#livewire speaks

[livewire11211]

I tell myself to stop

Stop

“You’ve been alive all these years

You know better now”

But I’m still stuck

stuck

Why is it so easy

to waste

away

away

[aritamargarita]

just felt like this needs to be shared

[hermesserpent-stuff]

How do you think an au where Peter is Electro's son would go like Peter is still Spiderman and for some reason it gets out during a private battle between them that Peter Parker is his son

Hhhm. That would be an interesting yet hard au. Cause Peter would still need a motivational factor in his choice to become Spider-Man. Maybe he's still close with Uncle Ben

That aside, Electro seems like he would have been a decent dad pre accident. He's definitely the type who has to work a lot to pay the bills, but it's obvious he loves his kid. Post accident, his first thought is "Ahhhhh!!!!" His second thought is that he needs to stabilize, for Peter. What is going to happen to his kid?? He gets increasingly desperate for a cure, turns to doc ock, yada yada.

Then he's fighting spider man. An weird fight where they are alone. A distraction for someone elses mission. And Spider goes down, insides and outsides on fire. Peter thinks this is the end. And he has been trying to hard to find and help his dad. He has no more options. Times up. He wants to look at his dad in the face one more time, no lenses or fabric over his eyes. So he takes off the mask, fully believing the accident has fried his dad's brain into forgetting/hating him. that had to be the reason his father never came home. And yet... Electro stops. He is horrified. He cannot believe what he has done.

Long story short (too late!) Peter gets to work on tech that helps electro be more stable and electro helps Peter fight crime.

I call this idea!!! Livewire Family au. For tagging.

Thanks for the ask!

[maxlarens]

pairing(s): engineer!george russell x driver!reader

brought on entirely by this ask thank you anon i owe you a great debt😭 also light angst beware.

You’re more angry than anything.

What a stupid mistake, taking the turn like that. Too hard too fast too reckless. Never careful enough, like George always presses you to be. You feel shame churning in the hollow of your chest in the back of the safety car.

You’re on the way to medical. You would be even if you didn’t have an ache in your neck. Something sharp in your chest. You’ve fractured a rib, you think. Broken it even. You know this feeling, the whiplash of a crash. Waiting to have your injuries confirmed.

You think of the car, the smell of smoke registering as you took a second to reorient yourself. To remember all of your limbs. Ringing in your ears, then George. George, prompting your reply over and over. Tone clipped, hurried, near-frantic, still-professional. The car is on fire. You need to get out of the car, now. And your limbs snapping back into awareness, into motion—

You’re fine now. Angry mostly.

You let the doctor check you over, refer you for an ultrasound for the rib. It hurts when they press on it. You’re left with a manila folder to give to your team and an order to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Outside the medical building you can hear the cars on track. It puts something sick in the pit of your stomach. At least it’s only FP2. You’ve not utterly ruined a race, and the team still have time to fix your mess. Still. Still.

You turn a corner to make your way back to Mercedes hospitality, you find George instead.

He looks like someone’s taken a livewire to him. His head of usually soft curls is messy, hair standing half on end. He’s got those serious, shell-shocked eyes that always appear when his smile vanishes. You frown as his head snaps to you, alerted by the sound of gravel underfoot.

“Shit,” you blink and he’s already halfway to you, “Are you alright? What did they say?”

His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you toward him and you’re not thinking anything in particular about that. Just grappling with his sudden closeness. His apparent worry. So apparent that someone’s sent him here to medical, to you instead of having his valuable input on the pit wall.

“I’m fine,” you push his hands off you, “I’ll just need an ultrasound. It’s nothing.”

“Did they check you for smoke inhalation?” he presses on, despite your attempt at deflecting, “Your car was on fire.”

You shrug, shake your head, “I dunno, George. They checked my breathing I guess.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath and feel him start to move toward the building. You grab his wrist, haul him back, knowing he’ll march you in there and demand they check if you don’t reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, “No smoke inhalation. Not even a cough.”

He’s looking down at you, jaw set, the line of his mouth severe. So serious as he checks you over like he has x-ray vision— as if he can see things the doctors can’t because he’s more worried than they are. You’re keenly aware of your fingers looped around his wrist, the feeling of his pulse, his skin, the tender way his hand reaches to grab your wrist in kind.

Your relationship feels different here. In this moment.

The closeness of a driver and her engineer has never escaped you. From the moment you met him for the first time in Brackley— tall, cheerful, a bit awkward, a little overbearing— you’d known that you’d be close. That’s the nature of it. You didn’t have to be charmed by his sincerity to predict that.

But you’d grown closer than you would have ever thought. You know his quirks, his idiosyncrasies. How he has his tea, the clothing brand he buys all his clothes from, the way speaks to waiters like they’re old friends, the overly friendly nature that masks a man who’s just nervous people won’t like him. He knows yours.

Your proclivity for being reckless on track, because winning is everything and what are you if you’re not a winner? How you have three shots of espresso in your coffee every morning. The way you cry your eyes out at father-daughter moments in movies. Your ache to be loved and your accompanying fear of commitment.

George is like no-one else. No ex, no best friend, no situationship knows you like George does.

Inside and out.

Anyway. Your hand on his wrist, your aching rib, him standing outside medical when he should be on the pit wall. It makes your head spin.

He closes the distance between the two of you. Hauls you into his flat chest and weaves his fingers into your hair, cradling the back of your head like he might lose you. Something wells in the top of your throat. The back of your neck feels gooey, soft, as he holds you. As if all the tension is easing out of you.

You take a deep breath, wrap your hands around his waist. Fireproofs against the bare skin where his Mercedes polo has hiked up. He says something into your hair that you can’t hear. The tone of it gets you anyway, the fondness.

You hiccup, hating yourself for it.

Then you’re crying. Shock of the crash wearing off, unable to ignore the comfort of being held up physically and emotionally by George. Tears, wet, hot are streaming down your face. Soaking George’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” he says into your ear, rocking the two of you back and forth in the gravel, “You’re okay, I promise.”

You know you are. Logically. But hearing George say it makes it easier to believe. You think, even, that he might be saying it for himself too.

[revasserium]

hi! I've been reading your opla!zoro stuff and I wanted to tell you your writing is so gorgeous! it's truly breathtaking, you're really talented ❤️ i've looked through your prompts tag, im not sure how requesting works, but could I ask for "edge of falling" or "the spaces between us" (whichever one you like the most) with zoro and fem!reader? i'm a goner for longing and feelings realization and the prompts give me those vibes, but i'm sure anything you write will be lovely <3

reqs are open!

the edge of falling

opla!zoro; 7,475 words; fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, passing mentions of: cult!, physical violence, & trauma/cult-programming, ex-cult member!reader, strawhat!reader, traumatized!reader, protective!zoro, healing from past trauma, learning to trust etc, angst with a happy ending!, a metric TON of plot

summary: "Lie to me," Time said to Love; Love smiled and said, "I promise, I'll never let you slip away."

a/n: thank u for the request anon!!! i uhm idk what happened with this fic tbh. there's def uh -- longing of SOME kind here??? welp. pls read the tw list! there's some dark-ish content in this. but i promise it ends well u__u

prelude: in which a fox teaches you to speak

Time is the greatest liar, so you are told, over and over and over. For the longest time, you think it’s the only truth you’ll ever know.

But we will live forever…

So long as you do the things you’re told. So long as you make the Fox happy. So long, so long, so long.

There is no way to mark the passage of time in the compound; with no sunlight to guide the way, you are left to other, more primal ways of keeping track — that elusive, silver-fish creature — time — always slipping through your fingers when want to hold on most.

You measure it in wounds, in the time it takes for a fresh wound to seal over, for the scab to break and reveal the soft, tender pink flesh beneath. You measure it in gulps of water, in bites of cold food, in the droplets of artificial rain that they let fall through the ceiling sometimes. You measure it in rewards too, in long baths and hot meals, in the evenings when the Fox would tell you stories in his low, lilting voice instead of leaving you in his seething silences.

And he is ever so good with stories. If you stay still and keep quiet, and let his voice wash over you like a hungry tide across a rain-starved beach, you can feel the words seeping into your bones, ringing out till they feel like nothing but god’s given truth.

As long as you’re good… I promise I’ll make you live forever.

Like this, you learn the weapon of words, the power of speech, how to listen for lies, and how to tell them, and tell them, and tell them.

The Fox is good at lying; you’ll just have to learn to be better.

act i: yet another sad, desperate soul

Roronoa Zoro has never been a man of many words, but it would be remiss to say that he isn’t a man of his word — you see, when he does speak, he speaks with intention. And always, with conviction.

“Hey. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, then, is the first lie he tells you.

“Liar.” You spit out the word, drawing back, your body a tangle of livewire nerves, your eyes darting back and forth, an entire life’s worth of fight and flight caught on the hair-pin trigger of his breath as he jolts back slightly and blinks at you.

“Y-you — you can’t know that,” you say, your voice still ragged. But Zoro sees it for the attempt it is — an olive branch, however tentatively extended. And he takes it, wordlessly.

He nods once, reaching out to help you up. The compound crumbles around you, and you unconsciously wrap your arms around yourself, as if to hold yourself together, to keep from shattering into a hundred million tiny little shards of pain and mistrust.

“The fox-guy’s dead! But it looks like this whole island’s gonna blow!” Nami races out of the massive, temple-esque structure just as it starts to collapse from the inside out.

Luffy slingshots passed, cackling as Sanji and Usopp bring up the rear. On the Merry, Robin and Chopper are waiting, and the second Zoro manages to hoist you onto the main deck, the ship careens off into the dark tumult of waves.

You skitter away the minute Zoro’s arm slips from around your waist, and he turns to find you pressing yourself back against the railings, staring at them all with wide eyes, your expression caught halfway between fear and consternation. He takes half a step back, crossing his arms just as Luffy bounds forward with a bright, unassuming smile.

“Don’t worry! You’re safe now!” He makes to slap one of your shoulders but you duck out of the way, chewing on your bottom lip.

Robin clears her throat gently and offers you a smile, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze darting between them like a trapped animal, but after another beat of stillness (punctuated only by Nami swearing softly to herself as she steers the Merry around a particularly difficult formation of rocks), your entire body seems to soften, and Zoro uncrosses his arms again, resting a hand casually on the hilt of his blades.

“Th-thank you…” you bob your head once, swallowing hard passed chapped lips and a raw throat. Your white linen dress is stained with blood and dirt, a tear at your collar making it slip from your shoulder.

“’S alright now, darlin’ — how bout we run you a nice, hot bath? I could cook you just about anything y’like. Fancy a drink as well? I think a bubbly would be good for a —”

“Lay off, cook.” Zoro cuts Sanji off with a scoff, barring Sanji’s approach with an arm in the gut.

You watch them with dark eyes, your expression curiously blank.

“Will you let me look at your wounds?” Chopper offers.

You jump a little at his voice, piping up from your left side. You glance at Zoro once before looking back at Chopper and nodding.

Sanji tucks his hands into his pockets and watches as Chopper leads you beneath the deck, Zoro following a few steps behind. He lights a cigarette as soon as the trap door clanks shut.

A beat of silence, and then —

“Wow, that island really, really sucked!” Luffy says, turning back to his crew.

Sanji lets out a puff of smoke as Usopp slumps down against the main mast with a groan.

“You can say that again.”

“What happened?” Robin asks.

Sanji sighs, shaking his head, “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

Below deck, Chopper dabs at your wounds with expert ease as you sit very still on the kitchen island and Zoro watches from the sofa, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“These surface wounds aren’t that bad but…” Chopper trails off, his eyes running over the network of old scars that mar your skin, layers and layers of them — down your arms and along your torso.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice smooth as polished marble, “I’m —” you swallow, “I’m fine.”

And if it weren’t for the hiccup, the slight hitch in your breath, you would’ve been utterly convincing. Your expression is flat, your voice, even more so.

Across the room, Zoro makes disbelieving noise, “If it hurts, just say so. Chopper’ll fix it.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” you say again, tugging at the sleeve of your torn shift, your tone now a bit more honest, your words tired and resigned. Zoro looks to Chopper, who gives a faint nod of acquiescence before Zoro stands up and jerks his head towards the door.

“Cook’s right — you should wash up before dinner.”

You follow him down the hallway, through a small door that leads into a washroom that’s much cleaner than one might expect a ship’s bathroom to be. A large, wooden soaking tub sits in the middle of the room, and a clean change of clothes has already been laid out on a bench next to the bath.

Zoro grunts after he takes a once-over of the room, satisfied that all’s in order, and makes to leave.

You tug at his sleeve, head lowered.

“Can you…” you lick your lips, “can you stay?”

Zoro glances down at your fingers curled into his shirt sleeve before his eyes flick up to find your face. You’re looking at some indiscriminate point over his left shoulder, but your lips are trembling and your jaw is set.

He lets out a long breath, slowly twisting his body towards the room and you.

“Sure.”

He makes a show of turning around to face the door as you slip off your clothes and sink into the steaming bath water. A long exhale and the light slosh of water is all the indication he gets that it’s safe to turn back around.

He leans himself against the door, his swords propped on his shoulder, his head lolled back, his eyes closed.

He listens to the soft sounds of the water, to the faint splashes as you rub the grit and grime from your skin, inch by inch.

“We were only allowed to bathe as a reward for doing a good deed.”

Your voice makes him open his eyes, his gaze focusing in on the shape of you, nearly submerged in the bathtub, your hair slick and sticking to your pale shoulders. Even in this dim lighting, he can see the patterns your scars make against your skin. Water glimmers along the contours of your face as you run your palms along your cheeks, rubbing at them till they’re ruddy with color.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Quit bein’ so rough,” he moves forward without thinking, reaching out a hand to help you with some of the more stubborn pieces of dirt but he pauses, realizing how utterly still you’ve gone.

You stare at him for a long moment before relaxing back into the water and shifting towards the edge of the tub to allow him better access.

He runs a callused thumb along your cheekbones, wiping away the remaining dirt there.

“What was a ‘good deed’?” he asks, letting the tips of his fingers skim the warm water’s surface.

You shrug, “Mostly anything that made Mr. Fox happy… so all of us would —” you take another breath, your hand opening and closing beneath the surface of the still bath water, “we’d spend all our waking hours trying to think of something — anything — that’d please him. No matter how small… no matter how… terrible.”

“This Mr. Fox… what was his deal, anyway?”

You stare down into the dark water, now rapidly cooling from warm to lukewarm.

You take a deep breath, lifting a hand out of the water to distort the image of your ghostly reflection.

“He… was a liar. Except… he could make all his lies sound like the truth.”

“It was uncanny, really,” Sanji says, now at full throttle in the kitchen prepping for dinner service, Usopp lounging on sofa, his feet propped up on the hanging table.

Chopper and Robin both frown.

“What do you mean?” Robin asks.

“It was like… the guy could say anything and make it sound like the truth — even though you knew somewhere inside you that it can’t be real. Like — he could tell you the sky was green and every single part of you would believe him, even though you’re outside and starin’ up at the sky.”

“Yeah! Like he said I’d never be able to beat him and… for a second, I kinda almost believed him!” Luffy offers, munching on a bushel of apples and spitting out the seeds.

Robin’s brows furrow, tapping at her chin with a thin finger.

“It sounds like the Uso-Uso no Mi…”

“Ugh, what a weird, scary power…” Chopper shudders, shaking his head, his tiny hooved hands coming up to cup his cheeks, “I’m sure it’d mess with people’s heads!”

“It sure did. But he also used it to feed false information to the Marines,” Nami says, slipping through the half-opened door to join the rest of the crew on the sofa, “ran a series of taverns that just so happened to be situated in major Marine towns.”

Sanji glances up from a huge, steaming pan of paella, a cigarette caught between his teeth.

“So what was his end goal then? Just to fuck over the Marines?”

Back in the bathroom, you run your fingers along the edge of the tub as if playing an invisible piano.

“Power, domination… I don’t think he had a goal or purpose… I think… he just got off on it…”

Your voice is light, conversational, almost as if you were talking about the weather. But Zoro sees the glazed look in your eyes, the tightness at the edges of your lips.

“You called me a liar,” he says, reaching into the tub and flicking you lightly with a bit of water.

You blink, a smile threatening the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah… guess I did.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

He pulls out his hand and wipes it on a towel, leaning back to stare at you.

You shrug, “Sometimes… people lie to others, and sometimes, people lie to themselves. It’s the ones we tell ourselves that are always the most convincing.”

“I don’t lie. ‘Specially not to myself.”

You let out a tiny laugh, “But I guess… sometimes, if you believe in something hard enough… it’ll just start to be come the truth.”

There’s a note of… something in your voice that Zoro doesn’t like, but he can’t put a name to the feeling so he stays quiet as you continue the laborious work of scrubbing your skin clean, till all the water in the tub’s gone cold.

The rest of the evening passes as most evenings on the Merry do after a big fight — with a lot of food and even more booze. With music and laughter, and new crew member, sitting in the corner, watching mostly and smiling occasionally. No one pushes you, though Sanji does make a valiant effort in getting you to admit to your favorite foods, and Luffy tries two or three times to drag you into the more raucous celebrations (mostly involving way too much meat being roasted on a spike).

No one questions the way Zoro never wanders too far.

No one questions the way your eyes track him around the room, or how, even when Robin and Nami finally get a laugh out of you, you still instinctively searched for Zoro’s figure till you’ve found it in the other corner, a bottle caught between his lips, his eyes half-shut but his gaze caught on you like a fish to a seaman’s hook.

act ii: everything and nothing

A week passes, and then another. And you slowly, but surely, come out of your shell — it’s a strange sort of blossoming, the way you reveal yourself in shards and pieces, jagged and jarring. The shrapnel bits of your personality peaking out amidst the flotsam and jetsam of all your manifold defense mechanisms.

You’re a brilliant liar, but even better at spotting a lie, and it’s a thing that none of the crew had ever really thought about until you’d come along, casually poking holes in their daily deceits.

“Mm! These pancakes are perfect! Just the way I like them!”

“The new dress looks beautiful, Nami.”

“I absolutely did not finish the last bag of popcorn… Luffy did it!”

You clear your throat.

“Okay fine… the pancakes were really good but… but I like them… sweeter.”

“The dress is… well, everything looks gorgeous on you, of course, you know that Nami! But — the color… clashes just a tiny little bit with your… hair.”

“I might’ve uh… taken a few bites out of the popcorn bag… last night… but I was keeping watch and I needed to keep my energy up!”

Robin titters, a sphinx-like smile spreading across her lips.

“Apparently, 60% of people lie at least once every 10 minutes,” she says, casually taking a sip of orange juice as Zoro runs through his daily training regime, seemingly unbothered by the chaos currently taking place on the main deck regarding the “popcorn incident”.

“Dunno why people bother,” Zoro says, working through a set of single-armed burpees.

“I suppose it’s just human nature. We want other people to like us… so we say what we think they might want to hear, instead of what we really think. It’s harmless, mostly,” Robin remarks, leaning back against a white planter box, basking in the shade of the tangerine trees.

“Till it isn’t,” Zoro says, finishing up his workout and pushing himself up for a long stretch. He casts his eyes once more towards where you’re now laughing as Usopp tries to think of some new tall tale to tell.

It only takes you half a second to turn your head, and Zoro wonders at the kind of life you might’ve led to make you so sensitive to another person’s gaze. What must’ve happened to warrant this kind of alertness? But then again, he’d been a hunter long enough to know exactly what being hunted looks like.

He caught a glimpse of it at the compound but — still, his fingers itch toward his swords, his jaw clenches tight enough for Robin to cock her head and raise a brow.

“Yes… until it isn’t…” she echoes, her eyes also trailing towards you.

Zoro holds your gaze for a second before rolling his shoulders and looking away, squinting at the far horizon.

“Oi. Looks like trouble.”

Robin straightens, and a second later, Chopper sounds the alarm from the crow’s nest.

“Marines! Marines!”

There is the shink of swords being drawn, the gentle echo of Robin’s voice as her arms multiply. There’s canon fire and a lot of yelling. But at the end, there’s only bodies and blood and the tattered remains of the Marine’s ship, bobbing in the stained sea below them.

“Should we go after them?” Sanji asks, lighting up a cig, watching as the tiny emergency boat rows off into the distance.

“Nah. We’ll be alright!” Luffy says, wiping a hand across his nose.

Zoro turns towards you, sheathing his swords.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice immediately taking on an unctuous sheen that makes Zoro take a step closer.

“You hurt anywhere?” he runs an appraising eye down your form and nods in the knowledge that at least you don’t look hurt.

“No… I —” you chew down on your bottom lip, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your arms. But you back away from him the moment he tries to take a step forward.

“Hey — quit that,” he taps at your wrist with the hilt of his sword, the touch hard but not harsh, forcing you to pull away.

“It’s — I’m — I’m alright,” you say, insistent and mollifying. Zoro runs his thumb against the hilt of his blades and scoffs.

“Liar,” he says, tossing the word casually back at you in a way that makes your breath hitch. Then, he turns, and marches below decks to tend to his own wounds.

A deafening silence rings out around you as you stare down at the ships blood-drenched planks before Robin places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“C’mon now — lets get your back looked at.”

Below decks, you find Zoro dabbing gingerly at a large slash on his right arm.

“Here, you’ve missed a spot —” you reach out to take the iodine soaked cloth from Zoro’s hand, only to have him jerk away. You flinch back, wide-eyed.

Zoro softens, if only ever so slightly.

“I’m fine,” he says, a harsh edge to his voice as he goes back to trying to twist around himself enough to see the spot he’s missed. You purse your lips, watching him for a second, two seconds, three — before you glance back at the place Robin had been only to realize that she’d gone.

“May… I?” you reach out your hand, palm up, tentative and imploring. But you hold yourself still, waiting for Zoro to make the next move. And he does, eventually, sighing as he turns back around to drop the piece of cloth into your palm.

You reach forward as he turns to his side, offering up his arm as you slowly start to wipe away at the bits of dried blood caking his skin to reveal the raw, red gash, the angry, raised flesh around it. You lean forward, blowing slightly as you daub at the wound, making your way down his bicep till the entire cut’s been coated in iodine.

“There. All done.”

You lean back to toss the cloth into the sink but Zoro stops you. He catches your wrist in his good hand and with a slight tug, has you toppling forward towards his chest.

“Turn around.”

His voice is soft, but firm. And it leaves no room for protests as you stare at him for a long moment before sighing and resigning yourself to your fate. You turn to show him your back.

A disgruntled huff is all you get before you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro rummaging around the first aide kit for a fresh piece of cloth, and the pop of the iodine bottle opening again.

“Who did this?” he asks as he slowly reaches out to tug a thin spike from your skin, small as a needle and just as sharp. You bite back a wince.

“The porcupine guy…” your voice trails off as Zoro grunts.

“Right.”

He tugs out another spike; it tinks against the metal of the sink as he tosses it away. A brief sting, and then the cooling feeling of the iodine cloth.

After a few minutes of working in silence, Zoro sighs.

“Geez, he really got you bad, didn’t he?”

“Not really,” you say, and you feel Zoro’s hands pause.

“No?”

You shake your head, “I’ve… been through much worse… and lived to tell the tale so…”

Zoro doesn’t need to ask to know that you’re talking about your past on the island, inside that windowless compound. He can see it in the scars that mar nearly the entirety of your back, the criss-cross lines of what looks like knife-wounds, the occasional puckered marks that look suspiciously like burns. He steels himself then, and continues to work — plucking out a spike and cleaning out the wound.

“You were right,” he says, when he finally finishes cleaning up your back and you both straighten to face each other. He wipes his hands clean and winces slightly as he flexes his newly bandaged arm.

“Right about what?” your voice is innocent, but the flash in your eyes tells him that you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“That first day — I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t… make sure that no one ever hurt you again.”

His fingers curl into fists at his sides and you can see the muscle ticking in his jaw as he clenches his teeth.

You reach out, tracing a thumb along his jawline. When you pull back, there’s a small daub of blood on your finger and you wipe it away without breaking his gaze.

“No, you couldn’t but… you tried.”

Zoro scoffs, “Tryin’s not good enough.”

“No,” you jerk up to glare at him, your voice harsh in a way that he’s only ever heard right after they’d rescued you, the edges of your words raw and ragged as a serrated blade, “trying is everything.”

interlude: truth or dare

It gets better after that, and you grow and bloom and grow some more. Zoro does too, though in his own way — he gets stronger, gets faster, hits harder. And though you two never quite agree on anything, he is always by your side, and you’re somehow always by his.

“’M not even a lil drunk —”

“Liar~” you singsong, giggling as Zoro shakes his head, tipping the remains of a bottle of sake back down his throat before wiping at his lips with the back of his hand.

“Mm… ‘s that all I am to you? Just another guy who lies?” Zoro swings lazily on the hammock hung on the main deck, his eyes half-lidded and alight with the dancing firelight.

“Stupid question — drink,” you answer, bringing our own bottle up to your lips.

Zoro laughs, quiet and pleased as he reaches for a new bottle.

“Alright then — truth or dare?” he asks, uncorking the new bottle and reaching out to offer you some. You bat him away, your movements languid and heavy, your back pressed against a heavy wooden barrel, one leg propped up to support your arm, the other stretched out long and lithe in front of you.

“Truth,” you say, your voice easy, your smile even more so.

“Alright then — do you trust me?” Zoro’s voice dips, and your eyes flash up. There’s a sobering light somewhere behind the alcohol soaked haze clouding his gaze and you can tell by the steadiness of his hands that he’s not nearly as drunk as he might seem.

“What do you mean?” you ask, casually evading the question.

Zoro tuts, “’S not an answer.”

“I’m asking for a clarification.”

Zoro shakes his head, taking another soft swig, “Simple question — do you trust me?”

You purse your lips, mulling over the myriad answers you could provide and make it sound like the truth. But that’s not really how the game goes. So instead, you take a deep breath.

“I — I want to,” and it’s the way your voice breaks that makes it honest, the way you can’t hold the truth in by the seams of your careful cadence, no matter how hard you try to smooth out the ragged edges.

“So… that’s a no,” Zoro says, keeping his tone even. You can’t help reaching for him — imploring.

“Not yet but —”

“Why?”

“Why… what?”

“I guess…” Zoro leans back, casting his eyes up at the wild, dark sky, careening above the ship in an ecstatic spread of stars and, long sinuous, moon-silvered clouds, “why d’you want to trust me? Doesn’t seem like something you’d be eager to do after… y’know, everything.”

You lick your lips and stare into the empty bottom of your glass.

“Honestly?” you say, “because you’re kind of a shit liar —”

Zoro lets out a soft, rumbling laugh, but doesn’t deny it.

“But… also because you’re the only person I’ve met who… who treats words so carefully — I mean…” you swallow, leaning forward slightly as Zoro drops his gaze back down to you, “it’s like — my whole life has just been people saying things they don’t really mean, and never meaning what they say, and then trying to figure out what’s really happening — trying to say the right thing, not the thing you mean but the thing you think they’d want to hear —” your breath quickens, “and — and if you don’t or if you’re bad at it, then bad things happen to you and the people you care about —”

“Hey.”

A hand presses down on your shoulder and you gasp, your breath knifing through your chest as you clasp your shaking hands to your sternum.

“Breathe. You’re okay.”

You nod, unable to say anything as Zoro sits in front of you, his hand like an anchor in a summer storm, keeping you tethered.

You breathe and take stock of your limbs — feet, legs, hands, arms. It’s then that you realize Zoro’s crouching in front of you, your drink glass resting by his side.

“Thanks,” you say, nodding as he gives your shoulder a slight squeeze before pulling away. Physical touch has never been one of your strong points, and it seems Zoro’s learned that without you ever having to tell him.

It’s strange — the sudden knowledge that somehow, his understanding of you has been wordless and implicit. Complete, from nearly the day the Straw Hats had picked you up on that island. You’d never had to explain, never had to draw your boundaries.

And yet somehow, he knew. As if he’d always just known.

“Truth or dare?” you ask him, your voice barely a whisper, shifting to make more space for him on the dark deck of the ship’s forecastle. Zoro sits down in front of you, crossing his legs.

“Dare.”

You don’t fight the grin as it lifts the side of your lips.

The quiet pulses between the pair of you like a heartbeat.

“Tell me a secret.”

“Gotta be more specific,” Zoro’s grin lilts to mirror your own.

“Any secret,” you say, “something you… something you wouldn’t otherwise say out loud.”

“Isn’t that what a secret’s supposed to be? Something you don’t say?”

You laugh, tasting the sound like a mouthful of champagne, bubbling up through you and spiraling towards the endless summer’s night.

“Quit stalling!”

“Think I wanna kiss you.”

A gasp slices through the air between you. You feel the weight of it in your throat, the white-hot flicker of his gaze as he glances down at your lips. You wet them without thinking, and as Zoro lean’s in, you can sense the night around you slowly coalescing into something warm, something solid. Like a marble clutched in a child’s palm, or a pearl held on an oyster’s velvet tongue.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

He stops just short of your lips, his nose almost grazing yours. You can nearly taste the sweet sake on his breath —

“Dare.”

“Close your eyes.”

Your lashes flutter and for a second, an eternity revolves in the space between your heartbeats. Faintly, you register the gentle rocking of the ship as an indolent wave catches her starboard side.

You close your eyes.

For a second, there is space. For a second, there is breath. For a second, there is gravity. And then — all of that disappears. All of it eclipsed by the kiss. And then, the kiss is all there is.

All there was, and ever will be.

There’s a graze of fingers against skin, the bump of legs against legs against thighs against knees — there’s knuckles and noses and hair falling, hair being tugged into closing fists. There’s the clink-clink-clink of earrings, and the clatter-clap-clat of swords and hilts and rough, wooden planks.

There’s the dull thunk and baseline rumble of a glass being knocked over and rolling away.

But all of that is afterthought. All of that is supplement, a postscript, marginalia and footnotes.

Because there, then — there is only the kiss, and nothing but the kiss: a catastrophe of inevitability, smooth as a secret, and whisper-sweet.

When the pair of you pull away, there’s a chaos of wings against your ribcage.

There’s the honeyed, lambent light in Zoro’s eyes as he grins down at you.

“Truth — or dare,” a breathless gasp punctuates your words.

Zoro’s grin only grows as he tips your chin back between his thumb and forefinger.

“Dare.”

It’s only then that you realize his cheeks are wine-flushed, his chest rising and falling nearly as fast as yours. You swallow slow and track his eyes as he watches the pale bob of your throat.

“Kiss me again.”

act iii: fool’s gold

It takes all of three hours for Sanji to get something out of Zoro, and three days before Robin and Nami manage to wheedle something out of you.

“No seriously! Things have been different since that one party we had —” Nami presses her palm to the kitchen table, here eyes wide. Robin sits on the couch, her expression one of mixed amusement and near academic interest.

“Different how?” you reach into the cookie jar and fish out a crumbled corner of what used to be a double chocolate chip cookie.

“Ugh! You know what I mean!” Nami turns to Robin, motioning towards you, “Help me here!”

Robin laughs, tossing up a graceful hand, “I suppose something does seem… changed.”

“Something?” you ask, licking at a smudge of chocolate on your thumb.

“Well…” Robin says, drawing out the syllable and making to examine the nails on her long, thin fingers, “it’s definitely not nothing.”

You allow yourself a smile, “Something’s definitely not nothing.”

Nami lets out a frustrated groan, but she’s smiling too.

It’s been long enough that you’d learned to relax around them, and you’d since also learned that nothing is so sacred as the sanctity of sisterhood. That bonds between friends might be forged in fire and brimstone, but bonds between women are forged in cinder and smoke — in the wreckage of after, when the fighting’s been done and all that’s left is the mending.

“What’s all this giggling about?” Zoro ducks into the half-ajar door, staring at the three of you.

Nami cocks an eyebrow; Robin shrugs.

You, for your part, smile and bat your lashes.

“Oh nothing,” you say.

“Just girl-talk,” offers Nami.

“Nothing to interest a legendary swordsman like yourself,” Robin polishes off.

Zoro’s eyes narrow, his gaze jumping between the three of you before it lands on you and he scoffs.

“Yeah, whatever. We’re docking soon.”

And that’s all he offers before sauntering back out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind him, but not before you catch sight of the redness at the tips of his ears as he hurries away.

You give it a beat of three seconds before pushing to your feet and following after, humming to yourself. Behind you, Nami and Robin share a knowing look.

“Definitely not nothing,” Robin says as she stands to follow you.

The island, if it can even be called that, is nothing more than a rough conglomeration of steep cliffs strapped together by a thin band of land barely wide enough to be categorized as a beach.

“Well! This is something!” Luffy declares, his arms akimbo on his hips as he stares at the island.

“Yeah… it’s uh… something for sure,” Usopp agrees, making a face as he squints at the cluster of rocks that look more like the jagged edges of a broken bottle than any kind of proper land formation.

“We’ll just anchor here for the night… get some good rest, and then...” Sanji’s words trail off, interrupted by a ghostly wail that rises from the gathering of dark cliffs, turning them into an echo chamber until it seems to rumble through the sand beneath them.

“… gold, all gold! — no, not a liar — please!”

A shiver etches itself up your spine and instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself.

Zoro steps out in front of you, as if to shield you from whatever might come. His thumb presses against the hilt of his swords, his shoulders tense as corded wire.

“Uh… everyone else heard that too, right?” Chopper asks, peaking out from around Robin’s legs.

“Yep. Definitely not just you,” Sanji confirms.

Luffy grins, “Seems like there’s someone else on this island! Maybe they can show us around!”

Time passes by strangely on the island — one minute, the sun is still hanging low on the far horizon, and the next, the sky is the color of a bullet wound, darkness seeping in around the horizon.

“Whoever’s here on the island — they sure aren’t making it — easy —” Sanji grunts as he hoists himself up a slippery piece of rock face, sweat glistening on his forehead as he squints into the looming blackness.

“Luffy? You sure you know where we’re going?” Nami shouts, her voice ringing back in a way that makes everyone wince and cover their ears.

Zoro grabs your elbow a second before you slip, fingers digging into your flesh even as you steady yourself against him.

“Sorry — thanks,” you say, unsure of which one you really mean.

“Yeah! I can smell something — like a campfire! And… cooking!” Luffy’s voice calls back from somewhere in the gathering dark. Everyone shares a glance before bracing themselves and trudging on.

By the time you all catch up to Luffy, no one is certain of what time it is, only that it’s dark. But the kind of darkness that seems to cling to the skin — a darkness so dense it starts to take on shape and weight.

It presses in around you and you feel your breaths shortening in your chest.

Beside you, Zoro reaches out to brace a hand at the small of your back.

“Oh! I see a light ahead! C’mon!” Luffy’s voice rings out from somewhere up ahead, followed by the patter of sandals on stone. The rest of you follow, and then all too suddenly, light flickers to life in what seems to be a huge, subterranean cave deep within the cliffs of the island. It casts stark shadows against the slick, cavernous walls.

You frown, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs.

But before you have time to dwell on the wrongness of something there, Luffy’s voice snags your attention like a thread on an errant splinter.

“Hi! Oh, wow — that looks delicious!”

You turn a corner to find Luffy hunkering down over a blazing campfire and the silhouette of someone sitting opposite him, a sharp spike held out in front of them, turning slowly over the flickering flames.

“Oh… please… come join me — sit and listen to a story — I have so many stories — so many adventures to share!” the figure across the fire seems to quiver with the dancing flames, his voice filling up the whole of the cave, loud and boisterous and eager. But strange and hollow too.

You frown, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.

Ahead of you, Usopp and Chopper both take tentative seats next to Luffy, who had cheerfully plopped down next to the fire.

“Wow, this looks great! Are you here by yourself? I’m here with my crew! Are you a pirate too?” Luffy asks, his endless enthusiasm pouring from him like a spring.

Robin, Nami, and Sanji all hold back, but you take a step forward, and then another. Something compelling you towards the voice, pulling you closer. There’s a desperation, a loneliness with which you’re all too familiar — you inch closer, and then closer, till you’re almost level with Luffy, and you lower yourself to the ground next to him, Zoro dropping down beside you, his knee pressing against your leg in a silent reassurance.

“Come… come closer! It’s a good story — I promise!”

“Truth,” you mutter, just beneath your breath. Beside you, Zoro lets out a puff of breath, though his stance doesn’t loosen.

Behind you, you can hear the distinct sounds of the rest of the crew drawing just a step closer.

“Once upon a time… there was a city on an island where everything, and I mean everything was made of gold!”

The figure across the fire sounds cheered, elated even. Behind you, you feel Nami take half a step closer. Cold seeps into your veins despite the warm, dancing flames, and your fingers dig into the hard packed earth beneath you.

“I found it — I did! With my crew — the best sailors and seamen around! But the king… he was greedy! And he wanted his own men to take the treasures, so he forced me to lead them to the city again —”

“Truth,” you say again, but something in the tone of the figure’s voice makes you frown.

“Except… the city had gone… and there was nothing left… nothing but lies!”

You shudder back, swallowing hard. All around you, the darkness presses in with long, thin tendrils like so many loving fingers. The fire flares up, casting sparks up towards the cave’s ceiling, where stalagmites hang like broken teeth in a petrified monster’s maw.

“Oh… don’t be scared… come back — I won’t hurt you —”

“Liar!” you spit, the word scraping its way out of your throat.

Zoro leaps to his feet just as Luffy does the same. The fire flares again, a second before snuffing itself out, but in that second, you finally catch sight of the figure, hooded in shadow, sitting across from you — it has the shape of a man, tall and broad, but the limbs of a spindle-legged monster. It wears the darkness like a cloak, with beady, red eyes and a too-wide mouth.

“Don’t! Call me a liar! That’s what they called me — that’s what they called when they killed me! KILLED ME FOR TELLING THE TRUTH!”

You scramble back, Zoro nearly lifting you off the ground in his haste to pull you away. Luffy whips back his arm and swings it forward but all it catches is tendrils of shadow.

“Hey! That’s not nice!” he shakes off his fist, frowning as he stares at the bits of wriggling darkness still clinging to his skin.

“Run!” you shout as everyone bolts for the lightless path you all took to get to the heart of the cave.

“NOT A LIAR! NOT A LIAR! I FOUND IT! THE CITY! BELIEVE ME! BELIEVE ME!”

You clap your hands around your ears and race for what you hope is the exit. Behind you, you can hear the distinct sounds of Zoro’s blades whistling through the air*.*

“Damnit! How’dyou fight a shadow? There’s nothin’ to hit!”

“Quit tryna hit it and just run!” Sanji’s voice answers a second before he breezes passed you.

“Why don’t you believe me? Why?!”

“We — I believe you!” you shout, your chest a thundering mess of footfalls and scrambling bodies, and against all instinct, you turn around to face the darkness again, cupping your hands around your mouth, “I believe you! I know — I know you’re telling the truth!”

“What’re you doing?” Zoro asks, leveling himself by your side, his arm pressing against yours. Behind you, the thinnest sliver of light is creeping into the cave from what you assume is the entrance.

Morning. Has it really been that long?

Time is the greatest liar, you remember, suddenly, violently, the thought tearing through you like teeth.

“I — he’s telling the truth,” you say through gritted teeth, even as you take a few steps back. Inside the cave, the figure seems to shrink back from the encroaching light.

“What truth?” Zoro asks, his blade held aloft, his stance wide and ready.

“All of it,” you say, forcing your voice to be gentle, turning your face back towards the darkness, “I know, I can hear it — I know you’re telling the truth — about the island, the city — all of it!”

“Yes… all I wanted was to get back to the city… but… no one believe me… and I died… I died for it!”

“I know, and I’m sorry… no one should be punished for telling the truth —” your voice cracks.

“I tried!”

“I know…” you say as the figure shrinks and shrinks and shrinks and the light behind you grows and grows and grows, until you can feel the warm seeping into the skin of your back.

“And trying is everything,” you say, biting your lip as Zoro wraps an arm around your waist.

“Come with me… I’ll take you to the city — we can go together!”

You shake your head, heat prickling at your eyes as you turn away from the darkness of the cave and towards the light of the oncoming day.

“Liar…” the word falls from you like a rock, or a tear, cast off the cliff that greets you and Zoro as you both stare over the edge. The rest of the crew is nowhere to be found, but Zoro’s arm is still around your waist, and you can feel his warm breath by your cheek.

“Hey — do you trust me?”

You look up; in the dawning, morning light, Zoro, with his sun-kissed skin and dark moss hair appears to be limned in gold.

And maybe it’s the air, or the sea, or simply the angry pieces of this jagged, left-behind island of shadows like broken teeth trying to tear apart the sky, conducting his voice into a cacophony of echoes that sing and scream through the crags and eves of the valley beneath — but the whole island seems to reverberate with the question —

Do you trust me?

You close your eyes and breath. When you open them again, your heartbeat is steady. And when you speak, the rising sun streaks the tips of the saw-toothed peaks in strokes of molten gold. The valleys beneath you conduct your answer into an entire single-syllabled symphony —

Yes.

You feel his arm tighten around your waist, the wind as it tangles soft fingers in your hair. All around you, everything is light, and light, and light.

“Jump!”

You close your eyes, and jump.

-----

footnotes/appendix

uso-uso no mi translates to "lie-lie fruit"; i made it up bc it would be too op to have in the actual animanga i think

the "acts" refer to a classical 3-act structure that most movies/plays/scripts are written in: setup, confrontation, and resolution... with a smattering of other things sprinkled in for ~vibes~

in much of classical japanese and chinese mythology, foxes are associated with trickers and lies, often turning into beautiful women to deceive men, luring them into forests and mountains before taking their lives

the "figure" in the last scene is... can you guess? noland! kudos to anyone who figured it out as they were reading *\ (>o<) /*

did i absolutely take the "do you trust me" line from disney's aladdin??? HELL YEAH i did !!!! tru trust is my kink u__u

[jesncin]

A Failure of Asian Lois Lane: Pt 2: My Adventures with Superman, an honest discussion

If I had to pinpoint the fundamental problem with My Adventures with Superman's depiction of Asian Lois Lane it's in their attempt to subvert the classic two person love triangle: Lois loves Superman but is indifferent to Clark Kent. In MAWS, Lois insta-crushes on Clark Kent and hates Superman. In the show's attempt to make sense of this dynamic, Lois' Asian identity becomes at odds with a story meant to touch on xenophobia and immigrant themes.

Let's have an honest discussion about a show that made fandom cheer as an Asian character removed the one thing that made her most visibly Asian.

Disclaimer: While I am of East Asian descent, I am not Korean. I'll be discussing general Asian diasporic experiences but the specifics of Korean culture are outside of my knowledge (as usual I can't and don't speak for every Asian person ever, I am 1 opinion). Secondly, I'll be pulling from my personal experiences every now and then particularly pertaining to being a butch Asian person watching this show. It'll be a mix of formal analysis and personal anecdotes. Thirdly, this isn't an exhaustive analysis of MAWS Lois' character. We'll be sticking to what I consider is relevant to themes of Asian identity and immigration. Lastly once more, I do not believe the MAWS crew had malicious intent in any (of what I consider) poor writing decisions. We're here to analyze and challenge these writing decisions.

Please read Pt 1 of Asian Lois analysis that covers the comics, as it provides the groundwork for the ideas expanded on in this essay.

We need to talk about Lois' design. In the follow up to MAWS' release, people have been speculating on Lois' ethnicity. CBR writes that the show has "some fans believing that she's at least part Asian" and other articles have the show crew confirm Lois Korean heritage via her hanbok outfit in episode 4. The existence of these articles, my own anecdotal experience of streaming MAWS with Asian friends, and comments I receive from people asserting Lois' Asian identity was never explored in the show ("you'd only know she was Asian if you searched up articles about it"), tells me we have a case of an ambiguously designed Asian woman. Tangentially many people had no idea Livewire, the white haired and blue eyed woman, was meant to be South Asian.

There's a lot to be said about art styles that don't properly stylize ethnic features, but for the purposes of our analysis that means the writing has to deliver the heavy lifting where the design fails. This is the opposite case of American Alien: a comic that relied on the art to portray Asian Lois.

Let's start at episode 3. In it, Lois finally manages to conduct a private interview with the elusive Superman. When she asks where Superman comes from, how his powers work, etc- Superman comes up empty. In this version, Superman can't talk to his Kryptonian father (Jor-El)'s hologram because of a language barrier, so he knows very little about his alien heritage. He leaves Lois, assuring her he's here to help the people of Metropolis. When Clark Kent congratulates her for interviewing Superman, Lois rebuffs him. "Oh, he's [Superman's] a liar." smirking as she says it. This is the start of the Lois Hates Superman For Being a Liar arc.

I'd like you to consider the optics of an Asian American woman interviewing an alien immigrant who honestly told her he doesn't know where he comes from and is still figuring out who he is, only for her to think he's lying. Because she didn't get the answers she wanted. I can't help but think about my own experiences, where I was asked "but where do you really come from?" or "okay but what's your real name?" I think of my Asian American peers who would honestly say they're from Texas or Atlanta and get a vindictive "you're lying" as a response. People want to hear you're from China. They want their biases confirmed. I think about how I honestly can't tell you where my elders hailed from, because of cultural genocide and language barriers. This scene makes me uncomfortable, but let's press on.

Episode 4 is where Lois is most visibly Korean. In this episode the trio of Lois, Clark, and Jimmy are tasked with interviewing rich techbro Prof. Ivo of Amazo tech at an investor event. It's a prom episode. Lois wears a "hanbok inspired gala outfit" designed by Dou Hong and Jane Bak in a deliberate move to showcase Lois' Korean heritage. Bak comments "I remember feeling strongly about wanting to inject some aspect of her Korean heritage without disrupting her characteristic as a spunky and resourceful intern/reporter." while the wording poorly implies that Korean heritage is at odds with Lois' spunky personality- I do want to challenge a couple of the decisions that went into this design.

I want to acknowledge as an Asian butch that there are many ways to sport traditional garments and it's okay to mix and match to figure out what reclaiming culture (and your comfort) mean to you. However we're talking about the opportunity to showcase culture in an episode of a fictional animated show. I also encourage cultural gender expression that thinks outside of western white people's idea of gender (in both fiction and real life).

Whenever artists try to do a non-conforming spin on a cultural outfit, I always have to ask: "what standard of masculinity are we basing this on?" It's clear that MAWS is pushing for a "tomboy" Lois, and this gala outfit is an extension of that. But what's the standards of masculinity in a Korean lens? Men wear hanbok too, so why can't Lois imitate how Korean men wear hanbok, by traditionally accompanying her look with baji (baggy and loose pants)? This design notably has tight pants that hug the form, instead. I know the hanbok look has been modernized in and out of Korea in many ways, but in a show where you have the opportunity to showcase cultural non-conformity, I feel more thought should be put into the outfit outside of a potentially western lens- or the idea that cultural heritage of any sort "disrupts" a character's personality.

Now that we've discussed the design of the outfit, let's look into the narrative role it plays in episode 4. While we can celebrate cultural representation in media, I consider it important to ask "what is this media's relationship with the cultures it represents?" and the answer for Lois' hanbok in this episode is: nothing! It's an aesthetic acknowledgement of culture. "Hanbok" or "Korea" are not terms explicitly mentioned in the show. When Prof Ivo offers beautiful women as compensation for Clark to keep quiet about his company's corruption, Ivo looks over to Lois- who spills food on her clothes, and remarks that she's unclassy. She's not judged for wearing othering cultural clothes- which would have tied nicely into Clark choosing to be silent on issues of Ivo displacing a neighborhood, making Clark realize his complacency actively hurts marginalized people. Despite wearing cultural outfits being a political statement in America, nobody reacts to it. It's clear what the actual goal of this scene is: Clark looks cool for defending his "tomboy" crush.

In a scene blatantly made for fanservice, Lois offers to sew up Clark's ripped tuxedo by undressing her hanbok so she can reach her little sewing kit. Lois never wears her hanbok again afterwards. This scene haunts me. It's a scene that tells you that fanservice is more important than cultural representation. It's a scene meant to set up that Clark gives his tuxedo to Lois later on for warmth. Lois removing her hanbok is meant for not one, but two fanservice scenes.

Lois talks to Clark at the stairwell. She opens up about her estranged relationship with her father, how her mom has passed away, and how she's been an intern at the Daily Planet for a year with no sign of being hired. This makes the narrative decision for Lois to lose her hanbok far more tragic. Lois being a diasporic child with so few familial ties to her culture would mean garments like her hanbok would hold a lot of sentimental value! It's hard enough finding a cultural outfit that fits with your butchess (many of my cultural outfits are hand made to fit my form and gender expression), and yet Lois unceremoniously loses her hanbok. You would think in Lois opening up about being distant from her parents that Clark would be able to culturally relate with the distance he has with his Kryptonian parents. But the narrative opportunity to link their immigrant experiences is not taken, because the show simply doesn't recognize the parallel between the two.

Instead MAWS pushes for the Lois Thinks Superman is A Liar thing again. A far less narratively substantial and fundamentally flawed arc. This episode starts with Lois calling Superman a liar and has Lois ranting about him "dodging her questions" (remember, he was honest with her about not knowing his heritage) thereby rendering her interview unpublishable. She resorts to conspiracy tabloids giddily provided by Jimmy for information. She rather cruelly says "nobody normal believes in aliens". We are uncomfortably seeing the build up of Lois being allegorically xenophobic towards alien immigrants- a Lois on a quest to out an alien before he's ready. This is their justification for flipping the love triangle. Lois loves cuteboy Clark from work, and hates Superman for not confirming her biases that would help her publish an interview that would promote her at work. What a love story.

To wrap this episode up: Prof Ivo ends up challenging Superman to a fight so he can flex his Parasite suit to investors, only for it to backfire, destroy his reputation, and greatly damage the Amazo building (remember this it'll come back later). The episode ends with Lois discovering Superman is Clark Kent. Anecdotally, I was so frustrated with the treatment of Lois' hanbok in this episode, that I went online to search if anyone else felt similarly. All I was met with was fandom thirsting over the stairwell scene where Clark and Lois were undressing. Consider the optics of an Asian character who removed the most visible signifier of her heritage (the outfit far more culturally specific where her character design was racially ambiguous) and how people cheered because that meant they could see her in her undergarments. They can happily thirst over the body they desired now that the othering cultural garment was out of the way. It's just clothes after all. Diversity clothes. This show continues to be very uncomfortable, and a little too real.

In episode 5 Lois is passive aggressive to Clark and Superman, trying to get Clark to admit he's Superman and vice versa. She eventually confronts Clark by jumping off the roof of the Daily Planet, causing Clark to fly down and save her. She proclaims she doesn't want to be friends with him anymore for "lying" to her. This episode caused a huge ruckus online as people were divisive over Lois' actions. Some defended Lois, saying that "women should be messy" and "it's not Lois Lane if she doesn't do something crazy for journalism!". Ignoring that opinion's very flandarized view of Lois' character for a second, let's thoroughly discuss how this relates to themes of immigration and Asian identity.

By this episode, Lois had known Clark for 5 days. In that time she's entitled and angry to the point of friend-breaking-up with him because he wouldn't disclose his marginalized identity to her within less than a week. "A secret is another type of lie!" Lois says, regardless of her lying on sight to both Jimmy and Clark upon meeting them at work, and continued to lie in episode 3 (after promising not to in ep 1) about her intentions to interview Superman. Only Lois gets to lie in this relationship. The hypocrisy of her character is never recognized. Clark calls out Lois for having previously admitted to him that she wanted to dox Superman and "publish all his secrets. MY secrets!". Keep in mind that when Clark brings up Superman feeling uncomfortable about his secrets being published by Lois in episode 3, Lois' response was "yeah, but HE doesn't know that's my plan!". She explicitly admits that she would publish private information about Superman without his permission. But when she's confronted by Clark in episode 5 about that, her response is "I would never do that to you, I didn't know it was you until after the gala. How could you think that?" It's only through conflict of interest that Lois spares Superman of being doxed. He's supposed to magically know this. Extremely cool of Asian American Lois to be entitled to an alien immigrant's identity within four business days.

Episode 6 wraps up the Lois Hates Superman For Being A Liar arc, so let's quickly summarize what happens. Lois and Clark set aside their fight to find Jimmy in an abandoned scientific facility (he's being cared for by Mallah and the Brain). Jimmy admits (very smugly) to having known Clark was Superman all along because he kept breaking stuff. As the trio are chased by killer robots, they emotionally confront Clark for not trusting them with his alien secret- despite neither Lois or Jimmy creating a safe environment for Clark to come out to either of them (Jimmy outed Superman as an alien on his video channel). The moral of the story is Clark should have trusted his friends anyway, because lying is bad. Not once does the narrative hold Jimmy or Lois accountable.

We have Black Jimmy Olsen and Asian American Lois Lane being entitled to their white passing friend Clark Kent's marginalized alien identity. A joke is made at Jimmy's expense that he doesn't understand bigotry, and Lois clearly doesn't understand why an immigrant wouldn't be forthcoming about his identity to his hostile friends at work. This is how that arc ends.

I'd like to quickly compare this Lois Hates Superman For Being A Liar arc to my favorite scene in Superman Smashes the Klan. In this story, Superman debuts as a strongman superhero instead of an alien, suppressing his more othering powers to pass as human. He jumps instead of flying. Roberta, the Chinese American girl targeted by the Klan, calls Superman out for not using his full abilities to save people who could've gotten hurt. Yet, as she's calling him out, Roberta understands Superman's fear of not wanting to be othered. She sees the way her father dresses up to pass as an accomplished scientist, how he tells her mom to speak in English, how her brother makes racist jokes at their family's expense to fit in. She's not mad at Superman, she's mad at the world that would be scared of Superman if he flew.

"I wish it were okay for you to fly!" Roberta yells. This is a beautifully empathetic scene that shows a marginalized person frustrated at a systemic problem, instead of blaming the marginalized for being marginalized. It's the empathy and perspective we're missing from MAWS.

Episode 7 is a metatextual episode where MAWS addresses how their Lois isn't like the other Loises you've seen before. Lois and Jimmy are brought on to a team of alternate dimension Loises to find interdimensional troublemaker Mxy. In seeing the other more accomplished Loises in the multiverses, Lois ends up feeling inadequate about her self worth...in connection to being Superman's girlfriend, of course. Because Superman only loves Lois Lane after she wins a couple of Pulitzers, right?

I'm open to a version of Lois Lane that isn't as accomplished as she's historically known to be. I can like a Lois that's young and idealistic, like in Girl Taking Over. It's hard not to compare this episode to 2022's Everything Everywhere All At Once, another multiverse story about an Asian American woman who is the "greatest failure" version of all the parallel iterations of herself. But while that movie talks in depth about themes of generational trauma, expectations, and self potential within Asian immigrant families, MAWS uses the multiverse to say that while their Lois is less accomplished, she's still a good girlfriend to Superman! Why should I bother giving grace to a different take on Lois only to get such a superficial story out of it. This is metatextual-ly frustrating.

Why is it, the minute we get an adaptation of an Asian Lois in something as prominent as an animated show, we get "the worst Lois in the multiverse"? Lois is historically depicted as excelling in her field. She's an award winning journalist, jaded and mean from having to work her way to the top. She owns her sexuality, she's the experienced city girl. Instead of taking the opportunity to inform Lois' jadedness and excellence with her Asian American identity like in Girl Taking Over, instead we have an Asian Lois that's simply incompetent at her job. Why are we now adapting historically accomplished women into adorkable quirky screw ups? She went from being sexually confident to being insecure over sending a text to Clark. Is it more relateable to see an Asian woman that way? Is it too intimidating to see a butch Asian woman who excels at her job? Who's romantically confident? This is what MAWS would rather do than humanize her excellence or her failures.

Are you tired of an ambiguously designed Asian American woman reporter being xenophobic to Superman in MAWS? Well too bad because episode 8 introduces us to Vicki Vale, voiced by Andromeda Dunker (an Asian actress), with explicit notes in leaked concept art to design this character as "Indian American or Asian American" (as if those are mutually exclusive...) inspired off of real Asian reporter Connie Chung. Vicki wants to write a hit piece on Superman and interviews Prof Ivo's assistant, Alex, for a negative biased opinion on Superman (to Lois and Jimmy's dismay).

This episode is where it's abundantly clear the writers don't know how to talk about xenophobia. They'll make nods to xenophobic rhetoric, but they don't know what the rhetoric means. In response to Alex's derisive opinion on Superman destroying Amazo tower thereby bankrupting the company and putting "thousands out of work", Vicki responds "Superman wiped out good American jobs". This is a misplaced nod to Replacement Theory: the fear white people have over people of color, but particularly immigrants, coming to "their" country to "steal" jobs they're entitled to, ultimately becoming demographically replaced by non-white cultures and people. This rhetoric is also commonly applied to Jewish people.

The problem is, that's not what Superman did in the show. Amazo tech was going to go bankrupt because of Prof Ivo's poor business decisions. Prof Ivo made the mistake of antagonizing Superman and ruining his own image. Superman damaging the building came from his fight with Prof Ivo, not a deliberate attempt to get hired (if anything don't the building repair people have new jobs now?). No one's job is tangibly being taken by Superman. None of this is called out by Lois or Jimmy, who know the full story and were even the ones to attack Alex for helping Prof Ivo (let's be real the writers forgot this happened). In fact, Lois and Jimmy don't react to Vicki's Replacement Theory remark at all! It's like they don't even recognize she said something with racist implications!

Jimmy and Lois meet up with Superman who learns the people of Metropolis are becoming scared of him (from causing some recent property damage in an attempt to hunt a criminal down) and writing mean comments on social media. A user writes "he should go back to where he came from." This is a transparently xenophobic comment. It doesn't work in the context of the show because of a huge plot hole: Superman never publicly came out as an alien to Metropolis. No verified newspaper has explicitly made this fact known. The only source that mentions this is Jimmy's conspiracy channel, which the citizens of Metropolis are apparently treating as fact- therefore (if we're to believe this is how people knew) this means Jimmy absolutely outed Superman as an alien without Clark's consent.

So how does Asian American Lois respond to seeing her alien boyfriend go through xenophobia? She says "Take a break from being Superman and just try being normal." To be fair, the narrative does portray Lois saying the word "normal" as charged (only here at least, not in episode 4), and when she tells Superman to "take a break" it's because he had been overworking himself after suddenly unlocking the ability to hear when someone's in trouble. But was this really the response Asian American Lois thought to say? To her boyfriend going through such explicit xenophobia? At this point it's abundantly clear that racism doesn't exist in the world of MAWS. Being "normal" is to be human. And to be marginalized- or as the show likes to call it "different" is only reserved for white passing alien man Clark (along with gorilla and robot that was once a white man). Any hope of an immigrant parallel between Asian American Lois and Superman should be fully discarded at this point.

After the events of the previous episode where Superman is kidnapped by Task Force X, in episode 9 Lois regrets being allegorically xenophobic to Clark. At least I think that's what's happening. I often describe MAWS as a show that's extremely squeamish with getting political- and I believe the vagueness of Lois' Dark Night of the Soul moment reflects that. "I said awful things to Clark. I doubted him when he needed us most. I was wrong and now he's gone..." Lois says as she cries to Jimmy. Is this dialogue implying she shouldn't have told a sleep deprived Superman to take a break? What did she doubt about him? This dialogue is purposefully vague about Lois being xenophobic. They've universalized Clark's immigrant identity to such a point that they can't keep their argument consistent. Was Lois in the wrong for telling her overworked superhero boyfriend to take a break? Or was she being xenophobic for telling him to lay low for a while? Or is she regretful for hating Superman for Being A Liar? How is that possible when the narrative sided with her and Jimmy in episode 6? It's woefully non-committal. Regardless, the intent of this scene is to pay off in the climax of the episode.

In the end Superman has a showdown with Prof Ivo Parasite, who has grown into a large godzilla-esque kaiju creature. In typical MAWS fashion, the show is more interested in a surface level nod to Asian media instead of engaging with the specific themes of nature and post-war trauma kaijus and godzilla serve in Japanese culture. I digress. Using Jimmy's massive social media platform, Lois delivers a hope speech that instantly heals Metropolis of its xenophobia towards Superman.

Lois says to the people of Metropolis.: "People have told you to fear Superman because he's different from us. But we humans are capable of causing hurt and pain too. [...] Because we want to punish those who don't look or act like us." I mean this in the most polite way possible, but who on Earth thought this line was a good idea for Asian American Lois Lane to deliver when talking about white passing man Superman?? Why did the writers feel the need to specify Superman not looking like us. I simply don't understand how nobody considered the terrible optics of this.

After Superman defeats Parasite, episode 10 is about Clark, Lois, and Jimmy celebrating Thanksgiving at the Kents' house. At the Daily Planet, the trio of interns are promoted to finally being reporters. It only took Clark and Jimmy a few weeks while it took Lois a whole year! Now feels like a good time to remind you that Lois as a character was historically frustrated at sexism in the industry and despised how men were treated better than her (including Clark Kent). Well in MAWS episode 4, Lois has no idea why she isn't getting picked up to be a reporter. According to the narrative, and Perry White's dialogue ("you're terrible interns, so the only thing to do was to make you reporters")- she simply didn't break enough rules yet! Thank goodness she had the help of two men to show her how it's done! This is a pretty clear case of character regression. Keep in mind that in American Alien, at the very least that Asian Lois still underwent sexism, and I gave it the grace that the story could eventually expand to talking about both sexism and racism if it were to continue. But in MAWS? I don't think even sexism exists, let alone racism. Somehow Thanksgiving does, though.

Half the final episode is spent on Thanksgiving shenanigans where everyone's trying to be polite but they dislike Lois' stoic dad (Sam Lane)- who Clark recognizes as the Asian American xenophobic man who tortured him in Task Force X's government bunkers. A parallel is pulled between Sam and Jor-El, two fathers with different ideals when it comes to protecting their kids. There's a huge missed opportunity to have Lois and Sam speak in Korean with each other, to create a parallel in the language barrier between Clark and Jor-El. Maybe Lois isn't as fluent in Korean as Sam is depending on how culturally connected she is. Oh, but the existence of non-English human languages would imply some sort of minority, who would be marginalized, and we can't have anyone outside of aliens and a gorilla be marginalized in MAWS. Non-English languages in America are political, after all. Oh, but they also got a Filipino actor to voice Sam. Generously Lois could be Filipino-Korean but if we're being truly honest it's clear the MAWS crew think Asians are interchangeable.

Let's talk about Sam. In terms of optics, it's already not great that the main villains who represent the face of America's secret government xenophobia are Amanda Waller and Sam Lane- a Black woman and an Asian man. What's doubly notable is that of the antagonistic villains, Sam and Vicki are the most xenophobic. When Sam tortures Superman, he shouts "When is the invasion? How many of your kind will come through this time?" without a hint of irony. Reminder that historically, Asian immigrants were (and still are) considered invaders in America. They are the perpetual foreigner. MAWS loves making nods to Superman being an immigrant allegory, and yet they can't fathom the human beings that allegory is inspired by.

It's not impossible to portray people of color or even Asian American characters specifically being xenophobic. In Superman Smashes the Klan, Dr. Lee is initially antagonistic towards Superman but we understand why. We see him trying desperately to assimilate into whiteness, to the point he rejects assistance from his Black neighbors who help put out a fire in their backyard (that the Klan started as a threat). We understand why he's a character who would turn on fellow people of color, or fellow immigrants, in order to fit in. For MAWS, if we had a flashback scene where Sam was serving in the military and fought against Asian soldiers, showcasing his loyalty to America over his own people- that would narratively explain why an Asian American character would be xenophobic. Writing bigotry from within marginalized communities requires specificity. Otherwise, you've just got a diverse villain. In the end, Lois defends her immigrant alien boyfriend from her xenophobic Asian American dad.

Whenever I bring up how MAWS fails its characters of color but especially Asian Lois, I'm met with people telling me that "hopefully they'll make Lois more Asian in S2" or "they'll just retcon the bad writing in S1" and I hope this thorough analysis on the treatment of Lois' Asian American identity can help enlighten why I personally think that's impossible. The entire concept is flawed from the very beginning. The story MAWS wants to tell is at odds with Lois' Asian identity. In trying to justify an Asian Lois that loves Clark but hates Superman, they never considered what it means to hate Superman. To hate the alien immigrant. The alien other. What it means for an Asian American character to do all that. MAWS is a show that wants to have its cake and eat it too, they want a diverse world without racism or sexism but still want to reap the clout of lightly portraying Superman as "different".

They'll make the most surface level nods to Lois' Korean heritage- but remove all of the cultural context from them. They can't be bothered to acknowledge the inherit political identity being a person of color means in America, they're too busy doing that with Clark. I'm told "MAWS didn't have the time to go over Lois' Asian identity, it's a 10-episode series that focuses on Clark's alienation", and to that I say the potential of an immigrant love story and time frame was there, they simply chose to go another direction.

When I bring up things like Superman Smashes the Klan, Girl Taking Over, and Everything Everywhere All At Once, it's not to say MAWS should have used those stories as reference when crafting their allegory. All of those specific media were released while MAWS was deep in production already. Girl Taking Over was released the same year MAWS premiered. What I am saying is that we, as the audience, should have higher standards. Because better media portraying Asian American characters already exist. Better media portraying Asian characters relating to Superman mythos already exists. What we're doing when we celebrate the breadcrumbs of representation that is MAWS, is allowing mediocrity to exist uncritically.

Shows like Wednesday are known in the discourse for their portrayal of Black characters as being functionally white, yet that kind of scrutiny doesn't seem known for MAWS. The diverse reimagining of Lois and Jimmy is so poorly handled in MAWS that it would honestly make more sense if Jimmy and Lois were white here. The joke made at Jimmy's expense that he doesn't understand bigotry would be actually funny if it was calling out his white privilege. If, for whatever reason, the writers are compelled to write a xenophobic Lois that unlearns her bigotry and falls for Superman, I'd rather she be white for that kind of story. I wouldn't personally root for that kind of couple, but at least it'd make sense. It's a common joke among DCAU fans of color that we like to headcanon Lex Luthor as Black, or Lois Lane and Terry Mcginnis as Asian. It's a cruel irony that the one time we finally have a canonized Asian Lois in an animated show, she honestly feels and acts whiter than actual white Lois ever was.

I mentioned in Pt 1 of my essay that Asian Lois and Superman has the potential to be a definitive love story. One that considers both their backgrounds as immigrants, othered in different ways by American society. The story of a jaded but accomplished Asian city girl who finds hope to be herself again in an alien immigrant superhero. One where she gets the courage to wear traditional clothes again, to practice languages she once suppressed. The story of Superman, an alien immigrant, finding hope in someone with a painfully similar experience.

As of writing, we have yet to see this dynamic in any canon DC media. A second season of MAWS will not give us that story.

[longwuzhere]

My Adventures with Superman Season 2 Easter Eggs

Welcome to another week of My Adventures with Superman and what a great episode this one was! I CALLED IT THAT WE'LL BE SEEING A CERTAIN CHARACTER SHOW UP SINCE EPISODE 1 SEASON 1!!! OK lets get to the easter eggs!

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here.

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here.

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here.

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

Spoilers if you haven't seen it yet.

At the start of the episode we see Clark discover a new power of his to protect a person (we'll talk about him soon) during a fire. What we are seeing here is Clark using his Bio Electric Aura. Superman's Bio Electric Aura was first introduced in Superman #1 (1987) where Superman is investigating an abandoned laboratory where stats on Superman are plastered over the computer monitors and he finds the body of the scientist who's neck was snapped by something powerful. So in order to to keep the things inside safe and way from bad people (we'll talk more about this later), Superman does this (W&P: John Byrne, I: Terry Austin, C: Tom Zuiko, L: John Costanza:

He takes it up to space so the vacuum can keep it preserved. But Superman is able to lift such a large piece of land thanks to his Bio Electric Aura. What it does is help protect the Bio Electric Aura user from damage and enhance their strength, speed, and durability. The user extends their aura to whatever object they are interacting with, in Superman's case, this giant piece of land, and be able to lift it up without IRL physics affecting them. Check out All-Star Superman to see how far Clark can use his bio electric aura!

Clark was able to save the man's life from the fire started by Livewire (I talked more about her here). But before the reveal, we have a fun name drop in the scene! The man Clark saved was Silas Stone, the father of Victor Stone aka Cyborg of the Teen Titans/Titan (yeah I know Cyborg was with the Justice League sometimes but he fits with the Teen Titans/Titans more)!

Silas Stone made his first appearance in DC Comics Presents #26 (1980) [W: Marv Wolfman, P: George Perez, I: Dick Giordano, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda] as a STAR Labs scientist. After his son's accident, Silas had Victor rebuilt with new cybernetic parts in order to keep him alive, a move that strained his relationship with his son. Here in the pages Raven was showing the Teen Titans that Silas was in trouble trying contact this protoplasmic cell.

Speaking of Victor, we get a reference to him after Livewire threatened his life and Victor was forced to delete the files he had on AmerTek (we'll talk more about that later).

Victor Stone makes his first appearance also in DC Comics Presents #26 (1980) [ W: Marv Wolfman, P: George Perez, I: Dick Giordano, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda]. Robin and the rest of the Titans gather at Titan's Tower but for some reason Robin can't recognize the team.

The title for this episode is a nod to Hiromu Arakawa's manga/anime Fullmetal Alchemist, IMO the gold standard when it comes to action manga/anime. Fantastic read and watch highly recommend either watching the anime, Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood and the first Fullmetal Alchemist just to see how the two are different, but also read the manga because its just that good! A very appropriate title for what we will be discussing next!

Finally the one character I hope would show up in MAwS, John Henry Irons! In MAwS like his comic book counterpart worked for AmerTek, but in MAwS Irons hoped he could use AmerTek be beneficial for his neighborhood, Bakerline (which I talked more about here.)

John Henry Irons makes his first appearance in Adventures of Superman #500 (1993) [First Sighting: Man of Steel segment - W: Louise Simonson, P: Jon Bogdanove, I: Dennis Janke, C: Glenn Whitmore, L: Bill Oakley] during the start of the Reign of the Supermen storyline where we see John be buried under rubble after saving one of foreman coworkers and with the help of Superman was able to save both of them. However Doomday attacked the city and John was ready to pay Superman back by helping him fight Doomsday as well but the building John was in collapsed burying him.

Like his comicbook counterpart, John don's a suit to help out Superman later in the episode. In the comics John wears the Steel armor in Superman: The Man of Steel #22 (1993) [Cover art by Jon Bogdanove and Dennis Janke]. After Superman's death at the hands of Doomsday, John builds the Steel suit in order figure out why the weapons he created but ultimately destroyed were in the hands of the gangs of Metropolis. He later learns that Amertek Industries, his former employer was still in business distributing the weapons.

As Clark is running late for a date with Lois as Waid's cafe (I talked about this reference here and you hear a bit of the MAwS leitmotif in the cell jingle.

At the AmerTek demo, Lois is in the crowd to see what they have for their showcase and we see Thomas Weston demonstrate the Metallo, two DC characters from the comics.

Thomas Weston and AmerTerk makes their first appearance in Steel #2 (1994) [W: Louise Simonson, Jon Bogdanove, P: Chris Batista, I: Rich Faber, Andrew Pepoy, C: Gina Going, L: Pat Brosseau]. In the comics Thomas Weston is a Colonel and CEO of Amertek Industries where it is a weapons manufacturing company for the government but upon seeing the weapons be used in the streets of Metropolis, John Henry Irons quits his job as their engineer and destroys all the schematics he had on the weapons, but Amertek Industries was still able to steal John's armor designs for soldiers. If you want to check out John's adventures as Steel give Death of Superman, Reign of the Supermen, Steel, and the current series Steelworks, a read. They're all pretty awesome! Also if you like John Henry Iron's premise give Milestone Comics' Hardware a shot too, same with the current Hardware series too!

Metallo's name was first used in World's Finest #6 (1942) [W: Jerry Seigel, P&I: John Sikela) where Metalo, here aka George Grant, was a scientists who wore a metal suit to rob a train.

The next Metallo was John Corben who first appeared in Action Comics #252 (1959) [W: Robert Bernstein, P&I: Al Plastino], the same comic with Supergirl's first appearance. Here, John Corben's car swerved off a cliff and Professor Vale was able to replace his limbs and heart with metal while his heart is powered by uranium until John Corben learned that Kryptonite would be a better substitute because his uranium heart can only last for a day, while Kryptonite would not need to be replaced at all.

The next Metallo is Roger Corben who first appeared in Superman #310 (1977) [Cover art by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Bob Oksner]. Here, Roger Corben was part of SKULL who engineered Roger's death in order to create a second Metallo just like his deceased brother, John Corben. SKULL manipulated Roger to blame Superman for his misfortune and to seek revenge for his brother.

The more modern Metallo returns this time as John Corben again post-Crisis on Infinite Earths, in Superman #1 (1987) [Cover art by John Byrne, W&P: John Byrne, I: Terry Austin, C: Tom Zuiko, L: John Costanza]. Here, Metallo was built by scientist Emmet Vale, who transferred John Corben's brain to the robot body after Corben's car accident, and using technology stolen from Clark's rocket ship that brought him to Earth. He found bits of Kryptonite and coined it that which is used to power Corben's new body.

At the presentation Vicki Vale tries to get the story from Lois and I talked a bit about her here and she later name drops Palmer Tech. While not in the comics Palmer Tech is a reference to Palmer Technologies from the CW Arrow-verse where it is specialized in nanotechnology founded by Ray Palmer (played by Brandon Routh who was formerly Superman in Superman Returns and Superman again in the CW Arrow-verse) which segues to...

Ray Palmer aka the Atom who first appeared in Showcase #34 (1961) [Cover art by Gil Kane, Murphy Anderson, and Ira Schnapp]. Ray Palmer is a professor from Ivy Town. He stumbles upon a White Dwarf Star fragment which when shot with ultraviolet light can cause anything touching the light to shrink, however after a few minutes later that shrunk object would explode. When Ray used the fragment on himself though, he was able to shrink fine and returned to his normal height. It's hypothesized that his Metagene is what made it safe for him to shrink and grow and as a result he built a device to control the size shrinking and growing on his belt and thus the Atom was born.

Later in the episode Clark and Jimmy meet up with Flip and John comes in to greet the former two and name drops his niece, Natasha.

Natasha Irons makes her first appearance in Steel #1 (1994) [W: Louise Simonson, Jon Bogdanove, P: Chris Batista, I: Rich Faber, C: Gina Going, L: Pat Brosseau] where she greets John who arrived back in Washington DC. Years later in Action Comics #806 (2003) [W: Joe Kelly, P&I: Karl Kerschel , C: Guy Major, L: Comicraft] where after facing the news of her uncle John retiring the Steel mantle, Natasha discovers the hammer and unlocks a recording he made where he discussed the new suit he built. Natasha dons the cool as hell new armor and takes up the Steel name. Fingers crossed Natasha gets to show up and suit up as well, maybe even team up with Kara in the future if that happens?!

At the end of the episode Lex unfortunately buys out AmerTek and renames it to LexCorp. LexCorp was first mentioned in Superman #416 (1986) [W: Elliot S. Maggin, P: Curt Swan, I: Al Williamson, C: Gene D'Angelo, L: Duncan Andrews] where Superman encounters a hologam message from Future Superman telling him to not pursue Lex who will save a child that will cure him of his obsessive hatred for Superman which then leads to Lex using his brains to benefit humankind like the holocaster that is mentioned in the panels. The later iteration of Lex where he is a shady businessman when John Byrne took over the Man of Steel and Superman titles helped establish LexCorp to what we know today in pop culture (fantastic runs btw definitely recommend reading them).

And with that episode 3 is done! Come back next week for episode 4's references and Easter eggs!

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs ad references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[captain-hawks]

congrats on the milestone !! so exciting !! ૮⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ ა can i request manjiro sano + leather + magenta ? & congrats again !! ♡

(ahhhh thank you so much!!!!!!)

manjiro sano x f!reader

c: 18+ ONLY, smut, timeskip mikey, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, car sex, semi-public sex, hair pulling kink (m!receiving), praise kink, flirting with a traffic violation or two

“So what do you think?”

Mikey glances over at you from the driver’s seat of his new car, flexing his fingers over the gear lever. Beside him, the sunset’s bright bloom of colors filters in through the tinted windows, leaving the edges of his dark hair outlined in a vibrant flare of magenta.

You shrug and respond in a teasing voice, “Feels safer riding around on four wheels, but…the bike does look sexier.”

He raises his eyebrows, eyes alight with a familiar look of mischief as he revs the engine at a stop light and repeats, “Safer?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his arm, but he catches your wrist before you can pull it away, brushing a chaste kiss against the back of your hand. You suppress the urge to shiver, though judging by the way you can feel him grin against your skin, you’ve done a poor job at it.

“I mean, statistically speaking...”

Mikey playfully bites at one of your knuckles, and you retaliate by freeing your hand and tugging on his hair.

“Well now you’re about to make this much less safe,” he warns you, voice dropping an octave.

Letting your fingers trace the hinge of his jaw before primly placing your hand back into your lap, you tease, “What, did that hurt?”

An amused sound leaves his mouth, and he places his hand atop your bare thigh. “You know exactly what that does.”

Fingertips dancing along the hem of your skirt, he slowly begins to slide his hand beneath the thin material, climbing even higher up your leg. Eyes widening a fraction, you glance over at him, but his expression remains neutral as he stares at the road ahead, left hand curled around the steering wheel. 

“Mikey.”

“Hmm?” Nonplussed, he skims a finger over the soft cotton of your underwear, dragging it along the soft, plush heat between your thighs.

“This feels a little—” you inhale sharply as he plucks at the elastic, letting it snap back against your skin. “Backward.”

He grins, car slowing to a stop at another light. “I only need one hand to drive.”

Any remaining argument dies on your lips, replaced by a choked out whimper when he hooks a finger in your panties and tugs them aside, dragging a finger through your damp folds. A jolt of pleasure trails up your spine, and you subconsciously spread your legs wider for him. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs as you relax into the seat.

“Someone’s going to see,” you breathe out, though you’re not sure if you could ask him to stop at this point, your entire body taut like a livewire made of tension and need as he slowly teases your plump clit. 

“The windows are tinted for a reason.” He slides a finger into your tight cunt, groaning as you whine and rock your hips into his touch. “Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

The car rumbles down the road, and Mikey smoothly takes the next turn, the steering wheel sliding along his palm as he plunges a second finger into your drenched hole. Your pussy greedily takes him in, entrance fluttering around the welcome stretch of both digits as he breaches your sensitive, saturated walls. Biting your lower lip, you let your head fall back against the headrest, the scent of new leather crawling up your nose as you inhale deeply. 

“What if I make a mess?” you ask him, your short skirt already bunched up from the way you’re now shamelessly trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“I’m not worried about that,” he calmly responds, your cunt wetly squelching in time with his repeated thrusts.

You could let him keep coasting, your legs spread wide as he finger fucks you till you’re squirting all over his brand new leather seats, his eyes calmly on the road in front of him all the while. 

But you’re all in on this now, and you’re feeling a little greedy as you watch Mikey reach down and adjust himself in his jeans at a red light—

“Find somewhere quiet to pull over, Manjiro,” you whisper, though his name comes out as more of a broken moan than anything else as he teases your engorged clit.

Mikey needs no further instruction, the car engine revving louder as he leans his foot heavier on the gas, the car eventually slowing to a stop in a deserted parking lot behind a shopping center a few minutes later. Throwing the car into park, he hardly has time to push his seat back before you’re climbing into his lap, your mouths a wet tangle of tongues and lips and teeth as he grasps the back of your head and kisses you hard.

He groans as you start grinding against his erection, chasing the pleasure that shudders through you and panting into his mouth. Your fingers fumble with the zipper of his jeans, sticky arousal dripping down your thighs as you finally wrap your fingers around his hard, flushed cock.

It’s a tight squeeze—straddling Mikey’s lap in the driver’s seat, your movements limited to the confines of the narrow car’s interior. But as you lower your slick pussy down onto his thick, throbbing length, you can’t be bothered to care about the way the steering wheel presses into your back or the way your knee is crammed against the door. 

Every other thought in your mind goes quiet, rendered inconsequential in comparison to the hungry look in Mikey’s eyes and the rough, wrecked tone of his voice as he rasps, “You feel so fucking good.”

His thumbs press firmly into your hip bones as he grasps your waist, murmuring a filthy cascade of praise as you moan for him, riding his cock hard enough to shake the car. Mikey’s mouth moves against yours in a messy kiss as he meets your desperation in kind, hips snapping upward as his cock punches even deeper into your slick cunt.

One of your hands releases its grip on the front of Mikey’s shirt, fingers sliding up the back of his neck and threading into his silky black hair. You can feel the way he tenses under your touch, cunt pulsing around his shaft in satisfaction at the groan that leaves him when you tug at the strands. Mikey’s grip on your hips tightens, and he quickens the pace of his thrusts, pounding up into you.

“Come for me,” he pants, the wanton tenor of his voice dripping down your nervous system with the consistency of warm honey.

Your field of vision goes white as pleasure explodes within you, the coil in your chest unfurling like a whip under the shuddering force of your orgasm. Mikey fucks you through it, cock sliding in and out of you as you moan into his mouth, your walls spasming and contracting frantically around his length.

And then he’s throwing his head back, the tendons in his neck straining while he lifts himself out of the seat and comes with a shout, cock lodged to the hilt in your soaked, velvety walls. Hot cum fills your cunt, spurting deep inside of you as your slick hole milks every last drop from him.

You’re both quiet for a few moments afterward, save for the sound of your tired, heavy breathing, neither of you in a rush to move as his cock softens inside of you.

Eventually, Mikey begins to gently caress your cheek and murmurs, “...So now what do you think?”

Lifting your head up from where it’s resting against his shoulder, you glance past him, a thoughtful look on your face. “I think we still need to test out the back seat.”

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

As a Middle Eastern man who grew up reading western comic books, it makes me sad that most online nerd spaces are still hostile towards any person of color who wants to see themselves represented in the media that they love.

Like I said before, I find it odd how nobody cared about Livewire's origin story before My Adventures With Superman, but ever since that show aired nerds will not shut up about her shock jock background and how it's "integral" to her character.

Other shows gave her different origins, and nobody gave a shit. But now all of a sudden her origin story is being treated as this sacred thing by nerds, all because the MAWS team decided to make her a person of color.

I'm so tired of racist assholes always showing up in my asks or comments whenever I say anything positive about Livewire in MAWS.

This show gave its own unique take on all the villains, yet there's no discourse surrounding Silver Banshee not speaking with an Irish accent, or Heatwave being a woman, or Intergang being a group of petty thieves with no connection to Darkseid etc.

Don't like this version of Livewire? Cool, more power to you. But please stop acting like assholes to the people that do.

If me saying nice things about a character you hate hurts your feelings, then you can go ahead and block me.

I didn't come back to Tumblr to argue with terminally online weirdos about capeshit.

[another-lost-mc]

After the Date [Part 3] | KARASU x gn!Reader

0.7k words | NSFW | Smut | Karasu-centric

Content warnings: Masturbation and pining, multiple orgasms.

Feathered Friends AU: [Part 1] [Part 2]

obey me masterlist | karasu masterlist

It’s after one o’clock in the morning and Karasu can’t sleep.

When he got home a few hours ago, he walked around his house in a daze. He was filled with the unusual giddy excitement that blooms within his chest whenever he gets to speak to you. That feeling felt amplified tenfold after your date.

Your date.

He was so nervous, but he can’t imagine it could’ve gone any better. He can hardly wait to talk to you again. He was tempted to call you earlier, but he was worried you might be tired.

No, he can wait until tomorrow to speak to you again. It’s better to let you sleep.

He got ready for bed as usual, but he’s been tossing and turning ever since. He should be tired, but his mind is racing with thoughts of you. His skin feels sensitive against the sheets - normally silky smooth, but they feel so unpleasant. He’s warm despite the fan blowing on him from the corner of his room.

He sits up with a frustrated huff and takes off his sleep shirt. He tosses it aside and lays down again so he can lift his hips and shimmy off his pants. He feels a little cooler completely naked in his bed, but his body still feels like a livewire.

He strokes his chest absentmindedly while he closes his eyes and waits for sleep, but it doesn’t come. There’s something electric about the way his fingertips trail over his skin. He thinks about you, and how soft your hand was in his, and the heat in your eyes when he kissed the back of your hand—

Karasu gasps when his wandering hand wraps around the base of his cock. He didn’t even realize how hard he was, but the tip is leaking and his arousal oozes slowly down his fingers. He breathes heavily into the empty silence of his room.

He doesn’t usually indulge, and he’s not sure if he should when he thinks about you, but the way his cock throbs in his hand at the very thought of your name makes him whimper pitifully. He can’t resist the urge anymore, and he starts teasing his cock with slow, exploratory strokes.

Something inside him breaks open because he’s overwhelmed with thoughts of you. Not just memories of tonight or the other times he’s met you, but hopeful thoughts for the future.

He thinks about kissing the back of your hand. He wonders if he’ll have the courage to kiss you properly next time. He thinks about how soft your lips might be, and how your lips will taste, and would you dare to open your mouth so he can touch your tongue with his?

He whines when the sensations start to build deep in his belly, but he can’t stop. His hand moves faster, and he touches his chest with his other hand and pretends it’s yours. He tweaks one of his nipples and the sharp pleasure that shoots through him leaves him panting heavily.

He can’t last, he can’t last and he doesn’t want to, not when images of you desperate and wanting flicker through his mind. What would it take for you to touch him like this?

He arches his back when he comes, a sharp cry ripping from his throat while he babbles praise for you under his breath. He pumps his cock as thick ropes of cum shoot up his belly and paint his skin, and only when he’s too sensitive and completely emptied does he finally let his hand fall away.

His body is covered with cum and sweat and his skin is sticky. His throat is hoarse from his whimpering pleas and desperate moans, and his nipples are tender from pinching them while he thought of your fingers or your tongue teasing them instead.

He knows he should get up and shower and try to sleep. He licks his lips and groans when his cock stirs again, already half-hard imagining your taste lingering on his lips.

He wonders if he should feel guilty when he strokes himself back to full hardness, but he doesn’t.

He only regrets he didn’t kiss you properly, and he lets the fantasies of next time take over until every drop of pleasure is wrung from his body.

When he’s sated and can think of nothing else except for you, he finally sleeps.

[softguarnere]

Hi! Your writing is amazing! Could you write something Joe Toye x reader or George Luz x reader?

The Rest of the World Falls Away

George Luz x reader

A/N: This is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real veterans! I feel like I don't have as many fics for Luz as I do for Joe, so I decided to go with him. Thanks for the request, Anon, and I hope you like this! 💕🕊️ Warnings: mentions of war

The airfield is buzzing with energy, like a livewire. Uniformed men dart around in every direction, trying to find all their supplies, trying to get in line for a mohawk, trying to get the grease smeared on their face just right. And trying to find their friends to say goodbyes that hopefully won’t be goodbyes – merely see you later-s or good luck-s.

There seems to be an endless list of things to do, and at the same time, nothing you can do but watch and wait. Standing with your fellow nurses off to the side in front of the tents, you observe the scene around you, trying hard not to think about how some of these men that you’ve gotten to know will not be coming back from this jump. Instead, you keep your eyes focused on the sky.

It’s brilliant, as the British men walking around would say. Warm sunlight lights the area, spilling golden paint over the scene, giving it an angelic look. Even the palest and most nervous of the men regain some of their natural color standing in it, coming back to life. Artists will paint this someday, making them all look strong and shining, like paintings of the Greeks and Trojans preparing for war. Hopefully the artists will get the lighting right.

“Everything ready to go?” Sarah, one of the upper echelon of the nurses, asks for the hundredth time, just to give herself and everyone else something to do. When all of you nod in response, she pushes a sigh through her nose. “Well, nothing to do but wait then.”

You wring your hands as you watch the men. Men with whole lives ahead of them. Men with families back home worrying about them. Men with girlfriends . . .

As if on cue, one of the paratroopers approaches then. He strides forward purposefully, and even beneath all the paint on his face and his mused-up hair, you would recognize him anywhere – especially when he gets close enough to flash you a smile.

“Oh!” One of the other nurses pats your shoulder. The gesture says it all: there’s excitement and jealousy that your beau has sought you out before the Big Jump, but also sympathy because of the risk . . .

The rest of the nurses are probably expecting a show. The last thing you want is for these next few minutes to be a spectacle, though, something that they can replay in their minds whenever they need a bit of drama, or something they can claim as their own years down the road when they need a good story to tell. No, this belongs to you. And to George.

And to no one else, you decide as you step forward to meet him. Gently, you ghost your hand over his elbow, steering him away from the gaggle of nurses, back behind the tents, to a more private area. It’s not like you expect something to happen – there’s no time for anything that anyone would love to gossip about – but if you can be selfish this once, claiming a few moments for yourself, then now is the perfect time.

Once the two of you are away from prying eyes, George takes your hands in his. He holds them, and you squeeze his in turn. You stare at your joined hands, neither speaking; there’s too much to be said, with everything that’s about to happen. It is strange, though, to see George at a loss for words. Who would have thought it possible?

Finally, George shakes his head. “Can’t believe it’s finally here. The Big Jump.”

“I can’t believe we’re getting split up,” you say. “Two years. We’ve seen each other almost every day since Toccoa . . .”

A cruel twist of fate, surely. It had been easy to imagine that you would be one of the nurses chosen to travel to France and establish an aid station. But instead, you’ll be here, in England, waiting.

George runs one of his thumbs along the side of your finger. “Gives me all the excuse I need to get the job done and get out of there.”

You’re long past the point of feeling embarrassed whenever you realize how much George likes you, and how much you like him in return. Still, your heart flutters inside your chest like a butterfly beating its wings against a glass jar; it could soar to new heights if you would let it.

Now seems like the perfect time. You hate slipping one of your hands out of George’s, but you use it to reach into the pocket of your apron and take hold of a small piece of paper. Then you press it into George’s free hand.

“Here,” you say, pressing your token of affection into his hand. “To remember me by.”

The picture had come in a letter from home a few weeks before. It’s the small photograph that had been taken on the day of your graduation from high school. A few years old now, it still looks like you, nevertheless.

George smiles down at it. With care, he stows it away in his jacket pocket, right over his heart. He pats it. “That way you can make the jump with me,” he explains.

Before either of you can say another word, that fateful call echoes across the airfield – the men are being told to get ready to board the planes.

No! That can’t be right! There has to be more time. You have so many things to say, you just need a little more time to figure out how to word them –

“Hey.” George takes your chin in his hands, bringing you to focus on him. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Beneath his face paint, his eyes look determined. Your own feel wide as saucers.

“Okay,” you agree. Not caring about the grease coating his face, you surge forward and kiss him. For just a moment, the rest of the world falls away. Away from prying eyes, you try to convey everything you want to say in this one kiss: how much he means to you, how you hope he’ll make it back . . . With the sudden rush of activity on the airfield, kissing George is like standing, unbothered, in the eye of a hurricane, safe from the storm.

The kiss breaks and the storm sweeps the two of you up in it. You’ve got to go, both of you. There are duties to be performed. Duties that the outcome of history, the fate of the world, depend upon.

“I love you,” you whisper. It’s only the second time you’ve admitted it.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back. “Will you wait for me?”

“Of course.”

He kisses your hand then, like a gentleman in a novel, as he departs. A smile flashes from beneath his face paint, and then he’s walking away, to the rest of his company, to the planes, to his fate. But every few feet, he glances over his shoulder at you.

There’s probably something that you should be doing. But with all the preparation that you and the other nurses took part in this morning, you doubt there’s anything to keep you distracted. Collecting yourself, you break away from your spot and begin walking back to the tent. As you walk, over all the commotion, you hear a familiar voice that hasn’t quite faded into the distance yet yell, “Hi-ho, Silver!” followed by other men laughing, cheering, and returning the call.

You smile despite yourself. If George is still joking, then everything is going to be okay.

[sabrinatvband]

Notes on Comic Art #2: To Hatch or Not to Hatch, also some coloring stuff

One of the most influential things I've ever read on the subject of comic art is a piece Jesse Hamm wrote on Alex Toth where he talks about flatpacking.

[I discovered while writing this that Jesse Hamm passed away in 2021. He was a brilliant educator, one of the best in the history of the comics medium, and will be sorely missed.]

In the piece Hamm basically discusses how over-rendering objects usually makes them function worse as comic art. Many other people have discussed how using thicker lines for objects closer to the "camera" is good practice, how colors can seperate shapes and create depth, etc.

The question is, where does cross hatching fit into all of this? Or rather, various methods of adding more detailed rendering to artwork? I'm trying to figure this stuff out as I'm doing layouts for my comic, because I want to know the answers before I start inking the final artwork.

I try/want to have an uncluttered, clean, easily readable art style. I occasionally add hatching to my drawings, because hatching is fun, but I often feel like I've slightly ruined my artwork when I'm finished.

I've decided to look at some of the art that I feel like my own work is trying the hardest to emulate, at least philosophically, to see how other artists "weigh in" on this debate. It's important to remember that inkers embellish artwork [hence the alternate title "embellisher"], and so I'm going to try and find inkers most representative of a given penciller's intentions when applicable.

As I was working on this piece, I read Hamm Tips vol 1.1, and I discovered this diagram, which seems to relate with what I'm going to discuss later:

I think it's accurate to say that my desired approach is Uninflected/Deliberate; I think most people going for a clean and cartoonish look fall into that quadrant. Some people might describe Toth's work as being "clean", and so I should clarify that I'm talking about clean in the spirit of "lines meet neatly".

Some of the artists I'll discuss have lines that fall somewhere between being Inflected and Uninflected, and I think a lot of this comes down to inker approach. I feel like, in spirit, all of these pencillers are Uninflected, but some of the inkers use brushes, which creates a sort of middle ground. Brushes add different weights to a line, whereas crow quill nibs and pens have a uniform width. [The technical term for unweighted inked lines is "dumb line"; I believe this was coined by David Mazzucchelli.]

Let's first look at Adam Warren's work in the Dirty Pair volume Fatal But Not Serious. I'm a huge fan of how this comic looks; the flat, cel animation-style colors are very clean and easy to read. It's a very pleasant look, and I'm surprised more comics don't do this.

There is some hatching here, but it's not "serious" hatching. Just a few lines on cheeks, hands, etc. 98% of the artwork is shapes delinated entirely by a clean line and color. The convention floor panel is able to have a ton of detail without really changing the visual "rules" of the comic. An artist who does things in a more highly rendered way may've, for instance, reduced the crowd to a series of heavily shadowed figures, or colored in a single expressionistic wash to paper over things, etc.

Warren's Magical Drama Queen Roxy used a very similar approach to Fatal But Not Serious:

Let's now look at Rick Mays. I'm not a huge fan of Rick Mays, I've only actual read a single issue of a comic by him, but as I was reading Gen 13 he immediately stood out as being the best artist on that series, aside from Adam Warren himself [speaking only about issues Warren wrote]. It feels very telling that Rick Mays later did the final art for a graphic novel Warren laid out called Livewires.

These are from Gen 13 vol 2 #70:

The biggest difference between this piece has nothing to do with Warren or Mays, and everything to do with the coloring approach. I don't think the coloring here is bad, but the gradient-y colors do create a vastly different visual effect than the cel look I highlighted earlier.

The inking approach feels quite similar between the two artists; while Mays's art takes one or two steps towards realism relative to the Fatal But Not Serious stuff, texture is largely used to the same degree [with the grass and tornado being understandable exceptions]. What's interesting is that this issue has three different credited inkers; Karl Story, Rick Mays, and Jason Martin. I'm assuming this happened for deadline reasons.

I feel like I'm maybe starting to sound a little repetitive, and so I feel like I should share an issue of Gen 13 that I disliked, and then we can move to things that aren't Adam Warren-adjacent. These are from #43 and #44, with pencils by Lee Bermejo and inks by John Nyberg:

I'm not a big fan of this. The borderline chiaroscuro inking makes everything look heavily referenced, labored, and weird, and the "acting" in the comic suffers because of the over-rendered faces. It's a real shame the artwork is like this, because this two-part story is actually quite solid and would be a minor classic with better artwork.

I notice that many newer comic artists [which is to say, people who began their careers during the 90s onwards] put a lot of heavy shadows on figures in a way that feels too slavishly devoted to a certain kind of realism. I say a "certain kind" because the high contrast look of black spots being put onto a figure make the shadows way darker than they'd actually look in real life, so it almost makes the figures look dirty.

Look at comic art from the olden days and figures are largely defined by outlines/color. If a figure in an old comic has a lot of shadow on them, it's for reasons that are obvious and motivated; noir-y venetian blinds stuff, a mysterious villain being obscured, someone being underlit, or having half their face obscured, etc. There's a clear reason shadows are being used in these cases, rather than it being done to add usually unnecessary detail.

Anyways, let's look at Amanda Conner's work. Image on the left is from a Vampirella story called Fantasy Feast, and the image on the right is from Power Girl #12. Texture is used, like on the walls of the bathroom, but sparingly.

Looking at Conner's work in this context makes me realize, I don't think I've ever seen Amanda Conner's stuff colored flat [at least after she fully matured as an artist]. I don't think the more three-dimensional rendering used in any of these panels is bad, but I'm not going to be doing that kind of coloring in my book, and so it's not quite as instructive to me.

That being said, I really love Conner's style. I've noticed that Marvel and DC are increasingly using artists with styles that are broadly similar to Conner's; I've included an example below. Maybe it's because the artist below is too lazy to draw a proper background, but their work feels so much more flavorless than Conner's in comparison. I think it's because the "acting" is not as impressive, and Conner brings a fun-factor that feels completely absent in the page below.

I realize "fun" isn't always the order of the day, but this page doesn't really reflect . . . anything. It's completely bland.

Here's Kirby, who couldn't be bland if he tried. The left image is from the Young Romance collection Fantagraphics put out, and the right is from OMAC. The former is from the 40s, latter is from the 70s. [By the way, the Young Romance image is photographed from my own collection; there's no warping visible because Fantagraphics knows how to design a book].

Looking at these pieces side-by-side really challenges a lot of my assumptions about Kirby's artwork, because in some ways his artwork changed less than I previously thought it did without direct comparisons. There are some things that are more abstract about the OMAC page, like the wiggly shadows. Someone unfamiliar with Kirby might assume these were drawn by two different people, but only because 30-odd years of growth seperate these two pages.

Kirby's style, in my mind, is highly geometric and defined more so by abstract shorthand squiggles than hatching or other forms of rendering, but there actually is a fair amount of hatching on the OMAC page.

However, that OMAC page I believe was inked by Mike Royer, or at least someone using a brush. I noticed that, by sheer coincidence, almost all of the Kirby art from my first post in this series was inked by D. Bruce Barry, who didn't use a brush and also followed Kirby's pencils perhaps more literally than any other inker he ever had. In those images, it's clear that most of the hatching in Kirby's work was added by his inkers.

When Kirby did ink himself [using a brush], his style was oddly clean. He did add in hatching, but it was never particularly dense.

Anyways, I want to close this by including some Jesse Hamm quotes from his instructional PDFs:

-Simplicity is great, but often you need extra texture to seel weirdness.

-Another sign of experience is texture. The pro-level artist has learned to give different textures to grass, hair, tree bark, bushes, etc. Meanwhile, the amateur uses the same one or two shading techniques on EVERYTHING, giving it all a samey feel.

-Open spaces of black or white may be "activated" with a bit of texture. A few pebbles/ripples/etc will spur the mind to fill what's missing.

-We talk often about spotting blacks, but spotting greys (i.e., details/texture) is also crucial to clear compositions.

The lesson in the bit of Hamm writing I most often revisited, the flatpacking post, was that too much texture and rendering can make a comic exhausting to read. But reading more of his work, it turns out he had a more nuanced, texture-inclusive view of things.

What's the lesson here? Discretion.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Do you have any more on livewire au

Ummm, sure! Not sure what you're looking for, but I hope this is good enough! thanks for asking

Electro post-identity reveal is super protective of his son. to the point where it kinda threatens Peter's secret identity. Bullies attack peter? Electro attack. Doc ock attack spiderman. Electro attack. spiderman is sputtering trying to explain that electro is just helping him cause he had a change of heart. Def. not related whaaaa?

Peter ends up designing a cool suit that lets electro go solid enough to drink and eat. Electro now can do some "bullets" and large waves of electricity. new fight moves go!!

[littlemissmanga]

I really liked those hurt/comfort dialogue prompts so if you're taking requests, would Rex with 13 "you deserve better than me" or 23 "did they hurt you" inspire you at all? 😊

Um, YES! Absolutely!!

I do like me a good, angsty "you deserve better than me." But that feels a little too like what I did in "One Last Order, Pt. 1."

So, "did they hurt you" it is! I'm getting better at "ficlets" and managed to keep this under 2k words! Eventually, I'll be able to do shorter writing lol. I hope you don't mind!

Rating: SFW

Warnings: fisticuffs, slight violence, descriptions of desire but nothing explicit.

Did He Hurt You?

The alcohol buzzed pleasantly in your blood. Not enough to make you sloppy. Just enough to make your skin feel like a livewire.

Exactly what you were shooting for when the boys invited you to join them at 79’s. The club scene wasn’t usually your top choice for how to spend your limited free time back on Triple Zero, but it was worth it to see the men of the 501st let their hair down. Metaphorically, that is … except for Tup, who very much let his hair slip from his signature bun.

But most satisfying was seeing Rex let the weight of responsibility slip from his shoulders for the night. His laugh was a too rare thing, and you indulged in the sound every time one would slip past his lips. Even better was that you seemed to be the cause of most of them tonight.

You hadn’t intended on flirting with the stalwart captain upon being assigned to the 501st as a mechanic. But Rex had a bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth when caught off his guard. All it took was one moment of hesitation on his part and a witty quip on yours, and you were hooked on how adorably flustered you could make him.

Still, he wasn’t a captain for nothing. It didn’t take long for Rex to find his grove and give as good as he got. By now, your flirtationship was well established. The boys would often tease you about it, and you suspected they did the same to Rex. Neither of you were ignorant of the pointed looks and raised brows from Jesse or Hardcase. Shit, even Tup would let a sly comment slip by from time to time.  

No matter what, though, you and Rex insisted it was just all in good fun.

And it was. That was all it could be. Didn’t stop you from imagining what could be. Maybe. One day, after the war.

You weren’t blind — Rex was an attractive man. All the clones were. But the way he carried himself set him apart far more than his distinctive blond buzz. You could get addicted to that quiet power. And you weren’t stupid — good men like Rex didn’t come around often. Any girl would be lucky to call him hers.

You wished you could be that lucky. Too bad he was your boss. Too bad you knew nothing would ever distract him from his responsibility to the Republic.

No, that’s not right. It’s good that he’s like that. I like him because he’s like that.

“Lost in thought?” There was nothing untoward in his tone, but you could see flickers of mirth swimming in Rex’s eyes.

You had been lost. But not in thought. Lost in him. Maybe the alcohol was getting to you. Not good.

“Nah, just wandering through,” you jest. “Speaking of, I’ll be right back.”

You gingerly climb over him to exit the booth, focusing very carefully on moving your limbs without touching him. You keep that forced control with each step you take toward the restroom, determined to look as put together as possible as you head toward the restroom.

REX POV

Years of training, and he barely held himself back from grabbing your waist to help you out of the booth.

I’d be helping, the drunk part of his mind supplied.

I want to feel her against me, the more honest part admitted.

You were a bright spark of a challenge, one he needed to meet, to overcome. Or maybe not. Maybe he needed to succumb. Either way, he wanted you. He knew touching you would shock him, and yet he couldn’t help but yearn for the pain. He imagined it would feel like pleasure.

Rex tracked your movements through the crowd to the back of the room. He had switched to water long ago, letting the boys and you believe it was still spotchka in his glass. You, however, had kept pace with his troopers and, despite your best efforts — your endearing, adorable efforts — he knew you had to be feeling the punch of liquor.

Sure enough, he saw a few of your stumbles as you tried to gracefully make your way to the restroom.

Chancing a glance around the table, Rex confirmed the boys were occupied, entertaining each other with tall tales that everyone knew were fiction but indulged in anyway. He wondered if anyone would notice if he …

“Go.” Kix commanded from across the table with a wry smile. “I’ll make sure no one ends up in jail.”

Rex raises an eyebrow at the medic. “You telling me what to do now, Trooper?”

“When it comes to the wellbeing of the men of the 501st, I outrank you, Sir. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not my-”

“Yes, she is!” The chorus rang out from a few of the men at the table, pulling looks from the rest and a few from neighboring booths before everyone turned back to their conversations. With one last pointed look from Kix, Rex pushed up from the table to follow you.

His intention was just to give you a hand to walk back to the table when you were ready. But as he passed through the thick of the crowd and the back hallway where the restrooms were came into view, his blood boiled.

There you were … pressed against the wall, trying to create as much space as possible between you and the Twi’lek looming over you. The smirk on the man’s face as his eyes trailed down your body curled Rex’s stomach.

He let rage mask the tiny voice of reason calling out his hypocrisy. How often did he look at you a little too long, imagine you in less than appropriate ways? How many times has he stood a little too close to win the latest round of flirtatious teasing to better see how your eyes would grow wide, how your heart would beat under your shirt?

But she never looks scared like that when I do.

Training kept his anger cool as he moved faster, not caring how many brothers and nat-borns he pushed rudely out of the way. But it felt like he was moving through slime for how much progress he was making.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or your natural combativeness, but apparently you had enough. Using what he was sure was all your strength at the moment, you pushed against the man’s chest to give yourself enough room to slip past, but it was for naught. The Twi’lek caught you by the elbow and yanked you back roughly against him.

Rex was close enough now to hear your pained exclamation.

He didn’t think about the trouble that could come with hurting a civvie. Nor about how the police would likely be called if he started a brawl in the bar. Most unlike him, Rex didn’t think about anything as his fist flew over your shoulder to connect with the man’s face.

For his size, the Twi’lek didn’t put up much resistance, crumbling to the ground with the first hit. Careful not to touch you just yet, Rex moved deftly between you and the man now on the ground, looming over him menacingly while keeping you from his gaze.

“Kriffing hells! What’s your problem, asshole?” The man’s furious response was dulled by the thick blood pouring from his nose, clogging his words.

“Leave. Now.”

Whatever the man saw in Rex’s eyes must have been enough to convince him he wasn’t winning this fight. He clamored to his feet, grumbling as he went to get the last word.

“Whatever, man. She’s all yours. Frigid bitch is a waste of my time, anyway.”

Rex never felt hatred before, but the sound of someone calling you such a disgusting thing made him burn with it. There wasn’t a conscious thought behind it as Rex felt his body start to move forward on its own. But his mind didn’t seem to care.

At least, until he felt your hands curl into the back of his dress grays. It was the lightest touch, but it may as well have been a chain. Not that he minded. Anything that bound you to him was welcome.

Careful not to jostle you, he turned carefully, causing your hands to trail around his torso until they rested on his chest.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked softly. It was a stupid question. As his hands hovered over your shoulders and down your arms, he could see the skin around your elbow had marks. His marks.

Rex’s nostrils flared with the effort it took to swallow the growl that threatened to burst from this throat. He wouldn’t scare you further.

“No.” Your voice was so soft, making the lie all the more painful.

This was new territory. You were smart, confident, self-assured. You weren’t one to make yourself small. Seeing you like this was wrong, and Rex didn’t know how to make it right.

But, thank the Maker, it seemed you did. You pressed yourself forward, almost trying to mold yourself into his chest, burying your face in his shirt to block out the rest of the bar. Without letting himself think more on it, Rex brought his arms around you, wrapping you in the circle of his arms and resting a hand on the back of your head, holding you to him.

And just like that, the hatred and jealousy evaporated, replaced by something much more tender. Gentle. A warm fire burned softly in his heart at how you sought comfort from him. In him.

Stars, how he wanted to always be able to give you that.

“Do you want me to take you back to base?”

Your head shook against him. “No. Just … can you just hold me for a second?”

He tightened his arms around you as if they could actually keep you safe. “Of course, sweetheart. As long as you need.”

“Thank you.”

He huffed. Rex wanted to scold you for being silly, thanking him for something he did selfishly. Because holding you like this was a selfish act and he knew it. He shouldn’t be this possessive over you, this infatuated. Shouldn’t crave the feeling of you against him like an addict did spice.

But he couldn’t help it. And he couldn’t regret it at this moment, either. That desire kept you safe tonight.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

The two of you stayed like that for a few more moments before you took a deep, steadying breath to collect yourself enough to pull back. But you still didn’t pull away. Rather you leaned just enough to look up into his eyes.

Your own shone with unshed tears … and a bit of that spark he had come to love.

“If I had known that all it took to get into your arms was getting hit on by an asshole, I’d have come to 79’s with you all ages ago.”

It was funny. Your flirting had flustered him so much at the beginning. Now, it was the most welcome relief. In more ways than one as he could hear the sincerity in your drunken voice.

“Silly girl. All you needed to do was ask.”

[artbyblastweave]

Just finished watching the new Blorbo-generating Superman show everyone is talking about. Some preliminary notes:

This isn’t a knock on the show’s quality, but this rendition of Clark, Lois and Jimmy very much feel like they’re being written as close to children or teenagers as possible without actually retooling the show to be My Adventures With Superboy. I think we’re still living under the shadow of the hammer which fell upon Infinity Train for having “no child entry point.” This is in contrast S:TAS, which I described once as being a show about Adults With Jobs in a way very few contemporary shows are; they were in a cartoon but they themselves weren’t cartoons. 

Downstream of this, the dialogue/spoken humor, from the power trio in particular, constantly skirts the line between grating and endearing; it’s very much in what I think of as the She-Ra Register (indeed, the two shows share a producer) and the She-Ra-Register was hit or miss for me in the titular show.  (I like it a lot more here, though- In MAWS’s favor, the 23-year-old characters aren’t bouncing-off-the-walls whilst in a literal war zone.) This is less true of the villains, Livewire and Slade in particular- they don’t speak more realistically, necessarily, but they feel more grounded, like refugees from a grittier cartoon. I like this rendition of Livewire a lot. 

Unpacking Livewire a little more. Livewire’s implementation here is interesting. Livewire’s original character concept- a radio shock-jock who picked fights with Superman to drive ratings before getting powers and fighting him for real- was topical and novel upon its release, but I’ve never felt a great deal of attachment to it because it felt like the shock-jock component ran out of stuff to do in the story after her first appearance. Therefore I don’t mourn its absence here.  Livewire as originally envisioned is one of a handful of supervillains (along with Mysterio) whose schtick would actually be even more plausible in today’s society than at the time of their creation; the internet being what it is, she could plausibly remain a content creator of some stripe without getting deplatformed even after turning into a supervillain. But I like the Livewire we got- a woman who just wants to get paid but instead is going to have to live in a superhero setting for the rest of her life.

Deathstroke is interesting as well. Deathstroke’s personal timeline is something I don’t think about a ton due to the omnifluid chronological soup where every comic hero has been their current age forever, but in a timeline that’s being written from scratch to make sense, then yeah, he would have to be a young gun concurrently with the rise of the first wave of superheroes, in order to be a seasoned, renowned freelancer when the Titans are active as an independent team. His showing in the pilot strikes a great balance between Genuinely Cool (the fight sequences) Pointedly Unlikable (any time he opens his mouth) and Skeevy Sadist (the interrogation sequence with Livewire at the end of the pilot.) I really hope they don’t try to do an anti-hero thing with him.

One thing I appreciated about S:TAS is that it took its sweet time getting Clark into costume; the entire first episode was just about the fall of Krypton, it was the Jor-El Show, and in my opinion this did a ton of legwork towards grounding the destruction of Krypton as a meaningful tragedy. MAWS’s pacing felt a little pinched in comparison, particularly because it’s basically a loose remake of the SATS pilot that’s 22 minutes shorter. But one thing I think it knocked out of the park was the scene where Clark investigates his spaceship. in SATS it was basically one additional point on his upward trajectory towards superheroism; it gives him some needed context and he gets over the shock very quickly in no small part because Jor-El’s message is legible. By contrast, the scene in MAWS where young Clark discovers the ship is much more of a character beat. You find this gigantic alien construct lurking just below the surface of your beloved childhood home. Interfacing with it produces an image of a strangely dressed man speaking in an unintelligible language, and then the ground nearly swallows your adopted parents (it’s not NOT a metaphor!) No shit he didn’t want to revisit this until he was an adult and his hand was forced! And, to loop this back around to the start of the paragraph, I’m really, really on board with an inscrutable Jor-El and a deeply visually alien Krypton instead of having all of episode one be The Jor-El show. Not totally sure I want this to turn out to be a Light Hope/Viltrum take on Krypton That Was, but there’s some compelling ambiguity here! I’m very tempted to read something into the fact that he’s missing an eye, and that Krypton seems to have been destroyed by some sort of weapon being deployed against the sun.

Also it’s interesting that they seem to be going with Kryptonian Tech Diaspora as a Unified Origin For Superhuman Weirdness, if Livewire’s Kryptonian-powered harness is anything to go by. I’m a sucker for assembling disparate elements of comic-book mythology into a unified whole! And I’m intrigued by the implications that there’s been some form of R-and-D on recovered Kryptonian materials- Superman coming in at the tail of Krypton’s impact on the planet. I wonder if they’re going to do a Transformers: The Animated Series move, where the generally higher level of tech at play in Metropolis is downstream of salvaged Krypto-tech.

To circle back to the power trio- one thing about Lois that I’m realizing is that the secret sauce is that every version of her has to be, on some level, in some way, a little bit of a jerk. In versions where she’s an accomplished reporter (S:TAS and even the original comics) that translates as her being dismissive (sometimes justifiably so) or really competitive.  MAWS Lois is an interesting spin on this- arguably she’s using people to get what she wants, but it’s not calculated, there’s no component of needing to defend her position against a challenger- it’s just rooted in the myopia of thinking her plan is the best plan and wanting her new friends along for the ride/to share in the spoils, before running headlong into the reality of Clark’s anger at being deceived. It’s a self-centeredness that’s much more conducive to a considered character arc- as much as I liked S:ATS, it wasn’t really a character-arcy kind of show for the supporting cast. It was a show about Superman. Much more of a triumvirate effect going on with Clark, Lois, and Jimmy, by contrast.

On this note- also interesting is the distinction between the origin of the name “Superman” in S:TAS and MAWS. Lois comes up with it in both versions, but in S:TAS she’s being cynical about it- she namedrops Nietzsche, and she has to be brought around. In MAWS she’s much more openly enthusiastic about it, but she’s also at a point in her career where she has much more to gain by hitching her wagon to the Superman narrative. Interesting distinction.

Jimmy is compelling! I’m curious what they’re going to do with him- they’ve gone a step beyond “cub reporter” to “cub reporter who’s also a conspiracy buff.” Moreover he’s a conspiracy buff in a setting where that’s a completely appropriate way to engage with the world, which can be a hard needle to thread. It’ll be interesting to see how much of a punching bag they make that element of his character. He’s also got a very good claim to the title of “Superman’s Pal-” they start the series knowing each other before the costume is a twinkle in Clark’s eye. That’s a compelling angle to work, one I like more than him being noticeably younger/less experienced than Clark and Lois.

I actually forgot about the Newsboy legion! Just like in general. Deep cut. They’re cute.

[jesncin]

I appreciate most of your takes but don't understand how you look at a character like livewire, a character created in the middle of a 90's feminist movement and come to the conclusion she's supposed to a be a caricature of classical racist conservatism

?? huh is this an elaborate joke I'm missing out on?? Like you're roleplaying as a Shockateer? There's no tone indicators so I'm left to my own perception that you're being serious so I'll have to respond in seriousness. I'm gonna be so embarrassed if this is a joke :(((

So...just because a character is made "in the middle of the 90's" or "feminist movement" doesn't...mean they're a feminist character? Like with that logic, Tana Moon is a feminist icon I guess. Also "caricature of classical racist conservatism"? man, I kinda envy how people think the way I write her is Cartoony Evil Racism and not a toned down depiction of how personalities like Posie Parker, Matt Walsh, and Blaire White talk. I suppose I'm glad you haven't encountered anyone that awful. Good for you! 👍

Livewire meta under the cut fellas

I feel like you don't have a very holistic view of Livewire's character. Because while yes, she has been used for feminist critique in the show and comics, that's not all there is to her character. My take on Livewire is a commentary on how white womanhood intersects with parasocial internet grifts and the larger way identity gets filtered online. It's a take influenced by how she literally started out as a controversial provocative shock jock in STAS.

There's so much potential to re-imagine her hatred of Superman as a commentary on how white women feel justified in harassing marginalized men because it looks like a punch-up to misogyny. The way she uses the accident Superman caused as a way to white-woman-victimize herself and prime her audience to hate him more. You can take the spinoff comic where she only lets women speak on the air as her presenting a black and white, non-intersectional view of social progress. Kind of like how TERFs keep fantasizing about a world without men as a utopia? In CW Supergirl, Livewire plays into internalized misogyny and homophobia to jab at Supergirl. Not showing up for her fellow women if you ask me.

Because while yes, Leslie has been shown to be a character who had to deal with sexism, she's also a really compelling narrative for an imperfect victim. Just because a character deals with sexist hardship, doesn't mean it makes her a feminist ideal y'know? Leslie lashes out and weaponizes her victimhood, she uses her audience to bully others.

I think one of the flaws to the longevity of her character as a villain is because her narrow hatred of Supes makes her themes short lived. So I really want to expand it through Satoshi Kon-style deconstruction of how people juggle having multiple identities in the modern era. In the (bleh) Batgirl Burnside comic Livewire shows up in, she returns as a being of energy who doesn't remember who she was before. In STAS, it's left ambiguous whether she actually believes what she says about Superman or if it's all part of an act that "pays the bills!".

Imagine the opportunity to make it so she pieced together a sense of self from the fractured way her audience viewed her! What a great way to talk about how parasocial relationships make us think we know a person from the bombastic way they present themselves (Casually Comics thought of this brilliant take). DCSHG has been the most competent reimagining of Livewire. A perfect update of her shock jock origins into the internet era that revitalizes her attention-seeking traits into the clout-chasing grind of social media personality.

All this to say, Livewire's way more that just "sassy woman on the radio fighting against The Man!" I think making her a punk appropriating, rebellious, internet personality who uses her privilege to marginalize others for clout and money is a natural, more political progression of what DCSHG built with her character.

I don't really understand how you can look at a character whose most prominent iterations involve her bullying and targeting people (including other women) and tell me she's "feminist" unless you actually believe in Leslie's version of White Woman Girl Power. Any kind of "feminism" that touts Hating Men as a major point should be something to be critical of.