I 100% believe Lois Lane requested the presence of Bruce Wayne in her delivery room.
Nobody, not even the League, understood until it was time to give birth and Clark froze up at her bedside. Bruce was there to coach them both through it, as Clark’s friend and as Lois’ human reinforcements.
(Bruce flew to Metropolis in a helicopter when he got the news. He found Clark ashen and trembling at Lois’ side, eyes clenched shut as she screamed. He slid into place like he’d never been missing, talking Lois AND Clark through it like he delivered babies every day of the week)
3K notes
·
View notes
You are without doubt the worst rogue cultivator I’ve ever heard of.
Ah. But you have heard of me.
Some Mobei-jun/rogue cultivator!Shen Yuan brainrot—thanks to @neonghostcat I can no longer separate SY from the guandao 😭 (thank you from the bottom of my heart)
157 notes
·
View notes
I feel like these two pictures alone really encompass their presence in the movies. Be confused, be dramatic, do nothing actually useful.
41 notes
·
View notes
things my cats have taught each other:
-licking people is normal and good behavior you should do constantly. kudos if you get to use teeth
-you should run in like a bat out of hell to sneak a lick on one of mother's nipples while she's lounging shirtless
-once she's upset you've licked her nipple either dart out of the room or start licking her nose to express that she should chill out
38 notes
·
View notes
Thinking about the version of Mark that DID survive out in the wasteland for all those years (???) (post-Angstrom fight). Thinking about him being told he wouldn’t like who he had become. Thinking about Mark whispering “I thought you were stronger” at the bloody corpse crushed into the sand. Thinking about the hot sun and incredibly hot earth and unwavering isolation at such a critically vulnerable point. Mark, stranded and bloody, left to wonder if this was worth trying to protect his family, left to wonder if the violence in him is inevitable, as if it's some evil thing that's always been there, underneath his skin, just now waking. Left to wonder until he trips into spiraling, but no matter how loud he screams these questions into the sky, there is nothing but silence. A corpse for company. Thinking about the crushing weight of loneliness, and your own shocked mind. Thinking about being that way for years and years and years, somehow surviving. Only to become something a younger you wouldn’t "like". And what that looks like.
Thinking about the Mark that did get rescued, and being left to wonder how many times other versions of himself stumble into bad endings. How long until he becomes something he wouldn't like.
17 notes
·
View notes