of it and the thing that finally gets Will to fight back and start replying in morse code is Mike telling Will about the day they met
Basically my emotions went everywhere when Mike was talking about the day that he became friends with Will
“It was the best thing that I’ve ever done.”
You can go on and on about any of the other relationships between characters. But you cannot deny that the friendship between Mike and Will is literally the purest thing to ever exist on television.
To conclude, why are people not talking more about this beautiful example of everything good about the world that is Will Byers and Mike Wheeler’s friendship
And besides, all the big ticket items are impossible, I’m afraid. It’s not as if you could, you know, “sacrifice your life for others” or “change the consciousness of a nation”… both of which I did, by the way… such fun!
Malfoy looked up from his desk, quill poised over the parchment as his son hovered by the study door. Aware that he was frowning, Draco lifted his expression into something more neutral. He was vaguely aware of his own father always frowning whenever he’d tried to talk to him as a boy, and he didn’t want Scorpius to one day think the same about him.
“Come in, come in. Shut the door, you’ll let the heat out.”
The Greengrass estate was a crumbling ruin compared to Malfoy Manner, with only half the library and none of the artifacts Draco had spent the last few years archiving and putting safely away behind spelled glass. But for now it was home, chilly stone walls and all.
“Did you want something?”
“Yes.” Scorpius replied, pausing to tug at the hem of his dark shirt. There’s still a bruise under his eye, faded to be sure, but the mere presence of it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. When he’d seen Severus Potter crawling out of the rubble, face covered in blood and no sign of his own son, he’d known terror like no other.
And Draco Malfoy was intimately familiar with the machinations of terror. He’d been hugged by it once.
“Well,” he prompted, setting aside his work entirely and giving his full attention to his son. “What is it?”
“I want my friends to come visit.”
Draco blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Your…friends?”
“Albus Potter and Rosie Granger-Weasley. I would like them to come stay.”
Draco blinked again. Later he’d laugh—somewhat despairingly into a decanter of fire brandy—at the absurdity of the notion that his boy, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was best friends with a Potter and the hybrid off-spring of a Granger Weasley, but the threat of impeding hysterics was quelled under the defiant gaze of his son, narrow chin lifting at some unspoken challenge.
“I see. For how long?”
“A…a week…maybe two…They’re going to France for the Quiditch Cup Primaries…” he glanced down and Draco spied the curled up parchment hidden up his sleeve. “So it wouldn’t be for long.”
Draco glanced at his desk, to the fireplace, then back to his son. “I don’t…”
I want my friends…friends…how often had Astoria lamented his lack of playmates as a child, how often had she fretted that Scorpius’ only interaction had been with adults—or books, or enchanting his own toys for someone to play with. And how quickly had Scorpius’ face crumpled at the utterance of two simple syllables.
“…know if two weeks would be wise, given your mother’s health. She’s still recovering from the move. But I shall discuss it with her, and see what can be done.”
Scorpius stilled, the beaming smile on his face reigned in to something calmer, even now, not wanting to get his hopes up too much. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, we will be good.”
Draco snorted at that, remembering the last time a Malfoy, a Potter and a Granger and a Weasley had been together at their age. “Somehow I doubt it. Go on off you go, go see what your mother is up to. She’s enjoying having you home.”
“And I am enjoying being here,” Scorpius replied, in that curiously courteous and stiff way of speaking he’d always had, even as an infant learning his words. “I am happy to be here, with you, and mother.”
“I’m…very glad to hear it.” Draco replied, unsure what else he was supposed to say to such an open admission said so politely like one was discussing the weather. “Now go on, off you go, I need to finish this manuscript before I lose the thought.”
“You’ll talk to mother though, wont you?” Scorpius pressed from his space by the door. “You’ll ask…”
“Yes, yes.” Draco waved a hand, “I’ll ask if the Potter spawn can come stay with us. Just for a little bit. To say thank you for…everything.”
Reassured, Scorpius left, closing the door behind himself with a firm click.
Draco waited several more moments, counting to a hundred before opening up the top desk of his drawer and pulling out his correspondence folder, flipping through them until he found the appropriate manila envelope, writing the address of the Ministry Neatly to the front.
Clearing his throat politely, he composed himself, then tapped it to life with his wand.
“Hello Potter,” he spat with a vicious familiar glee, unable to keep from laughing, “I’m not sure which one of us is going to be more surprised by this turn of events, but I swear to gods if you break my son’s heart by saying no, I will personally send you a red Howler on the hour every hour till the day one of us dies. Now, about dates, the last week in June works well for us…”