sometimes i just want to cry over mulder’s fish and the way that we see both scully and doggett go to his apartment and feed them during the months he was missing and the fact that scully must have kept feeding them even months after he was dead and just to be loved so much that people come tend to your environment and keep your home and feed your fish long after you’re gone
and that the first thing he notices when he comes back is that one isn’t there. and how scully tried so hard, she tried so hard to find him and to keep him safe and to keep his work going and to keep those damn fish alive, and the first thing that he says to her when they walk back into that apartment is that one is missing
the way that in that scene, he says that he’s having trouble processing, that he doesn’t know where he fits in. you can be loved so much that multiple people come feed your fish and maintain your apartment after you’re buried in the ground, you can try so hard to keep everything going for someone else, but the world keeps spinning, and time goes on. fish die and baby bumps grow and answered prayers aren’t always miracles
he came back covered in scars to a clean apartment and a fish tank missing 1 molly and where does he fit in inside a world that hasn’t waited for him, no matter how hard she tried to make it stop
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“I don’t understand why you’re so adamant on asking me this, Hal. I just mentioned to Barry that I talked with the head Easter Bunny once and now everyone keeps asking me if I think the Easter Bunny is real! Why do people keep asking me? I’ve met them. I don’t understand why I have to ‘believe’ in the Easter Bunny for them to be real! They exist!”
Hal put his hands up and stepped back, clearly not expecting the frustrated and somewhat hostile response of Billy who slumped back into his seat, which was slightly less satisfying in his bulkier body, and began running his hands through his hair.
The repetition of being interrogated over a simple comment was not only bewildering but had gotten increasingly more annoying to answer as somehow the members of The Justice League, the literal most powerful group of people on earth, didn’t seem to understand a piece of basic knowledge.
Billy was not only very tired of being asked the same thing but even more-so he wanted the laughing at his ordinary response to stop.
He paused and looked Hal dead in the eyes then began to speak in the most dead tone Hal had ever heard from the usually cheerful man.
“Hal, I know the Easter Bunnies are real because I had to spend two, very long weeks personally overseeing the creation of their union that made sure they no longer routinely experience unsafe working conditions and helped establish 8 hour working days so they no longer get overworked or are required to do 80 hour weeks prepping for Easter and get punished for doing less or don’t get paid”,
Billy’s previously slow, blank tone grew more rushed and frustrated as he went on,
“I mean, I didn’t even do much other than sit there and look intimidating by throwing around lightning sometimes and make sure the Easter chicks didn’t do any funny business or tamper with the legal process!
It was in all the papers in Fawcett! I had my picture taken with them and everything. But Hal. I can guarantee you that the Easter Bunny exists. Please. Please stop fucking asking me.” Finally done, Billy slumped onto the table with a loud clunk.
Hal stood there shocked for a moment. “Marvel, did you just imply there’s multiple easter bunnies and they established a form of government?!”
Billy, with seemingly tremendous emotional effort, lifted his head from the table by a few inches and looked Hal in the eyes with a pleading tone, “If I just say no, will you please stop asking me?”
“Absolutely not, now I have even more questions”
Billy let his head fall back onto the table with an even louder clunk and groaned.
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Tim had always been a heavy sleeper. He could sleep anywhere, anytime, just peacefully nod off no matter where he was or who he was with or what was going on. Unfortunately, multiple irritating splints, bandages, and a consistent low-level headache had ruined this simple ability.
He didn’t know what had woken him up, whether it was a stray breeze or a heavy sigh or the creak of a floorboard, he just remembered sluggishly cracking open his eyes and spotting green dots. He blinked, seeing but not really registering, until the green dots shifted closer and the shadow around them resolved into a humanoid figure.
Green eyes, burning, like the gunshot wound, footsteps stalking closer as Tim tried to get away, tried to get up, “Had enough, Pretender?” a low, mocking croon.
Tim screamed.
Something immediately muffled him, tightening around his mouth, holding him down as he thrashed, panic waking him up like a bucket of cold water. He heard a door slam somewhere deeper in the Manor as he struggled to free his arms from the constricting blankets.
“Tim!” came a loud, frightened voice from the hallway.
The hand on his mouth pressed harder, forcing him against the bed, glowing green eyes right above him as the footsteps sprinted closer. There was a low, bitten-off curse, and the hand was gone, letting Tim draw a deep, gasping breath as he finally flailed free of the blankets.
Tim forced himself up as his door was thrown open and hissed when the lights abruptly switched on. It took several seconds to get acclimated, his heart racing as he took gasping breaths, and the bed dipped near him with a heavy weight.
“Tim,” Bruce said, quieter, waiting until Tim blinked teary eyes at him before he moved closer. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Tim stared at him, and then at the room. There was no sign that anything was amiss—his messy pile of papers was untouched, his closet door was open to his stacks of clothes, his laptop remained closed, his window and curtains were both firmly shut. In the bright light, the idea of an intruder seemed ridiculous.
“I’m fine,” Tim said, the words coming automatically. Bruce narrowed his eyes a fraction. “I—it was just a strange dream,” Tim said, lying easily. “Like when you kick your feet and feel like you’re falling? I was just startled.”
“Ah,” Bruce said, relaxing slightly. His face was still lined, as it had been since before Tim had left to Titans Tower for what was supposed to be a short stay to avoid the gang instability in Gotham. With everything that had happened since then, it was no wonder that Bruce was stressed. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can make some hot cocoa.”
There was no point worrying Bruce further. Tim plastered a smile on his face and demurred, “No, thank you, Bruce. I’m going to try and get some sleep.”
“Okay, kiddo,” Bruce leaned forward and ruffled his hair, but Tim didn’t miss the tightening of his eyes when his gaze skipped across Tim’s bandages. “Sleep tight. Call if you need something.”
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in regard to the icemav convo about american made cars: I think it would be funny if after mav gets his regular license, ice buys him a truck that they can use for transporting stuff to the hangar and when he gifts it to mav all the man can do is laugh bc stamped across the ass is MAVERICK. It’s a 2023 ford maverick (in area 51 bc I’m partial to that color)
and mav likes it, but he doesn’t love driving it bc it’s so big (and he just likes being a passenger princess too much), so ice drives it mostly which inspires a whole lot of jokes about ice liking having maverick’s name stamped on his ass. bradley gags from the other room every time.
if it matters to u, i agree with this hc 150% on rhetoric grounds. thank god for your mind.
however i would like to raise the issue that recent american pickup trucks have become non-useful, overexpensive, and suburban-coded in a way i think ice and mav would reject. the ford maverick was built with the intention of dropping kindergarteners off at school, not of actually doing hard labor. see below infographic for what I mean.
It’s a fucking travesty. Trucks are so ugly and useless now. the maverick is not immune to this. (maverick below)
what good is having a fucking truck if it can’t even hold two REGULAR ASS BIKES in the bed. & when the bed is empty the chassis is unbalanced in a way that leads to more accidents etc. (tbf that was true in the 70s/80s too but im feeling more hateful towards modern trucks rn). In short—the modern American pickup truck is no longer useful, it’s a way to virtue signal to other Americans that you *think * you know what hard labor is, even when you’re driving around in a glorified odyssey with a teeny tiny bed that can barely hold a couple bags of mulch for the back garden
ice & mav don’t even have any little kids anymore, i think they’d consider a backseat useless & a waste of space
SO i would like to offer you a Compromise, which is that ice & mav buy either (or both) a 1974 ford maverick AND/OR a 1990 ford maverick
for the Funny Name & coolness factor (& the “making Bradley vom cause of how cute his parents are” factor), and then soup up, like, a 1984 Chevy C10 for actual towing/hauling purposes.
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