#so i'm glad that i wrote this

[goldenflowers]

"Be Our Guest" original draft storyboards vs final film (💖)

The song was originally written by Ashman and Menken to be sung by the enchanted objects to Maurice instead of Belle. However, story artist Bruce Woodside felt that the song would make more sense if it was sung to Belle, the main character, as opposed to secondary character Maurice, and directors Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale agreed.

[a-rabbit-obsessed-queer]

Aspec men deserve much more respect and recognition in the aspec community than they receive. They often face a different form of aphobia specific to them ("men are naturally sexual they can't be ace" "all men are unromantic that's not unique") this rhetoric is spouted by many, even members of our own community and I hope for a day where that is no longer the case. As an ace and demiro woman (demigirl but that's beside the point) I want to encourage folks to take the time to give the aspec men in their lives support and to the aspec men reading, you are who you say you are no matter what people say and you deserve the world. I'm sorry for the ways in which toxic masculinity has harmed you. You are a valued member of the aspec community and the queer community as a whole. No ace or aro person is broken and neither are you. I'm sorry if anyone has ever told you otherwise.

[hollyberrygarden]

I was thinking over the way Pavlova describes Wildberry's crush. he says (direct quote), "you know well that it won't work out, but you have no intention of giving up!" in their interaction in the kingdom, he also calls it a "foolish" type of love

and I was like. what does that imply about Wildberry's crush?? and how would it apply to Crunchy Chip??

"foolish" implies a lack of good sense or judgment. it's a crush that can only end negatively—heartbreak, fighting, strain, or some other horrible result. Wildberry could either keep his feelings to himself, being unhappy with his own cowardice. he could also confess and get rejected, therefore losing whatever bond he had with his crush in the first place. but he could also be accepted and enter a relationship, but then the worries he has could be true. it could not work out, just like he knows it won't, and it would be unfair to both of them. every possible end result (to someone who is convinced it will not work out) would demonstrate the foolishness of the crush he has. Wildberry strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn't get crushes often, and he deals with them on his own before he chooses to confess, if ever

I'm imagining him in his own head about it, which is why no one else seems to know; it could also be why he doesn't externally react to it when the others are around but pretty much concedes to his worries over it (and openly seems. I guess worried about them!!) when he's talking one-on-one with Pavlova. he has gone over these possibilities to himself without any external input. he is trying to figure out how to make it work, which is the "no intention of giving up" that Pavlova mentioned, but maybe he doesn't have a set answer yet, which is why it's still something he hasn't confessed. Pavlova only knows because it's what he does

I was thinking about why it "not working out" (very generally speaking) is something he would think about, and I wondered what kind of relationship he would want. in an overworld dialogue, Royal Margarine tells him he must be "popular with a tall, muscular build like that." whether it's true is unknown, but Wildberry says he doesn't care about such "trivialities," assumedly being popular. if he doesn't want popularity, maybe he wants something simple?? or steady?? or maybe even straightforward. it's hard to know for sure. he wants something that's actually possible for him and his lifestyle in the kingdom. he's a busy guy who often travels away for important and dangerous business. it would be difficult to be in any kind of steady relationship when that's what you do for work. long distance isn't for everyone

to him, he cannot be with Crunchy Chip because of their duties to their kingdoms. I think it circles back to that. Crunchy Chip is the captain of the cream wolves in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and he is close enough to the king to travel with him to Beast Yeast. he protects the kingdom every day, as well as the woods surrounding it. Wildberry is a hired bodyguard to the Queen Mother, and he has sworn loyalty to her (and the king and queen of course); he frequently travels for work and is likely gone for long stretches of time, depending. they both have very important jobs that neither wants to give up. during Cookie Odyssey, they each talk about their love for their kingdoms and their respective leaders, even making a bet about who will want to visit the other more. they exchange letters on the regular. Hollyberry herself has noticed how much closer they're getting. he knows how much Crunchy Chip values his position in the Dark Cacaco Kingdom, and he values his own position in the Hollyberry Kingdom. they don't want to leave. they cannot leave. not now, maybe not for a long time. maybe not ever, in a horrible reality

it's foolish in every way fathomable. to Wildberry, at least

[lazy-ahh]

It would be cool if you wrote something for maskless mark x kryptonian!malereader

(YOU WERE) MY HOME

pairing maskless! mark grayson x (kryptonian) male reader

you memorized the exact shade of brown in mark’s eyes. the way his laugh crinkles his nose. how his hands always tremble after a fight. he memorized the way your body went limp in his arms when the kryptonite hit. how your blood looked smeared across his suit. the exact second your heartbeat stopped. (he’s not your mark. but when he kisses you like he’s drowning, you let him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

your earliest memory is fire—not the gentle kind, not the warm glow of a hearth, but the violent, screaming kind. the kind that eats metal and flesh alike as your family’s ship tore itself apart in earth’s atmosphere, the heat so intense you could feel it searing your skin even through your crash harness. the scent of burning circuits and something darker, something organic—your parents, still strapped into their seats, their bodies limp and wrong in ways your child-mind couldn’t name but understood instinctively. you remember the way your throat burned from screaming, the way your fingers trembled as you clawed through twisted wreckage, your tiny hands slick with ash and something wet that wasn’t yours. then—cold grass beneath your palms, the shock of it against your skin as you collapsed in a stranger’s backyard, the night air biting at your tear-streaked face. you didn’t know where you were. you didn’t know if you were dying. you just knew you were alone.

until you weren’t.

a boy—messy-haired, pajama-clad, eyes wide with curiosity instead of fear—peered down at you like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. "whoa," mark whispered, voice hushed with awe, as if you were a fallen star instead of something broken. "are you an alien?" you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. your voice was lost somewhere between the wreckage and the weight pressing against your chest, but it didn’t matter because mark didn’t wait for one. he just reached out, small fingers brushing your arm like you were something precious, and you shattered. you clung to him, shaking, gasping, and he held you back without hesitation, his arms tight around your shoulders like he already knew you needed to be held together. neither of you understood what had happened—you were both just kids, too young for death, too young for the weight of the universe—but mark didn’t need to understand to be kind. he whispered soft, clumsy reassurances against your hair, rubbed your back in slow circles the way his mother did for him when he cried, his voice wobbling but determined. "it’s okay," he kept saying, even though it wasn’t, even though it would never be okay again. "i got you."

mark always had good intentions.

after that night, you were never alone again. the grayson household wrapped around you like a second skin—debbie’s gentle hands guiding you through human meals that tasted too rich, too warm compared to the nutrient packs from your ship. nolan’s steady voice explaining earth’s customs with patient amusement when you stared too long at things like skyscrapers or television. and mark—always mark—dragging you into his world with both hands, insisting you share his bed when the unfamiliar silence of your new room kept you awake. the mattress was too soft, nothing like the firm sleep-pods you were raised in, but mark’s presence beside you, his quiet snoring, made it feel like home.

cecil came later, all sharp suits and sharper eyes, but his grip on your shoulder was firm, not cruel, when he signed the adoption papers. you even remember cecil's expression softening a tiny bit when you finally mustered up the courage to look up at him. "you’re special, kid. you could do a lot of good in this world." he’d said, and you didn’t realize then how much that would cost you. the training was brutal—learning to control the way your fists could shatter concrete, how your vision blurred red-gold when anger spiked too hot in your chest—but you endured it. not because you cared about being a hero, but because nolan had quietly told both you and mark that he would inherit powers one day. and mark? mark already dreamed of it. of soaring through skies, of saving people with that bright, fearless grin of his. "we’ll be unstoppable," he’d say, bumping his shoulder against yours, and you’d nod, because all you ever wanted was to stand beside him.

you remember the little things most: the way mark split his peanut butter sandwiches with you in the cafeteria when you couldn’t stomach the school’s mystery meat. how he’d sneak you onto the roof at night, pointing out constellations he’d misname on purpose just to hear you laugh and correct him. the winter your fingers went numb during a snowball fight, and mark—without hesitation—pulled off his gloves and pressed your hands between his own, blowing warm air onto your skin until the feeling returned. "better?" he’d asked, cheeks pink from cold, breath fogging between you. you lied and said yes, even though your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

and then there were the bigger moments: the first time you flew together, mark whooping as he clung to your back, his laughter vibrating against your spine. the way he’d look at you after messy, early missions—bloodied but triumphant, grinning like you’d hung the stars yourselves.

somewhere between stolen lunches and whispered secrets, between scraped knees and shared victories, you fell in love. not all at once, but slowly, inevitably, like gravity pulling you into orbit around him—helpless, hopeless, a collision course written in the stars. and the cruelest part? you never even tried to stop it.

you memorized the shape of his name like a prayer, the syllables curling soft and reverent against your tongue every time you almost said it: i love you, i love you, i love you. it lingered in the spaces between your ribs, ached behind your teeth, spilled into every quiet gesture you couldn’t stop yourself from making. the way you’d fix his suit after battles, fingers lingering a second too long on the fabric stretched over his shoulders. how you’d always bring him his favorite snack after patrol, even when he forgot to ask. the nights you stayed up late just to listen to him ramble about his day, your chest so full it threatened to crack open.

you were brave in every way that mattered—except one. the words never made it past your lips, because you knew. you knew. mark liked girls. loved them, even. the way his eyes followed amber in the hallways, the soft, dazed smile he’d get when eve laughed. you watched it all with a hollow kind of hunger, wondering if maybe—maybe—you could be the exception. if his hands, so careful when they patched up your wounds, might one day cradle your face instead. if his laughter, bright and endless, might one day be yours in a way that wasn’t just friendship.

(you remember one night, the two of you tangled together on the couch after a movie, his head lolling sleepily against your shoulder. your breath caught, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. this is enough, you told yourself. this has to be enough. but then he shifted, his lips brushing accidentally against the curve of your neck, and for one delirious second, you let yourself hope.

he didn’t even notice. just yawned and mumbled, "g’night, dude," like you hadn’t just short-circuited entirely.)

you never overstepped. never pushed. you loved him too much for that. so you stayed—always giving, always there, hands outstretched but never grasping. and mark? mark never pulled away. never acted uncomfortable. just smiled at you like you were his favorite person in the world (and you were, just not in the way you wanted).

sometimes, you wondered if that was worse.

but of course, ever the giver, you stayed. continued to pour yourself into the spaces between his broken pieces after nolan left him shattered across that mountain. held ice packs to his bruises when his healing factor was too slow, stayed awake through his nightmares when the memories of his father's fists became too loud. every life he couldn't save weighed on him like stones in his pockets, and you? you became the water that buoyed him up, whispering "it wasn't your fault" into the hollow of his collarbone when he shook apart in your arms. and when he'd look at you afterward—eyes wet with gratitude and something unreadable but familiar, mouth soft with something you didn't dare name—you let yourself pretend, just for a second, that it meant more.

but then the drift began. slow, like the tide pulling back from shore—that subtle, inevitable retreat you didn't notice until you were already standing on damp sand, wondering when the water had gotten so far away. you told yourself it was fine. normal. that this was just what happened when two people grew up and became heroes, when the weight of the world settled across their shoulders like second capes. mark was drowning in responsibilities, just like you were—global crises that left blood under your fingernails for days, collateral damage measured in broken buildings and broken families, cecil's ever-growing demands that came with that particular tilt of his head that meant refusal wasn't an option.

you'd see mark across crowded briefing rooms, the shadows under his eyes darker each time, his shoulders tensed like he was still bracing for his father's blows. sometimes your fingers would twitch with the memory of how easily they used to fit between his shoulder blades, how he'd lean into your touch like a sunflower chasing light. but in the rare moments he surfaced for air—between missions, during stolen minutes in the guardians' lounge—he never reached for you. not like before. not with that easy, unconscious trust that used to have him slinging an arm around your neck before he'd even finished saying hello.

instead, there were new distances measured in centimeters of couch space between you, in conversations that ended just a beat too soon, in the way he'd sometimes look at you like he was trying to solve an equation written just behind your eyes. you told yourself it was the exhaustion. the trauma. the growing up. you told yourself it didn't feel like losing something you'd never really had in the first place.

(you remember that particular tuesday night with crystal clarity—the way the dim lamplight caught the exhaustion in the slope of mark's shoulders as amber's name flashed across his phone screen again, the third time in forty-seven minutes. the couch cushions dipped under his weight as he slumped against you, his forehead pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder like he was trying to fuse himself there. you could feel the frustrated heat of his skin through your shirt, could count each uneven breath that gusted against your collarbone. "she says i'm never present," he muttered, the words cracking open like overripe fruit, all sticky vulnerability. your fingers spasmed against his back, nails leaving half-moon indents in your own palms as you fought the urge to fist your hands in his shirt and scream i'm here, i'm always here, why can't you see me? instead, you traced the familiar topography of his spine through thin fabric, your palm skating over the knobs of vertebrae you'd set back in place after countless battles. "then be present, mark," you whispered, the advice settling like powdered glass between your teeth. he never knew you'd rehearsed those exact words in your bathroom mirror that morning, watching your reflection mouth them until your expression stopped twisting into something ugly. never knew you kept a mental tally of all the times you'd talked him through his relationship problems like some masochistic saint.)

you were stupid. selfish. a fraud wearing a martyr's skin. because when mark and amber finally shattered apart—when you found him sitting on your roof outside your bedroom window in the rain, his hands shaking around a lukewarm cup of coffee you'd made him just how he liked—your grief came in layers. the first was genuine: the way your throat closed at his red-rimmed eyes, the immediate urge to fix what you couldn't. but beneath that? something rotten and hungry uncurling in your ribcage, whispering maybe now. maybe me. the shame hit like a solar flare, burning through your veins hotter than any kryptonian heat vision ever could—because even as you pulled him into a hug, even as you let him stain your shirt with tears, some treacherous part of you was already calculating if this pain of his might finally turn his gaze your way.

and then—

the words hit like a kryptonite blade between your ribs, delivered with that familiar, awkward scratch at the back of his neck that you'd always found endearing. "hey, so. eve and i. we're, uh. together." mark's grin was bashful in the way that made his left dimple appear, afternoon sunlight gilding the curve of his cheek like he was something holy. your fingers spasmed around the coffee cup—the one you'd brought him back from that paris mission last year—and you took a hurried gulp, letting the near-boiling liquid scald your tongue raw. the pain was a welcome distraction from the way your vision blurred. "that's great, man," you managed, the lie sticking like wet sand in your throat. you'd gotten good at this, at stitching your voice into something steady when everything inside you was collapsing.

he didn't notice. of course he didn't. mark never saw the way your breath hitched when he touched you, never caught you staring at the place where his t-shirt rode up when he stretched. now he was practically vibrating with the need to share, knees bouncing as he leaned forward. "she kissed me after the downtown mission," he confessed, voice dropping like you were co-conspirators in this joy. "like, right in the middle of all the rubble? and her laugh—" his fingers fluttered over his sternum, mapping the phantom flip of his heart, and you thought distantly that you could chart every fracture spreading through your own chest in real time. the ceramic mug creaked ominously in your grip, but you couldn't feel the heat anymore, couldn't feel anything except the terrible, perfect clarity of this moment: mark, glowing with happiness that wasn't yours to claim, and you, committing every detail to memory like a masochist preserving their own ruin.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the sky isn't just red—it's hemorrhaging, great arterial sprays of crimson light pulsing behind thick, choking clouds that don't move like normal clouds should. below you, the streets gape open in jagged wounds, asphalt peeling back like the skin of some massive creature trying to escape its own bones. the air isn't just smoky—it's alive with the taste of burning copper and molten steel, each breath scraping your throat raw with the ghosts of a thousand shattered lives. your cape snaps violently behind you, a desperate thing trying to flee the carnage, while your heart jackhammers against your sternum with such force you're half-afraid it'll crack through and go tumbling down into the ruins below.

chicago isn't just burning.

it's being unmade.

again.

you've seen this city broken more times than you can count—watched it crumble under alien invasions, superpowered brawls, the careless collateral damage of beings who called themselves heroes. you know the drill by now: the screaming, the sirens, the way the news cameras always zoom in too close on crying children. you've memorized earth's sick little dance of destruction and rebirth, how it always stitches itself back together with temporary scaffolds and hollow promises of "never again."

but this?

this is different.

because the figures streaking through the carnage below—the ones reducing buildings to dust and civilians and heroes alike to red smears on concrete—they all wear his face. his jawline. his messy dark hair. they move with his fighting style, shout with his voice, even bleed the same shade of red. but their eyes? their eyes are all wrong. cold and chaotic where his are warm, empty where his always held that stubborn spark of hope.

none of them are your mark.

the sky weeps fire around you as you hover above the carnage, the acrid smoke stinging your eyes worse than the truth ever could. somewhere in this nightmare of broken concrete and broken bodies, the real mark fights for his life—while you're trapped here, your lungs burning with the cruel joke of it all. that in this city of a thousand twisted copies wearing his face, the most unbearable pain wouldn't be failing to find him... but reaching for him only to grasp another hollow imitation.

you don't know where your mark is. he's probably halfway across the world by now, his arm slung protectively around eve's waist as they fight back-to-back like some perfect, seamless team. while you? you're knee-deep in rubble, using your body as a human shield between collapsing buildings and innocent civilians—always the bridesmaid, never the groom. or something like that.

the irony tastes like blood in your mouth—metallic and thick, the kind that lingers after a punch to the jaw. you’d stood like this days ago in the guardians’ headquarters, your trembling fingers digging into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents, half-moons of desperation carved into your skin. mark had been gearing up for another mission with her, his suit clinging to his shoulders in that way that always made your throat tight. his gloves smelled like ozone and sweat when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-motion as he reached for his mask. your grip was too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

"you're always with her," you’d choked out, the words scraping your throat raw, tearing free like shrapnel. your voice fractured like the sidewalk now splitting beneath your feet, each crack exposing years of buried longing.

it all came tumbling out then—how you’d memorized the exact shade of brown in his eyes (warm, like earth after rain), how you’d counted every faint freckle scattered across his nose like constellations. how you’d give up your powers, your legacy, your name if it meant he’d look at you just once the way he looked at her—soft and awed, like she’d hung the stars herself. the confession burned worse than kryptonite, searing your tongue, leaving your mouth tasting like smoke and regret.

for one suspended second, mark’s face did something complicated—his lips parted like you’d punched the air from his lungs, his pupils blowing wide, dark with something unreadable before his gaze dropped to your mouth. your heart stuttered, a trapped bird slamming against your ribs.

you didn’t know why you’d said it. maybe it was the alcohol rex had shoved into your hands earlier, his smirk sharp as he’d muttered, "drink up, superboy. maybe it’ll make you stop staring at him like a kicked puppy." you’d swallowed it all down—the bitter drink, the bitter truth—and now here you were, spilling your guts like some pathetic, lovesick fool, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

mark had frozen like you’d hit him with kryptonite, his hands suspended in air, fingers still curled around the edge of his half-raised mask. the familiar crease between his brows deepened, his lips parting slightly—not in anger, but in dawning, terrifying comprehension. "what?" he breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and you saw it then—the exact moment realization struck. his breath hitched, his pulse visible in the jump of his throat, his gaze dropping to your mouth one again for one electrifying second before snapping back up, wide and startled.

in that suspended heartbeat between confession and consequence, you could have sworn something shifted behind his eyes—something warm and terrified and impossibly, dangerously like reciprocation. like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for this too.

then the comms crackled to life with eve’s voice, bright and urgent, and whatever fragile moment existed between you shattered like the storefront windows now raining glass down around you. "mark? you there?"

he flinched like you'd caught him with his hands in the fire, his mask slipping into place with a sound that felt too final—like a coffin lid sealing shut. "we'll talk later," he muttered, but the words came out all wrong, cracked down the middle like his voice was splitting apart the same way your ribs were. you saw everything in painful clarity: the tremor in his fingers as they fumbled with his mask's edge, the way his adam's apple bobbed like he was swallowing back something thick and unsaid. then he was gone in a streak of blue and yellow, leaving you standing there with your heart ripped clean from your chest, still beating raw in your palms. you wondered if this was how icarus felt—watching the sun flee from him, knowing he'd flown too close.

you became a hero for him. learned to fly not because the sky called to you, but because it was where he lived. trained your fists to break bones only so you could be the one to set his afterwards. stood beside him through every battle, every loss, every quiet midnight where the weight of the world pressed too hard against his shoulders. always beside him. never with him. never the way you truly wanted—fingers laced together, mouths sharing breath instead of battlefield strategies.

now, as you wrench a sobbing child from collapsing rubble, their tiny fingers clutching at your collar like you're the only solid thing left in this nightmare, you wonder if that hesitation in his eyes meant he felt it too—that inexorable pull between you two, like twin stars caught in each other's gravity. or if you'd just shattered the best thing in your life for nothing more than a maybe.

a building groans nearby, its steel skeleton screaming as concrete rains down in deadly chunks. you move before you think, your body slamming into the structure with enough force to crack your spine. the impact knocks the air from your lungs, but you hold firm, muscles burning as you lower the crumbling mass inch by agonizing inch. people scramble free beneath you, their screams mixing with the distant wail of sirens. you don't have time to gasp before the shockwave hits—another explosion ripping through the street, sending you skidding backward through debris. smoke fills your mouth, your nose, your pores, but all you can taste is the ghost of his name.

that’s when you see him.

floating there like some half-remembered dream, blood painting abstract patterns across his cheekbones. but—no mask. no goggles. nothing to hide the way his face transforms when he sees you, his eyes widening like you’re the first real thing he’s seen in years. the moment his gaze lands on you, something fractures deep in your chest—not the clean break of a bone, but the slow, seismic splitting of tectonic plates—only to knit itself back together with golden thread when his lips part in quiet awe.

this mark looks at you like you’re the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. like you’re water after decades of drought, like you’re the first star he’s seen after being trapped in an endless night. his eyes trace your face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s trying to drink you in before you disappear again—and oh, god, the way his expression softens when he realizes it’s really you, like his entire body sighs in relief.

then he’s moving, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands coming up to cradle your face before stopping just short, trembling in the air like he’s afraid you’ll vanish once again if he touches you. "hey," he murmurs, his voice so tender it aches, the sound wrapping around you like sunlight. "it’s okay. i got you."

and suddenly you’re seven years old again, trembling in the wreckage of your pod, your tiny fingers clutching at the grass as the world spins too fast around you. you remember the warmth of mark’s small body pressing against yours, his arms tight around your shoulders like he could shield you from the entire universe if he just held on hard enough. the way he whispered, "it’s okay, it’s okay," into your hair like a prayer, his voice wobbling but sure.

this mark is looking at you with that same fierce protectiveness, that same unwavering devotion—but now it’s layered with something deeper, something older. something that makes your breath catch. he looks at you like you’re the axis his world spins around, like every scar on your body is a constellation he wants to worship. like he’s loved you in every lifetime, and will love you in every one to come.

a sob claws its way up your throat, raw and broken, because this—this is how you’ve always wanted to be seen. not as a sidekick, not as a best friend, but as the living, breathing center of someone’s universe. and here, in the middle of a burning city, with a version of mark who wears his heart as openly as he wears his scars, you finally are.

you let him carry you in his arms, let his fingers curl protectively around the back of your head as he tucks your face against the warm hollow of his neck. the wind screams past your ears as he takes off, but you don’t fight it—don’t even tense. your mission brief echoes dimly in your mind (neutralize all variants, show no mercy) but it feels distant now, drowned out by the steady thump of his pulse beneath your lips. let them see, you think hazily. let the whole world watch as he flies you away like something precious.

next thing you know, you’re perched on the edge of your bathroom sink, his hips slotting between your knees as he patches you up with practiced hands. he’d flown you high enough earlier that the sun could kiss your wounds closed, but he still fusses—dabbing antiseptic over the cuts that haven’t quite healed, his touch feather-light when you flinch. "still hurts here?" he murmurs, fingers hovering over your ribs. you nod, and he makes a soft, wounded noise in his throat before reaching for the salve.

you watch, hypnotized, as he cups the salve between his palms—the same way you've done for yourself a thousand lonely nights—letting his body heat soften it before spreading it across your aching skin. his fingers move with practiced ease, tracing the map of your wounds like he's reading braille, like every bruise and cut tells a story only he understands. "you know my place better than i do," you murmur, voice scraped raw from smoke and unshed tears.

his hands freeze mid-motion. when he lifts his gaze, his eyes are bottomless pools of ink in the dim bathroom light, swirling with emotions too complex to name. "of course i do," he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession dragged from his chest. his thumb finds the sharp angle of your hipbone, brushing once—a fleeting touch that burns hotter than any solar flare. "how could i not when i spent most of my life with you?" his voice drops to a whisper, cracking open like an eggshell. "when i spent years memorizing the way you breathe when you're hurting? the way you grit your teeth slightly when you're lying?"

the air between you grows thick, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. you can feel his pulse where his fingertips rest against your skin, rapid as a hummingbird's wings. the mirror fogs with your shared breath, obscuring your reflections until it's just this—just his hands on your body, his truths in your mouth, this fragile thing you've both been too afraid to name.

the confession lingers in the humid air between you, delicate as the steam spiraling from the faucet, as transient as the condensation tracing paths down the mirror. you ache to ask—how many realities exist where your fingers intertwine as more than friends? how many versions of himself experienced this moment with you? but then his calloused palm rises to frame your jaw, his thumb sweeping salve across your cheekbone with a tenderness that steals your voice. the medicine stings, but you'd endure a thousand cuts just to keep his hands this close.

"there," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze through open curtains. the scent of him—ozone and the faint metallic tang of blood—mixes with the antiseptic's sharpness. "good as new."

except you're anything but. you're a constellation of fresh wounds and ancient scars, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin where your bodies press together. yet as his forehead comes to rest against yours, as his lashes brush your cheek when he blinks, the familiar ache in your chest doesn't feel like shattering.

it feels like dawn after endless night. like gravity finally pulling you into orbit. like the first full breath after years of drowning.

it feels like every cliché about home you ever rolled your eyes at—because home was never a place. it's the boy who learned your pain before he learned your favorite color, who carries the shape of your wounds in his hands like something precious.

the warmth of his hands on your skin feels like sunrise after decades of darkness—like finally breathing after being submerged too long. for one heartbeat, two, you let yourself drown in it, this dizzying sensation of being cherished, of being truly seen for the first time in your life. then reality comes crashing back like a fist to the gut, bitter and violent. this isn't your mark. can't be your mark. this is one of the invaders, the destroyers, the monsters who painted chicago's streets red with innocent blood. his hands may cradle you with familiar tenderness, but you saw what the other versons of him did to the city. what he's done too.

your muscles tense, fingers curling into fists at your sides. you should attack. should drive your fist through his chest the way cecil trained you to. should make him pay for all the lives lost today.

but then—

his lips quirk in that lopsided smile you've traced in your dreams a thousand times, the one that makes his left dimple appear just so. his eyes crinkle at the corners in that way you could recognize blindfolded, but there's something shattered in his gaze now, something ancient and grieving. "god, i missed you," he breathes, voice cracking like dry earth in a drought, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat for years. the sound of it—so raw, so painfully familiar—makes your traitorous heart stutter behind your ribs.

your breath catches. "what happened..." you swallow hard, fingers twitching at your sides. "to the me in your world?"

his face does something complicated. for a second, he just looks at you, his gaze tracing your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again. then, softly: "we were together. properly, i mean." his thumb brushes your cheekbone, hesitant. "confessed to each other a year before i got my powers. it was... stupidly awkward. i tripped over my own feet trying to kiss you." a wet laugh escapes him, his eyes shining. "you laughed at me. then pulled me in by my shirt."

the image blooms in your mind—mark, younger, softer, his face burning red as he fumbles through a love confession. you can almost see it.

his expression darkens. "then the invasion happened. you fought—of course you did. even when that bastard pulled out the kryptonite." his voice cracks. "i was too hurt to move. could barely breathe. but you—you looked at me, right before..." he chokes, his hands tightening around yours. "you smiled. like you weren’t scared at all."

the sob tears through you like a supernova—violent, uncontrollable, leaving you trembling in its aftermath. before you can think, you're clutching at him with desperate hands, fingers twisting into the frayed fabric of his suit as if you could somehow stitch reality back together through sheer will alone. your knuckles press white against his ribs, nails biting into your own palms, but you can't loosen your grip. you'd crawl between dimensions yourself if it meant bringing his version of you home. because seeing him so broken like this... it just. hurts so fucking bad.

he collapses into you like a dying star, his arms locking around your waist with bruising intensity. his face presses hot and wet against the curve of your neck, his tears searing your skin as his shoulders shudder against yours. you feel the exact moment his knees give out, how his weight sinks into you—the great invincible mark grayson, brought to his knees by grief.

"we lose you... in every other dimension," he chokes out between ragged breaths, the words fracturing as they leave his lips. his fingers scramble across your back like he's memorizing your pulse points, your scars, the way your lungs expand with each shaky inhale. "and i feel so god damn jealous of the versions of me who didn't-" his voice shatters completely then, dissolving into something raw and wounded.

instinct takes over. your hands find their way into his hair, cradling his head as your thumbs sweep across his damp cheeks. "shhh, i've got you," you murmur into his temple, the same words he once whispered to a scared alien boy in his backyard. the irony tastes bitter on your tongue—how after all these years, you're still comforting each other through losses that never seem to end.

the salt on your lips could be from his tears or yours. you've lost track of who's breaking apart more violently, whose grief runs deeper. are you mourning the you he watched die? the mark who will never look at you this way in your own world? or simply the cruel joke the universe keeps playing—that in every reality, one of you is always left holding the pieces?

"please..." his voice cracks like a breaking spine as he drifts closer, hands hovering near your face but not daring to touch. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, lips trembling around each word. "come home with me." the raw need in his tone makes your stomach flip. "my dimension—it's quiet there, baby, so quiet. just us. no eve, no cecil, no him." his fingers finally brush your cheek, sticky with blood and tears. "we'll disappear somewhere where no one knows us. i'll build us a house with my bare hands. you'll plant those stupid flowers you love. we can even take a bunch of cats with us. i'll—fuck—i'll worship you like you deserve. please."

you want to. god, you want to. your traitorous body already leans into his touch, craving more of the warmth you've been starving for.

but—

"mark," you whisper, heart shattering at how his face lights up just hearing his name from your lips. "you've... you've killed people. innocent people."

he doesn't flinch. doesn't hesitate. just leans in until his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs that ghost across your lips. you can smell the blood and smoke clinging to him, can feel the way his pulse races where your skin touches. "yeah," he admits, voice rough like gravel, thick with something desperate between shame and worship. "but i'd burn a thousand worlds to ashes before i let anything hurt you again." his hands slide down your sides, fingers digging into the curve of your waist hard enough to bruise as he yanks you flush against him. you can feel every hard line of his body, the way his heart hammers against his ribs where your chests press together. "i'm already damned," he murmurs, lips brushing yours with every word. "let me be damned with you."

you wince, hands coming up to push weakly at his chest. "mark, you're not mine—"

"i know," he interrupts, pressing his forehead harder against yours like he's trying to fuse your thoughts together. his voice drops to a whisper, raw and broken. "but i could be."

around you, the city burns. the air is thick with the stench of melting metal and charred flesh, the distant screams of the dying swallowed by the roar of collapsing buildings. somewhere beyond the smoke and ruin, your mark is fighting—whole, unbroken, untouched by the kind of grief that twists this version of him into something sharp and feral. somewhere, he's pulling eve close, whispering promises against her lips that taste like forever.

and here you are.

letting a ghost hold you.

this mark—this broken, beautiful monster—is on his knees for you.

you swallow hard around the lump in your throat. because despite the blood on his hands and the fire in the distance, you already know your answer.

oh my god, 6.1k words of pure, unfiltered angst and i am unwell over it. this one-shot clawed its way out of my soul like a demon possessed and i blacked out only to wake up with this masterpiece of pain?? i was absolutely feral writing this, fueled by spite, sleep deprivation, and the haunting echo of "what if mark loved him back but in the worst way possible? what if he did love him but never realised he did (but he did realise this in every other dimension except this one)?" and now here we are. sobbing. you probably thought this would be cute or wholesome. you probably thought, "oh, maskless mark? hot." AND THEN I HIT YOU WITH THE EMOTIONAL WAR CRIMES. but come on, it’s maskless mark—did you really expect anything less than soul-crushing, heart-stabbing, tear-your-ribs-open angst? be so for real. anyway, enjoy the suffering. i sure did. 😭💔

[seokminfilm]

yours ── lee seokmin

🤍 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🤍 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, boyfriend seokmin, mentions of thunderstorms, kissing, skinship, seokmin calls reader baby, reader calls seokmin by his nicknames, soft seokmin hours, just really fluffy

🤍 summary, you hated thunderstorms—thankfully, seokmin was just in time to comfort you.

🤍 author's note, tornado warnings are going off at the moment of writing this so...i can relate to what's happening in this fic 😭 i hate hate hate thunderstorms but we ball anyways!! this too shall pass 🙏 anyways enjoy lyrnation!

🤍 now playing, headliner (seventeen)

🤍 word count, 1.1k | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

as the rain beat harder on the windows of your bedroom, your body tensed up with fear as the sky lit up brightly with lighting, thunder coming soon after and shaking the ground with its intensity.

it was a saturday night, and the whole day hadn't been the best for you: not only did you mess up your chance to cook your sweet boyfriend, seokmin, a nice breakfast, but your friend had canceled her plans to visit you and you had been asked by your boss to up in ten more extra hours next week—ruining the idea you had of taking seokmin out on a date.

and now, to top it all off, thunderstorm warnings sounded off on your phone, and one was approaching your apartment.

another intense shake of your house brought you back to the present, and you felt the hair on your neck stand up as fear gripped your body. you hated thunderstorms—the loudness of it all terrified you, and your mind seemed to go to the worst places when thunder was present.

suddenly, your phone rang, and you stared down at it to see your boyfriend's contact light up the screen—seokmin was calling you, probably to make sure you were okay. you let a sigh of relief fall past your lips, picking up the call quickly.

"seokmin, hi.." you sigh out the greeting breathlessly, and seokmin sighs with the same tone you do, responding with a relieved "hey, baby."

"are you doing okay? i know the thunder's getting bad now, and i keep getting thunderstorm warnings in my notifications..." seokmin's voice has a constant hint of worry as he speaks. your heart softens, so grateful to know seokmin's worried about you just as much as you're concerned about him.

"i'm doing the best i can. the thunder isn't my favorite thing, but you know—" you pause to laugh, hoping it convinces seokmin as you fidget with the strings of seokmin's hoodie you were wearing. "i'll make it eventually. i always do."

seokmin laughs at your response, sighing again as you hear a clicking sound in the background. "don't worry, baby—i'm on my way home now. i'm sorry i had to be out so late."

"no, no, seok—don't apologize. it's okay. i'm just happy to know you're coming home. i really need you right now." you say with a wince, ears ringing after the loud bang of thunder outside. seokmin sighs, a smile behind his voice as he replies with a soft "i know. i need you too."

bidding your goodbyes after you catch up with seokmin a little bit more, you let yourself bundle up in the blankets of your massive bed, awaiting seokmin's return.

the sound of a door closing downstairs stirs you from your sleep, and you listen to the shuffling of feet and the continuous sound of rain against the glass of the windows. too sluggish to move from your position, you listen quietly to the sounds surrounding you, breathing deeply as another thunderclap sounds in the distance.

stairs creak under your boyfriend's weight as he cracks open the door to your bedroom, and you smile as you hear the shuffling around your room and smell the familiar scent of seokmin's cologne.

"hey, baby. are you awake?" seokmin asks quietly, a few feet away from you. you nod, shuffling under the covers as you push them away from your face.

"hi, baby. god, i'm so happy to be able to put my hands on you. i missed you so much," seokmin's smile is glorious as he approaches you, squatting down to his knees as he brushes your hair away from your face with his slender fingers.

"are you doing okay? do i need to get you anything?" seokmin asks softly, staring into your eyes as you shake your head, clearing your throat. "i'm doing fine. i accidentally fell asleep while waiting for you to come home—i'm sorry, min."

"baby, don't apologize. i'm glad you fell asleep—you need some rest." seokmin smiles, kissing you softly as his sharp nose bumps yours. "let me take a quick shower, and then i'll get in bed with you, yeah?"

"okay," you smile, letting seokmin cradle your face in his palm before he kisses you again, making a little 'mwah' sound when he pulls away.

"i love you," seokmin says softly, staring at you with love in his eyes as you stare back, face warming up as you stare at seokmin's handsome features. "i love you too, seokmin. thank you for everything."

"of course, baby. i'll be in bed in a few minutes." seokmin gives you one more peck on the lips before standing up and disappearing into the bathroom, the door closing behind him as you let your eyes flutter shut once again.

a creak of the bed brings you to consciousness once more, and you sigh contently as seokmin slithers in behind you, firm body pressed against yours as you allow yourself to melt into him. seokmin sighs heavily behind you, the familiar scent of his deodorant melting into the cold air of the bedroom.

"i'm here, baby," seokmin whispers tenderly, kissing your neck softly as you sigh at the contact of his soft, plush lips on your skin. "i'm glad you are, seokkie. i missed you so bad today."

"awww, i missed you more." seokmin chuckles lowly, enamored with your clingy nature as you exhale, sinking deeper into your pillow.

"how was your day?" you ask seokmin, hands falling to seokmin's arms as they wrap protectively around your waist. he sighs, shuffling under the blankets for a moment before he answers you.

"it was good. tiring, but good—i got a lot of things done today, too, so...it's good for you and me. i can stay home tomorrow." seokmin smiles against your hair as he leans his head on top of yours, and you hum happily, too comfortable to speak in this moment.

"how about you, baby? how was your day?" seokmin asks, and you sigh heavily, allowing yourself to finally vent all of your frustrations from the past day to him.

"and then, to top it all off, this awful thunderstorm." you finish your rant, out of breath as the thunder rolls outside once again. seokmin had been taking such good care of you, you had even forgotten there was still a thunderstorm going on.

"baby, i'm so sorry." seokmin sighs, tone matching yours as he runs his fingers through your hair. "that did sound like a really rough day. i wish i was here with you."

"it's okay. i have you here with me now, and it erased all the bad things that happened earlier today, so....thank you." you say, and seokmin kisses the tip of your ear, smiling against it as he nibbles at your earlobe, causing you to giggle uncontrollably.

"of course. i love you so much, baby. i'm so glad you're mine." seokmin whispers softly, tenderly kissing your neck as you start to fall asleep, smiling as you quietly reply.

"i love you too, seokmin. i'm glad i'm yours, too."

[flickering-nightfall]

[thelittlespanielthatcould]

Kovu was diagnosed with "basically the perfect dog" at his annual exam yesterday. He was also given the nickname "Tranquilo Ten Kilo" because he is exactly 10 kilos and, you guessed it, tranquil.

[deoidesign]

"what do hands mean about a character?"

Their hands mean they love eachother

(webcomic)

[clovariia]

we can FINALLY post our pieces for the @tohgrimoire zine!!! i wrote a fic about luz and her family visiting her father's grave. it's a tragic but healing time for all of them.

thank you so much to @astrolavas for drawing the devastating spot art and the zine's writing mod @taruchinator for helping with beta reading!!! all the zine contributors and mods were so sweet and encouraging. i'm so grateful that i got to be a part of this project! thank you to everyone for all the support!!!!!! 🦉💕

🔗 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58919038

[mrsoharaa]

𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 🎀🍰

characters; SatoSugu (Gojo Satoru + Geto Suguru) x Reader

cw; none! pure FLUFF! the two dummies being completely lovesick and mopey over their pretty spoiled angel! birthday trope, completely SELF INDULGENT (since it's my bday todayyy <3)

Your lumbering eyes blink heavily to the flaunting streaks of the peeking sun seeping through your bedroom shades. A heavy distinctive weight of multiple objects weighs all over and around your sleeping form, a low grumble tittering off from your supple lips.

Gradually stirring awake from your deep slumber, you glance down at your chest to a note with a beautifully fully blossomed peony taped to the feeble paper. Blinking, you sit upright and take the note into your hands, carefully holding the gorgeous, flourishing flower and reading over the neatly familiar font written in perfect alignment.

Good morning and happy birthday beautiful :)

Sorry that me and Satoru are not there to hold you in our arms and spoil you with endless kisses and affections, but we had to do some...shopping for your surprise for tonight. (I really didn't want to spoil anything about it but I guess I kind of did...)

As you can tell, Satoru had bombarded you with boundless hoards of gifts on you. He was dead set on drowning you in a heap of stuffed animals, jewelry and your favorite type of throw blankets. He's utterly ridiculous, but he loves you incessantly so I suppose that makes up for it haha.

A tender smile seeps onto your cheeks, glancing up and around the bundled stock of adorable stuffed animals, fluffy throw blankets and fancy expensive boxes that you'd presumed to be the priceless jewelry Satoru had hauled for you. Your heart flutters warmly, frantically at the adoring thought.

A bit much don't you think, Toru?

"Oh 'Toru..." you giggle softly under your breath, your softened eyes scrolling back onto the heart felt letter in your free hand.

We should be back home in a few hours or so, so please enjoy your comfortable day lounging about my love. We'll bring home some snacks on our way back.

Oh, and my gift for you (minus the flower of course, because I think I remembered you saying that Peonies were your favorite some time ago) is in in the living room. I hope you like it angel :)

Again, happy birthday princess.

Much love from your goofballs - Suguru + Satoru.

Your heart continues to patter wildly against your chest, smiling ever so giddily to yourself as you glimpse over the mount of gifts hoarding over you. Gently placing the adoring letter on your nightstand, you gently caress the soften petals of the elegant flower, gingerly bringing it to your lips and tending a ghost like kiss to the sweet scented flora. Inhaling the candid natural scent of it's aroma.

"Oh my silly thoughtful boys" you murmur lightly, feeling your eyes swell with happy tears, your heart fluttering happily to the thought of the two idiots you grew to know and love over the years, spoiling you.

Feeling the enthralling excitement swarm in the depths of your stomach, you carefully rise from your gift-cluttered bed and stand onto your toes. Stretching out your limbs, you felt the soft silk of your blush pink night gown grace over the upper plain of your exposed thighs. A tingling, lulling sensation peppering all over your awakening skin.

Still holding onto the flower in your hand, you gleefully make your way into the living room. Stopping immediately at the frame of your bedroom door as your pupils dilate with vast enchantment and wonder.

With your ceiling littered with heart shaped balloons of soft pink, rose gold and white, the dining room table neatly decorated with two tall standing candles, silverware and dishes adroitly placed and pink rose petals lightly scattered along the sleek table cloth and your dishes - you couldn't help the overwhelming warmth resonating deep within your heavy chest.

Those thick, kindred tears welling back at the corners of your blurry irises.

"Suguru..." you hardly whispered out with a soft gasp, blown out watery irises carefully skimming along the beautifully decorated room from their courteous hard work.

Light footing of your delicate steps drew you close to the breath taking scenery displayed out before you. Daintily, you brush the pad of your fingers along the silken table cloth and rose petals that swarmed over your dining room table. Thoroughly, admiring every detail and care they took to prep this, just for you.

Your eyes spot another note in the middle of the table, folded in half and nestled against one of the standing candles.

You carefully take it and open the smaller note.

I hope everything is to your liking angel, I wanted to make everything as perfect as I could for you :) I hope it's not too much.

(Satoru says he helped pitched in, doesn't want to seem like he didn't put in any effort or whatever haha)

Happy birthday sweet girl, dress up nice tonight, we're cooking and tending to you thoroughly tonight. Tonight will be all about you sweetheart.

- Suguru G.

Oh, so he wants you to collapse from a cardiac arrest from all the cuteness and what not?

Grasping onto the small, gracious note and hugging it close to your chest (where your heart rests), you couldn't help the familiar overwhelming feeling of sheer bliss and joyous enlightenment embellish all over your body. Filling your heart and soul with boundless love and adoration.

Tears swiftly cascading down the soften plush of your blossoming cheeks. Breaths catching tightly at the perch of your lungs, heart still restlessly plummeting to the endearing thought of your boyfriends going out of their way to woo you with such enchanting gifts and basking wonderment.

You couldn't help the over joyous feeling coursing through you, titillating excitement pouring through your veins as you rush to your bathroom to get ready for the enticing night!

[milk-sharks]

smitten ☁️

[paranormal-taters]

Love and Attraction in My Adventures with Superman

As someone who has never been particularly drawn by superhero media, I wasn't really sure what to expect when I first started watching My Adventures with Superman about a week ago. I had seen a few posts here on Tumblr that had piqued my interest, but all I really knew about it was that it was well-loved and had an art style that I knew I liked.

I absolutely did not expect to fall head over heels for the show entirely, or to be moved to tears multiple times by the wildly sweet, revolutionary relationship between this adaptation's Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

I say "revolutionary" because this romance touches on a lot of things that I feel are lacking in most modern portrayals of romance, and it handles them masterfully.

Most of what I reference/talk about in this post will focus on the first four episodes of season one (with a particular focus on the fourth episode, Let's Go to Ivo Tower, You Say) , because they are my favorite episodes and I think I can communicate what I want to by pulling mainly from those episodes. But I will be pulling bits and pieces from the whole series so consider yourself spoiler-warned.

The main point is this: I absolutely adore the way that physical attraction and emotional attraction are balanced between Clark and Lois.

The fact that this is possible comes from how well-crafted the dynamic is between the two of them; Lois' raw passion and energy inspires confidence and a mutual passion in Clark, and Clark's gentleness and kind heart inspire a tenderness in Lois that she was never given an outlet to show or receive. From this dynamic, a wealth of physical and emotional intimacy is naturally born. But never in the series do the two aspects of attraction feel out of balance; rather, they play off each other effortlessly. When one is brought into focus, the other quickly follows.

From the first episode and onward, it's obvious that Clark and Lois are awed by each other's physical appearance. Lois outright describes Clark as "beautiful" (which, if you saw one of my earlier posts from not too long ago, is something that makes me so incredibly happy to see in mainstream media).

To be fair, she doesn't say that to his face and says it in a moment of extreme frustration. But I still count it.

Anyways.

Upon seeing Lois for the first time, Clark is practically frozen in wonder for a good few seconds.

Lois, too, experiences this initial moment of attraction and almost immediately makes contact, with a playful punch to Clark's chest as he holds the door open for her.

This is a detail I really love, because first of all wow, I aspire to have her level of confidence. But also, it becomes clear early on in the series that Lois expresses herself very physically. She has no qualms regarding physical affection. Clark, on the other hand, is much more reserved and, at first, generally only initiates contact after an invitation from Lois, or after enough time has passed in their friendship for him to know that Lois is very physical and wouldn't have a problem with it.

There is also an immediate emphasis on Clark's concern for Lois' physical well-being. Take a sip of water every time Clark asks Lois if she's okay just in the first episode alone and you will be well hydrated.

Later on in this first episode, while trying to infiltrate a warehouse, Lois confidently asks Clark to boost her up to a window so she can get inside the building. Clark is immediately flustered, showing how much he feels out of his depth even with physical contact that, on the surface, would have no romantic connotations. (But to be fair, Lois is asking him to put his hands around her waist and lift her up when they literally just met like maybe six hours ago. I would be flustered too.)

And when Lois loses her balance and Clark effortlessly catches her, his first response (after blushing, of course) is to ask her:

Even in moments where the romantic tension is thick enough to cut with a knife and Clark clearly knows it, his first priority is to make sure she's okay.

And thus begins one of the strongest underlying themes throughout the whole building-up of their relationship, which is trust.

I'm gonna jump ahead now to the scene that inspired this whole post: the stairwell scene in episode four.

A basic rundown: Clark, Lois, and Jimmy are given an assignment to attend a tech unveiling for the city's top investors at Amazotech headquarters. Lois, naturally, ignores the parameters of the assignment and tries to use it as an opportunity to expose corruption in the city and get her stop-the-presses story. Clark very reluctantly follows her lead, believing that she will get herself into trouble . . . until Dr. Ivo, head of Amazotech, makes a few rude comments about Lois' appearance (Lois doesn't hear these, only Clark). This deeply irritates Clark and prompts him into revealing how much he knows about Dr. Ivo's corrupt business dealings, in an attempt to intimidate the truth out of Dr. Ivo, who responds by having Clark thrown out of the building and into a pile of garbage in an adjacent alleyway. Lois comes to find Clark (who is unhurt) and teases him about whether or not she should let him back in the building, since he didn't follow the assignment. Clark jokes that he doesn't even meet the dress code anymore, revealing that his suit jacket was torn as he was tossed out of the building.

Lois then reveals that she came prepared for this, and tells Clark to "take it off."

Clark immediately becomes flustered again and begins stammering as Lois pulls him back into the building by his jacket, continuing to tease him.

It's in these moments, as you can see, that the lighting of the scene changes. As soon as Lois says "take it off", everything is bathed in a rosy light. This happens frequently between these two; often, when we the audience are seeing one of these characters through the perspective of the other, the lighting takes on a very dreamy quality. This will come up again momentarily.

As Lois and Clark ascend the stairs, Lois removes her jacket and pulls a sewing kit from her pocket, admitting that she carries one on her because she herself has torn a lot of her clothing on her escapades.

The two then sit down on the stairs, and Clark removes his jacket. The lighting changes again, and we see Clark from Lois' eyes. It's clear by the dreamy lighting and the way that Lois blushes and involuntarily chokes out a "Wow . . ." that she is once again awed by him and deeply attracted to him on a physical level.

And this scene represents so much about their growing dynamic. It honestly has me floored.

But before I explain fully, I have to go on a tangent about my beloved Clark.

Throughout the beginning of the series, I believe Clark shows several signs that indicate that he is insecure about his physical appearance. Which you wouldn't expect, right? I mean, look at him. He's objectively a dreamboat. He was designed to be that way.

But at this stage of knowing so little about where he really came from or who he is, I think Clark struggles with not having a way to explain his physique. He admits that he wasn't an athlete in school; he was in the chess club. He doesn't work out as an adult. And yet he has the muscles of a bodybuilder. But, like so many other aspects of himself, he doesn't have a way to explain it. This causes a disconnect in how he sees himself physically; he likely feels as though he doesn't deserve his naturally impressive physique. And you could argue that he even does his best to hide it. As a civilian, he generally wears bulky, layered clothing like sweatshirts and sweaters. He slouches and carries himself in a very inward direction; his shoulders are often forward and his arms close to his sides, as if he is habitually attempting to make himself smaller.

This is one thing that brought me to tears when I saw it. The idea that a person can feel insecure about having physical attributes that would normally be seen as positive (and that they can't explain and/or feel that they don't deserve) is not very well-explored in media, but it is experienced by quite a few people, myself being one of them. But often in the real world when someone attempts to express this kind of insecurity, they are shut down and mocked and told to "be grateful" for what they have because others would envy them. Which I can say from personal experience is unbelievably damaging to a person's self image. So seeing this possibly be represented in Clark Kent himself was incredibly moving to me.

But back to the scene itself.

In the most recent gif above, this is the most vulnerable Lois has seen Clark thus far. What I think is so beautiful is the way that she invites him into this vulnerability by making herself vulnerable first.

Rewind a bit. Outside the building, Lois tells Clark to take his jacket off. Not a big deal, right? It's not like he's not wearing an undershirt. But Clark becomes flustered, not outright expressing that he's uncomfortable with this, but certainly indicating that he's not exactly at ease with it either.

Next we see them climbing up the stairs, and as they do so, Lois removes her own jacket and reveals her bare back to Clark in the process.

I believe this was incredibly intentional. This scene would have carried a very different tone if Lois' outfit was revealing in any other way. But the fact that her back is exposed symbolizes that she trusts him, in a physical and emotional sense. It's like when my cat Penny rolls on her back and exposes her fluffy tummy. Lois revealing this part of herself was her saying "I trust you, I feel safe with you, and I'll be vulnerable with you if you'll be vulnerable with me."

And only after that does Clark remove his jacket.

Because there is the factor of attraction at play, there is a lot of blushing and stammering going on in the beginning of this scene. These are two incredibly attractive people who are incredibly attracted to each other, after all. But immediately after the initial romantic tension, there is emotional vulnerability as well. Lois confides in Clark about her relationship with her dad, and the crippling self-doubt that she has kept very close to her chest. Clark jumps to reassure her in earnest, telling her that she has "changed his life for the better, in every possible way."

And that is what I meant at the beginning of the post when I mentioned balance.

Every moment of physical attraction in this series is followed by or harmonized with a moment of emotional vulnerability. Clark and Lois both invite each other deeper into each aspect of connection, and thus their relationship builds in an incredibly natural and beautiful way.

At this point, I think this post is about five miles long as the crow scrolls and I should probably stop now before all my thoughts run away with me. I could go on forever about the impact that this series and these characters have had on me, though. I will forever be grateful to the creators for giving us such an incredible series, and such a beautiful romance.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Mr. Cube I have a question of utmost importance for you as literally the only Magneto main I know of. HOW... DO YOU PLAY HIM. Do you have any tips. I want to look at him.

So You Want To Be Pretty OK As Magneto In Marvel Rivals

(3 March, 2025) a beginner's guide written by your resident magneto main snapperoni because now i get an excuse to talk about marvel rivals magneto extensively and in gross detail

*this guide will be treating you as though you have never used magneto in your life and will go into extreme depths at explaining his abilities as well as what it means to be a tank player. if you feel confident in understanding his abilities, feel free to skip the abilities section and head straight to the bottom for talk on strategy and tips

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

TLDR ROLE INTRODUCTION ABILITIES Melee/Greatsword Primary Fire/Iron Volley Secondary Fire/Mag Cannon Metallic Curtain Metal + Iron Bulwark [TEAM-UP ABILITY] Metallic Fusion [ULTIMATE] Meteor M [PASSIVE] Magnetic Descent TIPS AND STRATEGIES Iron Volley + Mag Cannon Combo Bubble and Shield Usage Two Tanks Are Better Than One Metallic Fusion How to Use Meteor M CLOSING THOUGHTS

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Too Long, Didn't Read:

Magneto is a poke tank meant to be played at medium-to-close range whose priorities should lie in acting as a living wall for his teammates. preserving his abilities mostly for himself yet sharing them when the situation calls for it.

While his priorities should be defense-based, when it comes to going on the offensive you want him to target strategists and duelists and only engage in tanks if the rest of the team is with you. As far as aiming goes, he's very friendly and isn't hitscan reliant, and you should find yourself picking up his aim style easily with time.

He's not a super flashy character like the rest of the cast, but he's far from useless and, at this moment in time, stands as one of Rival's best tank options alongside Doctor Strange and Hulk, whether you're running two tanks or running solo.

Overall, the two-star difficulty he is awarded is very fitting: available to newcomers to pick up and start playing, however offers a little something extra to those with a better understanding of him; he's generally straight forward as far as tanks go, but picking up a few extra tips and tidbits never hurt anyone. Except your enemies, of course.

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Role Introduction: Vanguard/Tank

As a vanguard unit, Magneto's top priority should be taking the brunt of the team's damage on the front line and should give the team either opportunities to push forward, or shoot behind the cover you provide.

With 650HP (without shields), while he has average health for a vanguard, his defensive kit allows him to be a formidable wall when his abilities are used tactfully and you work in tandem with your support/s. Unlike dive tanks like Venom and Captain America, Magneto is much more stationary, and his kit rewards playing defensively and close to the team.

A common misconception with FPS games is that your top priority is to get the most eliminations as possible and to exclusively hunt for the next kill (unless that is the objective of the specific map you're playing on, then kill away). There are several errors with this philosophy: for starters, you begin to neglect the objective, which can lead to a game loss.

The amount of kills you have won't matter if you stay off point and the other team takes the objective. No matter what anyone says, don't stress about your eliminations so long as you know you're protecting your team, securing the point, and overall providing value to the game (though it is important to be able to land a shot....).

Moreover, playing under this philosophy is a sure-fire way to not only get you killed and remove your time away from the field (which should truly be your game philosophy: die as little as possible), but specifically as a tank you'll bring your teammates down with you as they lose what should be a reliable line of defense. As a tank, you should be opening up opportunities for your teammates to get the eliminations and protecting your strategist/support units.

All of that said, tank is not for the passive player: as tank, you need to be firm about the playing field being yours and making sure the enemy team knows they're going to have a hard time taking it from you. Fitting for Magneto, really.

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Ability Review

Before dissecting Magneto's abilities, I will preface and say I calculated his damage using Doctor Strange (600HP) and Scarlet Witch (250HP) as damage dummies. The numbers I have here may not be accurate, so to circumvent this potential error I'll describe how many shots it takes to use a specific skill in order to eliminate certain enemies.

Melee/Greatsword

Attack speed: ~1 second

Damage Output: 40 (About seven swings to KO a 250HP enemy)

Utilizing Doom Bot remains, Magneto swings with a grandiose blade. The problem with this sword is it's not only one of- if not the- slowest melees in the game as of right now, but it has very little to compensate for its poor speed. Should very rarely be used in place of a well-aimed primary fire.

Primary Fire/Iron Volley

Reload time: ~1 Second

Damage Output:

Direct Damage: 80 (About four shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Edge Damage: 40 (About seven shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Fall-Off Damage: 40 (About seven shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Magneto's Iron Volley asks that you lead/predict your shots. Moreover, his Iron Volley will explode automatically once reaching 25M(eters), whether it hits a target or not. At 25M, your shot will no longer do 80 damage, but will do half instead. As noted before, Magneto's primary fire will explode when it comes into contact with a wall, floor, or enemy. As such, the explosion has a small hitbox- doing just about half of a regular, direct shot. Because of this, you shouldn't be too stressed if you're not the greatest at aiming: Magneto's primary fire makes up for any minor imperfections and is rather generous so long as you're in the general area of your target.

Secondary Fire/Mag-Cannon

Reload Time (Without Bulwark Aid):

One Ring: ~4 Seconds

Two Rings: ~8 Seconds

Full Power: ~12 Seconds

Damage Output:

One Ring: 40 (About seven shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Two Rings: 80 (About four shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Three Rings/Full Power: 100 (About three shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Edge Damage: N/A

Similar to Iron Volley, you will need to lead your shot when firing off a Mag-Cannon. Unlike his primary fire however, Magneto's secondary fire will keep going until it hits a wall or enemy. Moreover, it doesn't suffer any damage fall-off, nor does it offer any edge damage. How many rings you possess show both on Magneto physically, but they can also be tracked by the purple arrows below your crosshair. As a bonus, the Mag-Cannon momentarily stuns and pushes back any targets it hits which can either cancel an enemy's advancement, or open the floor for a follow-up attack.

Metallic Curtain

Recharge Time: 3 Seconds

Replenish-to-Full Time: 10 Seconds

Duration: 1.5 Seconds

Shield HP: N/A

Putting up an impenetrable wall just shy of two seconds allows Magneto and his allies to pull back safely from oncoming damage or provide just enough cover to make an adequate push forward. Not to mention, this indestructible wall scoffs in the face of any ult coming your way. Once the shield has been spent, a white bar will appear on the right side of your crosshair. This bar indicates how long you can hold your shield up the next time you use it before it's fully charged, where then the bar will fade. Finally, you can put your shield down early. While this means you'll have to wait the full three seconds for it to be available again, this means your shield will have more durability the next time you use it.

Metal Bulwark + Iron Bulwark

Recharge Time: 12 seconds

Duration: ~3 Seconds

Shield HP: To be calculated, but it does exist: be cautious of the damage you and your teammates take.

Magneto can spring a magnetic bubble over either himself or an ally. The bubble not only negates any incoming damage and protects allies from Scarlet Witch's Reality Erasure, but once the bubble has popped or faded Magneto will regain some Mag Cannon rings relative to the damage absorbed.

[TEAM-UP ABILITY] Metallic Fusion/Chaos

Recharge Time: 30 seconds

Duration: 10 seconds

Damage Output:

Direct Damage: 100 (About six shots to KO a 600HP enemy)

Edge Damage: N/A

Being his only team-up ability as of writing this post, this father-daughter duo ability allows Magneto to fire at an impressive 100 damage per second as he finally finds use in his otherwise-inadequate greatsword, adding a truly dangerous ability to his typically defensive kit. It's as though every shot taken was a Mag Cannon with a wider hitbox- however this hitbox varies from being vertical or horizontal and thus can be a little unpredictable if you aren't aiming carefully. Is used best at medium-close range, but don't neglect its potential to snipe enemies from across the map.

[ULTIMATE] Meteor M

Duration: 4 Seconds

Magnetic Range:

Lowest to the ground: 30M

Nearest to the skybox: 5M

Damage Output (No Charge):

Edge: 150 (About over half of a 250HP enemy's health bar)

Direct: 300 (About half of a 600HP enemy's health bar)

Damage Threshold Before Explosion: To be calculated, however can be tracked by the counter below the crosshair

Automatically floating into the air, Magneto stays true to his name and acts as a magnet for all incoming projectiles; extracting enemy projectiles to build the power of his metal meteor and granting Magneto the ability to float freely, Magneto's ultimate doubles both as an offensive and defensive ability. You're able to see your magnetic field + blast radius by observing the purple ring on the ground. Remember: you can rise and descend freely so long as your ultimate is up, use this wisely. I affectionately refer to the meteor as "rock", however this ultimate has garnered a reputation for not doing as much as some believe it should. Hopefully this guide helps you in ensuring your meteors make the impact they deserve.

[PASSIVE] Magnetic Descent

Manipulating the magnetic field around him, Magneto decreases his fall speed by 50% when holding the jump button. Nuff said. People have a hard time aiming up in FPS's so if you find yourself with the opportunity to float around a bit (especially using Rocket's jump pack) then by all means terrorize from above as you descend.

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Tips and Strategy

Iron Volley + Mag Cannon Combo

A basic tip, but a valuable one nonetheless. To eliminate an enemy with 250HP- assuming you land all your shots directly- it takes about 3 seconds, four shots. Again, this is assuming you hit all your shots and if the enemy doesn't regenerate any health. Alternatively, utilizing the PRIMARY-SECONDARY-PRIMARY combo allows you to not only stun an opponent with your secondary fire, but it should take nearly half of the time spent then if you only used primary fires, so make sure to use your secondary shots responsibly. Remember that your primary fire has, at max, 25M of utility: afterwards, it won't be able to do much. Fine for picking off low-health enemies while they're fleeing, but don't expect to hit any enemies close to the skybox or far away from you without moving in a little bit first- that's what your secondary fire's for. As Magneto, your targets should be squishy characters like support and DPS. Because of his relatively-slow DPS, Magneto doesn't fair well against other tanks and shouldn't engage in 1v1's if possible (they're not unwinnable, but they could be a great distraction and leave your team vulnerable).

While I'm here, I'm just going to stress to not use your melee. Like. At all. You're much better just using your primary fire. At most you can set it up as Hulk's turning into Bruce if you'd like but that should really be it: your primary fire is much more effective than your sword.

Bubble and Shield Usage

As a tank, you want to act as a wall for your teammates, and this can be done effectively by being more conservative and selfish with your shields: you are the wall. Remember. Draw the enemy's fire towards you by being an irritant. While Magneto is healthy in shields, remember you have natural cover from stage obstacles and structures as well. Magneto can be regarded as a 'poke' tank: a tank who is meant to attack sporadically and in short bursts. He is best played at a medium distance from the enemy front line and to not to be wholly damage focused when he is much more defense focused. 'Poking' the enemy from behind structures is not only a great way to conserve your abilities, but it utilizes Magneto's primary and secondary fires well due to their moderately-slow start up and overall DPS, letting him take cover when need be.

While attacking on the front line, once you notice your health start to dip below half or you feel as though the crowd is about to overwhelm you, raise your Metallic Curtain and step back to give yourself some air. Bubble yourself as a last resort if you still need to back up- be sure to fire your Mag Cannon beforehand so you'll immediately have it replenished if your bubble pops during your escape. It's important to remember Magneto has zero movement abilities and it takes 5 seconds for him to traverse 30M: it doesn't sound too bad, but when there's a large crowd in front of you, you'll wish he could move faster. Don't push too far ahead, and be aware of exits around you.

That being said, be conscious of your teammates. This is a TEAM game after all. We've covered Magneto and Scarlet Witch's team-up ability before and how valuable it is. As a result, you'll need to learn to play well with any Scarlet Witches on your team, and this means having your bubble ready to protect her when she decides to ult (this also means making sure to check the scoreboard occasionally for your teammate's ult charge as well as, again, being ability-conscious of those around you). Only when she's in immediate danger do you bubble her, not before: this ensures the bubble lasts long enough for her to get her ult off (or there's a better chance it'll be executed, anyhow). If you feel as though you won't be able to react fast enough, then you can try to bubble her beforehand; don't stress out about timing the bubble perfectly, just make sure she's protected. In general, bubble your duelists when they're deep in a crowd to give them a chance to escape (but don't stress out about protecting them. After all, there's only so much you can do before you put yourself in danger or use a bubble inappropriately when someone else could have better benefited from it). Besides Wanda, it's naturally best to look after your support units and to make sure they're not being overwhelmed. Don't helicopter them and neglect the rest of the team, but just make sure to check on them every now and then. Ultimately, your bubble priority should be Supports -> Yourself -> Others. After all, your support/s can't help you or the team if they're dead.

Two Tanks Are Better Than One

Magneto has the fortitude to be able to tank by himself comfortably, however the rare days you find yourself partnered up with a second tank, know these are the days you can be more generous with your bubbles and shields to your teammates. Your second tank will help cover with you and should make it easier for you to escape the crowd when need be, so bubble-hogging is less of a necessity. Make sure to help your tank too if they're in a bind and they're out of defenses/movement abilities (but again, not at the detriment of yourself or your supports: once more, Magneto can tank by himself if need be so long as you use your abilities carefully).

Metallic Fusion

It's tempting to want to use Magneto and Scarlet Witch's team-up ability the second you have it, however it's best to save it for crowd control. That being said, once it is active, make the absolute most of it: there's no consequence to holding down the primary fire, so just let loose and go crazy (with reason, of course: don't run in and get yourself killed and don't forget your teammates).

How to Use Meteor M

Someone asked me this midmatch once and I scrambled to come up with an answer. Both because the round was about to start in five seconds but also because I truly didn't know the answer at the time. The longer I've played though, I think I finally have the answer- or a better one besides "spray and pray" at least. As noted before, Meteor M is a fickle ultimate and how you use it is dependent on the situation (many such cases about anything, honestly). At times, you'll want to play higher to the skybox to ensure your meteor doesn't explode immediately. Alternatively, a quick throw of the meteor might do the trick in some situations where it's both safe to build meteor charge close to the ground, and the faster you remove a target/s, the better. This is also dependent on how many projectiles are being thrown out onto the field: if you're in a situation with predominantly melee opponents, it's best to use your meteors to single-out troublesome duelists and supports- there's little chance your meteor's going to exceed 30+ charge in those kinds of matches. Generally, you'll want to use it to counter support ults like Cloak + Dagger and Luna Snow (NOTE: a raw meteor will NOT KO an ulting Luna. You need at least 30+ charge before a direct hit can KO her. Cloak + Dagger can be KO'd from the get-go with a direct hit). Don't be afraid to throw out a meteor if you see a cluster of low health/squishy enemies without any defenses, however. Just remember it's ok to hold onto an ult if it means it gets greater value later on, and that you shouldn't hunt exclusively for team wipes. If you find yourself popping ult and the crowd's dispersed, support units should be your default priority (unless there's a duelist/DPS unit using their ultimate: take them out instead if you can). Initiating Meteor against Punisher's Final Judgement can be tricky if you aren't fast enough, as Frank's ammunition will quickly push your meteor to its limit. If you don't throw your meteor fast enough, you could potentially risk your teammates their lives and waste an ultimate in the process. Use your meteor against Punisher with caution. Similar notes to be said about Star-Lord's Galactic Legend, only now your problem is also throwing at a flying enemy. If he's close enough to your 25M range, I personally would shoot him down with a regular primary/secondary as his DPS isn't nearly as grand as Punisher's and a meteor could be superfluous. Otherwise, focus on getting to cover and protecting your vulnerable teammates. You'll especially want to be wary of enemy tanks and their shields as they'll without a doubt cancel out your ult with ease, more specifically enemy Magneto's and Doctor Stranges. Be cautious that Captain America can deflect your ultimate, though I personally have had minimal trouble with Captains. In general, you should track enemy ability usage, but especially the prior two if you hope to pop your rock soon.

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Closing Thoughts

Ultimately, improving at Marvel Rivals in general comes with time and willingness to acknowledge you're bad at the game sometimes but to not let that stop you from playing who you wanna play, whether you're playing as Magneto or not. While you can do your best to improve your aim in Rivals' practice area, things like game sense are something that can only really be accumulated through experience and playing the game.

Sometimes I watch back old games/moments of mine to figure out where I could've gone wrong to improve next time, but you don't HAVE to do that: just play the game, have fun, and love Magneto.

And throw a rock at every support you see for me okbyethankyouforreading

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Bonus: My Credentials so you can determine if i'm reliable or not. or something.

[PS: every hero Not Mags/Wanda/Adam is purely my brother i swear im loyal]

[lochallthedoors]

The Times, 8 October 2017

[burningcheese-merchant]

Dude why did I just realize just now that you're the same person that made that fic about fire spirt parenting tiger lily that I was obsessed with at one point

You mean Flaming Lullaby? You read that? And you liked it enough to be obsessed with it? 😭 This made my morning, honestly. I always loved that part of the hanja run comics, where Fire Spirit is tasked by Moonlight with looking after Tiger Lily. I know the comics were never canon, but I thought it was such a charming idea that I HAD to do something with it, you know? It has so much potential. So bittersweet. I love bittersweet things. It's canon to me haha

(There's one more chapter btw. A big, long epilogue set in the future, when Tiger Lily is grown. I wrote the outline eons ago, all I need to do now is write the actual chapter haha. I'll try getting to it after some other stories I need to get started on)

[aliennazero]

☆Headcanon: brother-sister coding, hear me out

I need to get this post done before whatever that will happen in chapter 192. So even if I only got two more days for this theory to be around, I'll be glad that I finally let this out from my chest after a while. So, don't take whatever I will ramble about as something super serious.

First of all, maybe you guys will look at me and says, "what the fuck Alie they're like two different unrelated characters" and while that's true for now and so far, I just... can't really took my eyes off from this "siblings coding" the more I read Chainsaw Man. And I have some reasons and theories why (disclaimer: I did a crazy reach all over the direction) and I found it very interesting.

Reason no. 1: Their First Meeting & Re-occurence

Hirofumi is the first part 1 character that Asa meets (even before Denji). So, I think it's reasonable for me—the reader to be intrigued on what is Fujimoto's plan for their seemingly "not important" (but why be the first?) relationship.

My initial thought is that: oh, they might become friendlier in the future or even become lifelong enemies. Then I remember Hayakawa Family—Aki and Power as the first ever Denji's buddy, specific on Power.

Because even though narratively and character writing-wise Power and Hirofumi are fundamentally different, both of them are written initially to form false narratives that they'll become a token love interest for our protagonist(s) aren't they? They also share a somewhat similar strawberry cake motive, makes me wonder why.

Alsoooo, I think the way Hirofumi & Asa's Devil Hunter Club "date" being portrayed as very differently from Hirofumi + Denji and Hirofumi + Fami "cafe date" (a.k.a. work-related mandated date) is important, somehow.

Reason no. 2: Personal Motives and Untold Family Narratives of Asa Mitaka

We know since the very first time we met her that Asa is very lonely and her motives circling around getting a companion (either a boyfriend or a friend) and living selfishly (which as we can see right now is backfired rapidly, but I'll talk about this separately later, maybe in the future).

However, there's one aspect of her motives that's kinda underlooked, and it's her relationship with family member. Yes, we got a glimpse of Asa and her mom (never with her father so far) and Asa with her lovely pet—Crambon, however they already died years ago, and Asa blame herself for it.

It's unfair that in this world, she still had her family, as they said. So maybe she already gives up on that idea. Which is where the true weights of this headcanon come from. What if, she still could have it? Even though she never asked for this directly. Her getting a family again that she was maliciously accused of unfairly having, could be very nice, actually. Even if it's a very insufferable or a miserable mess workaholic kind of brother (or twin brother).

Reason no. 3: Hirofumi's Motives

This deserves its very own post just like my plan to talks more about Asa's living selfishly motive but to make it simple, Hirofumi lied at the very start because he already formed a parasocial relationship with both Asa and Denji by giving them options to have a somewhat nicer normal life (Denji not becoming Chainsaw Man, and Asa making a distance from Denji to prevent her from turning him into her weapon and thus also prevented her to feel down because of the guilt) even though he knows that another choice never really exist to begin with.

(Asa doesn't necessarily have to be his sister to add more depths to this motive. I just think won't it be very funny if Hirofumi was like collecting information all around, confirming that Asa Mitaka is indeed the incarnation of War Devil in weird case then he took a look at her Koseki then boom they have the same dad!? What the fuck was that. Here comes new responsibility that his father left behind, I guess)

As what we know so far, Hirofumi took his job and his responsibility very seriously and very neat about which one he could improve or "change" for everyone's sake involved. IF Hirofumi and Asa are indeed siblings (or half siblings) however, this gives more explanation on his involvement and his own personal interest. Hirofumi is not easy to read, but he still overshares to Asa (chapter 121 when he agrees on Asa's takes about solitude) and "taking care" of her.

Reason no. 4: Just Take a More Look at Them

Taller than average? Check. More athletic than average? Check. Insane face card? Check. Unbelievable amount of yearning? Check. Arguably suicidal? Check.

Both of them being a human stuck in status quo between human vs devil war like hostages in their own prison—Hirofumi stuck as hollow used cop for Public Safety and Asa stuck as War Devil very own vessel—with absolutely nothing, no one really on their side (Fumiko and Fami as mean of even more control over both of them)? Check.

Even as concept alone, child soldier and war maiden incarnate siblingsm could be developed to be something, very interesting.

Okay, now into more theories territory.....

Theory no. 1: Asa and Hirofumi are the Result of Kishibe Fucking Around and Found Out Post Quanxi Rejection Era

Why Kishibe would do that? Idk but it's a funny math because if Kishibe is in his early 50 now then 17 years ago would be him in his 30s. If Kishibe become devil hunter in his early 20s and meet Quanxi shortly after that and become buddies for 9 years then, the year just lined up lmao. How much chances of them being an oopsies baby thus explaining their very different last names but strangely similar physiques and even narratives? Not zero.

There are two options regarding this though. It's either they're twin siblings or half siblings. Half siblings mean they have different mothers but same dad, and twin siblings mean they have same mother but got separated at some point during their lifetime (Hirofumi went with Kishibe and Asa went with her mama who probably re-marry or just simply raising Asa alone and lying about her dad getting eaten by devil or something because her love story with that drunkard crazy man is just that bad).

Kishibe avoiding child support for 17 years and this is the consequences, also both of them got their ass kicked out by the very same lesbian who rejects their father, I'll say it's a beautiful storytelling.

Theory no. 2: Sinister Look on Vol 17 Cover and "Hirofumi will appear in Asa's Dream"

We will get into a more sinister area here because I believe the Makima-esque vibes, "necessary evil" narratives Hirofumi brought up to the table are not coincidences or neglectable at all. Even more sinister because his cover is him standing in front of alleyway just like how Makima cover is her in front of the door in Denji's dream.

Which led me to think that this could indicate something. However, kinda different on how it was portrayed, I think this make things clear that Hirofumi is not endgame antagonist since his cover came a bit too early than what we—the reader anticipated (there is absolutely no fucking nobody in the fandom that expecting Hirofumi to get a cover during before the cover reveal). However, he might be the key into Asa's end dream reveal later on.

Maybe he will appear on her dream being vague as fuck, or maybe direct her dream into a more "false happiness" directions since all he did is lying (see reason no. 3) to distract her focus on dead chickens. Personally, I think the latter will be more interesting because it will be the opposite of what Makima did in Denji's dream, if this "Hirofumi will appear in Asa's dream sooner or later" theory is true. The government and the church need Asa in her stable conditions to unleash Yoru anyway.

"Then what does this imply into your siblings theory"—because siblings should take care of each other, ideally. And I think it will add more depth, if true of course.

Theory no. 3: Hirofumi Cares About Asa (maybe more than what we see on-screen)

To put on more disclaimer, this is just what I imagine to fill out the gap in between narratives and it connects to reasons number 3 (again). Despite how he positions himself and blending in the crowd like invincible, Hirofumi is actually easy to care and feel guilty too (and the reason why he could kill the Immortal Brother assassin in part 1 is because he has the ignorance privilege, but with both Denji and Asa? Not so much).

I have no strong basis for this theory I just have my own feelings and a dream, and this is basically what I think Hirofumi has done so far for Asa (subtle) in the story:

Hirofumi just let Yuko loose and kill Asa's bullies during Justice Devil Arc. This may sound dark, but it fit his character in a way that he's okay with doing violence as long as it could benefit his mission (and maybe this time his personal interest too). Because he knows Asa got bullied at school. If this could solve her bullying problems, then why not? That's why Hirofumi is just sitting around during the whole fight until Denji interfered.

Hirofumi is the one who brought Asa to hospital after Falling Devil Arc (which is somehow in line for how I think he's Denji blood-giver in the same arc). Because well, I don't think Public Safety cared enough to get her conditions checked, but Hirofumi is aware about her injury conditions (arguably this is so that she could be a bargaining chip for Denji but we know that the main chip is Nayuta, I think Hirofumi just want to let him know just because also let me have this imagination for the sake of this agenda).

The reason why Hirofumi didn't or more likely can't kill Asa during CSM Church Arc is not necessarily just because War Devil has become stronger. Paneling focus on their face's expressions indicate that Hirofumi just can't bring himself more to do so (after he saw Asa's hand and her in pain), thus making him fail this mission to capture War Devil dead or alive. It's the guilt kicking in.

I think Hirofumi is somewhat relieved after he saw Asa's hands are back (yay) in Aging Devil Arc. Also, that's what he put his focus on FIRST after he got vomited out before asking his own situation even.

Personal View and The Main Takeaway (really): I need this to be real just because I think it will be so fucking funny

To end this unbelievably long ass post, I think it's important to note again that they have like five screentime together and I'm just insane. But if I should be honest, this is not me being rational at all, I just think the whole situation would be funny up to seven more factors if my ramblings are true.

Because this headcanon imply that the fandom meltdown towards them (as individuals or as in characters dynamics) is unnecessary at all. Like aside from Hirofumi being read mainly as queer, maybe him acting kind of mean and nonchalantly distant (and somewhat awfully playful) towards Asa are just because he like being petty and doesn't want to look like he wants to bang his sister (as a sister myself, yes I do feel the need to annoy my other siblings whenever I can just because I could and it doesn't have to be hatred, sometimes it's the love aggression kicking in).

Lastly, thank you guys for coming to my yapping ted talks.