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I mean that genuinely—not in a “haha he’s cute and awkward” kind of way (even though, let’s be real, he totally is). I mean in the way that, as a kid, I felt this deep, aching protectiveness over him. I remember being little curled up in front of the TV or flipping through comic panels and feeling angry. Not at the villains, not even at Lex Luthor half the time. I was mad at people. Regular people. The way they dismissed Clark. The way they underestimated him. The way Lois, in particular, would talk down to him like he didn’t matter until he showed up in a cape. And even then… she never really saw him.

I just remember sitting there, small and soft and full of feelings I didn’t yet have the words for, thinking: “How could Superman be in love with someone who treats Clark Kent like that?” I didn’t get it. I still don’t. Because to me, it was always Clark I loved most.

Clark, with his gentle eyes behind those glasses. Clark, who tripped over his own feet and still tried his hardest. Clark, who carried the weight of the world quietly, humbly, without asking for credit or praise. Clark, who smiled anyway. I remember thinking—no, believing—with my whole heart: “I would be your friend, Clark. I’d sit with you at lunch. I’d ask about your day. I’d see you. I wouldn’t need you to be Superman to care.” And the wild part is… I still feel that way.

That tiny, stubborn, loyal part of me is alive and well. It never stopped believing that kindness matters. That softness is strength. That sometimes the ones no one pays attention to are the ones worth fighting for.

Looking back now, it kind of makes sense why I’ve always gravitated toward the “quiet strong” ones. The friends who don’t shine the loudest but burn the brightest. The ones who are constantly overlooked, underestimated, or taken for granted. It’s like I have this built-in radar for hidden gems.

Like I’m naturally drawn to the Clarks of the world. It’s the “diamond in the rough” thing, I guess. And maybe, on some level, it’s because I see myself in them too. Because yeah—if I’m honest—I know what it feels like to be overlooked. To be the second thought. The background character. The one people only notice when they need something. And so… maybe I give what I wish I’d get. I love people in the way I always hoped someone would love me.

Real talk? Most of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life have been Clark Kents. Gentle. Loyal. Deeply good. A little awkward. Easy to miss if you’re not paying attention, but unforgettable once you do. And deep down, I always knew: They were Supermen, too. They just didn’t need a cape to prove it.

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Ten Truths About Lois Lane Nobody Wants to Hear

1. Lois Lane is a secondary character. She was born that way and spent the last 86 years being a secondary character. The main character is called Superman, even though some people tend to forget it.

2. She hasn’t evolved in those 86 years. She began being a brazen, bold, rude investigative reporter who takes unnecessary risks to get an exclusive and needs Superman to save her constantly. She still is the same character.

3. Lois Lane has no friends, only work associations. It is no surprise: she hasn’t been written as a likable person ever. Everybody in the office dislikes her or fears her. The only time she looked at Clark Kent as a person was when DC decided to marry them back in the 90s. Otherwise, he was just someone else in her way. Which brings us to the next item:

4. Lois Lane is not a nice person: she has no problem in using people to get what she wants. She’s selfish, abusive, and callous. Bosses everybody around, even her own boss. Only Clark likes her for some unknown reason. Some say it’s because she challenges him. Doing what? She does nothing at all, other than insulting people! True: one does what’s necessary to get the job done, man or woman, but that doesn’t excuse you of being a horrible human being, which she is.

5. She thinks she comes before Superman’s mission. Lois made quite a scene once, when Supes forgot her birthday and shut him off completely when he saved Wonder Woman instead of her father in the midst of interstellar war. Problem is a hero prioritizes the greater good over the individuals. She seems to understand some of the importance of his mission, as long as it doesn’t interfere with her plans. But she tends to forget that more and more. Lately, so does he.

6. Lois Lane is overrated. In order to be able to be with someone like Superman, she must be something special, an extraordinary human being, so writers keep giving her attributes far beyond those of mortal men, wiser, stronger and now, immortal. She used to have the excuse of being Superman’s human tether, now she’s not even human.

7. Lois lives in denial of Kal-El’s alien origins, and she wants him to forget it as well. For her, he’s “Smallville”, a Kansas hillbilly she has wrapped around her finger to do as she pleases. She has him and their son living in hiding, as humans for her own benefit, denying a rich Kryptonian heritage of thousands of years. Kal-El literally has to escape to his Fortress to connect with his past, which he does less and less each time. By the way, she never ever used his Kryptonian name.

8. The only reason an obsolete institution like the Daily Planet still exists is to give her a place to shine, to be a star, to be the center of attention. Printed media is dying. So does certain type of journalism, the kind she’s an expert on. Without the Planet, she has no purpose. Clark? He can do whatever he wants or nothing at all and still be in contact with current events, he has no need of the news paper. She needs it, there she’s the queen bee. She’s the reason they both are still stuck to it, back in the 90s.

9. As I said before, writers keep looking for reasons for her existence, with little success, like establishing that without her Superman goes insane. She has little purpose, otherwise. They gave them a kid, so their union is indivisible, but she’s not much of a mother, anyway, and they made her immortal, so death will never do them part. Still, she has little to do, other than being in the middle of things. The character is stagnant, so they make her do ridiculous things like fighting Apokoliptian Furies to make her do something, anything. Writers keep portraying Clark as a needy person, who has to be told what to do constantly and... who better than amazing Lois to give him all the answers? When she had her own title, they made her do anything to try to trick Superman into marrying her. Now she doesn’t even deserve her own book. Back then she had the goal of unmasking the Man of Steel (yeah, she said she loved him, but still wanted to reveal his identity for the exclusive), now she doesn’t even have that. She has literary nothing to do. And they tried giving her superpowers too!

10. Lois Lane needs Superman, not the other way around. Without him, she’ll pretty much disappear since she’s not interesting enough by herself. There were several attempts to write her alone, but not even her “faithful” fans would buy the books. Yeah, they were that bad. Still, some think she’s the stellar character in Superman’s books for some strange, self insertion reason. Just remember the New 52, when they weren’t together: Lois was little more than decoration and writers went to incredible extremes to make her present somehow. They even tried to made her Superman’s best friend, but it didn’t work because, as said before, she doesn’t know how to be friends with anybody.

Lois Lane is an idle character frozen in time who only reflects the light Superman emanates. They have her near him so they don’t have to write for her, which nobody would read anyway. Her major contribution to the Superman mythos was General Sam Lane, who was an interesting Superman adversary for like half an hour. Still, more interesting than his daughter.

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📰 Welcome to The Daily Planet! 📰

Whether you’re an intrepid reporter, a curious citizen of Metropolis, or just here to admire a certain mild-mannered journalist in glasses, you’ve found the right place.

This is a community for lovers of truth, justice, and all things Super. Here, we celebrate the stories behind the bylines—from fanfiction and fanart to character deep-dives, headcanons, memes, and vintage clippings from the golden age of journalism (and heroism).

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I get asked sometimes why I roleplay and write fanfiction about that version of Superman—Earth-96 Clark Kent. Why him, specifically. And the truth is, it’s because he stayed.

He’s not just the symbol or the cape or the powers. Earth-96 Clark is a survivor. He’s someone who lost everything—his friends, his family, the love of his life—and still chose to keep going. He didn’t shut down. He didn’t grow bitter or cold. He didn’t let grief change his heart. He returned to the Daily Planet. He straightened his tie, adjusted his glasses, and kept showing up for a world that had already taken so much from him. He stayed kind. He stayed Clark.

That resonates with me in a way I can’t always explain. Maybe because I know what it’s like to feel like the world’s moved on without you. To carry hurt quietly. To wake up with the ache and still try to do good. Still try to be soft in a world that rewards being hard. Earth-96 Clark reminds me that surviving doesn’t mean becoming unrecognizable. It means holding on to your heart, even when it breaks.

Brandon Routh’s portrayal brings something deeply human to that version of Clark. There’s a softness in him. A quiet, steady kind of strength. He doesn’t need to shout or stand on a pedestal. He just is. He listens. He sees people. He feels like someone who would sit with you through the silence and never ask you to pretend. And maybe that’s why I keep returning to him in my writing and in my roleplay because he feels safe. Familiar. Real in all the ways that matter.

But there’s another reason, too—and that’s Christopher Reeve. The Superman I grew up with. The blueprint. The warmth in his smile, the sincerity in his voice, the way he made you believe a man could fly and care. Earth-96 is Reeve’s legacy. He’s the echo of everything that version of Superman stood for: compassion, integrity, hope without conditions. When Brandon stepped back into that role, it didn’t feel like nostalgia. It felt like coming home. Like the story hadn’t ended—it had simply grown with us.

When I write fanfiction about Earth-96 Clark, or slip into his world through roleplay, I get to explore all the things I need most: softness without shame. Strength without cruelty. Love that is patient and steady and deep. I get to imagine a version of Clark who would see someone at their lowest—someone scared or scarred or struggling—and never look away. Who would stay.

He means hope, but not the kind printed on billboards or sewn into a cape. The kind that sits quietly in your chest and whispers, you’re still here. And you’re not alone.

That’s why I chose him. That’s why I keep choosing him. Because when everything feels like it’s falling apart, Earth-96 Clark reminds me that you can lose everything and still be good. Still be kind. Still believe. And maybe, just maybe, be believed in too.

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Didn’t think it would hurt this much, but… here we are. I just got removed from the Superman Fandom community on Tumblr—and honestly? I’m disappointed. No warning. No explanation. Just a quiet little you don’t belong here anymore and maybe that’s what stings the most.

Superman has always been more than a fictional character to me. He’s been hope when I had none. He’s been strength when I couldn’t stand. He’s been gentle when the world wasn’t. Being part of a community that celebrated that together? That felt sacred. So to be silently removed, as if I didn’t matter? Yeah, that cut deep.

If you’ve ever loved something so hard it became part of your identity—and then got told, “You’re not welcome”—I see you. I feel you. You deserve better. This fandom belongs to everyone who believes in truth, compassion, and second chances. Even if the community forgets that… Superman wouldn’t.

I’m still here. Still showing up. Still loving him. And I’ll build my own space if I have to!

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Spoiler-Free Initial Thoughts on James Gunn’s SUPERMAN

I’ve been waiting for this Superman movie for over 20 years. And I don’t mean just any Superman movie—I mean one that really gets it. That remembers what makes him feel different from every other superhero. That taps into the heart of who Clark Kent is, not just what he can do.

Back when superhero films were finding their footing—Singer’s X-Men, Raimi’s Spider-Man, Nolan’s Batman—I was dreaming of a Superman film that could stand tall beside them, one that could reintroduce the world to the character I’ve always loved in the comics. And instead, I got Superman Returns (2006) and Man of Steel (2013). Both were big moments with even bigger potential… but ultimately, huge misses in my eyes.

What I wanted—what I needed—was something that embraced the color, the hope, the wild sci-fi of it all. The humanity. A Superman movie where his powers weren’t the point—his compassion was. Where mainstream audiences could finally see what fans like me have always known: that being the strongest guy in the universe isn’t what makes Clark special. It’s his choice to be kind. His willingness to help, to serve, to be gentle even when no one’s watching. And now, I can finally say it: the movie I’ve been waiting decades for is here.

When James Gunn posted that picture of Clark at a typewriter on his first day at DC Studios in 2022, I had a gut feeling. That little hope sparked: What if he’s writing Superman? People thought I was reaching. “The guy who made Slither? Peacemaker? That guy doesn’t do wholesome.” But I knew better. Gunn made us cry over a tree. He made us care about the most chaotic misfits. And most importantly, he knows how to write heart. Turns out? I was right to trust him.

Gunn gets Superman. Not just the character—but the world he comes from. He leans into what works in the comics instead of running from it. The result? A film that finally feels like a DC universe we want to live in.

David Corenswet as Superman… what can I say? He nails it. There’s a warmth and quiet strength to him. You believe him. Not just as the symbol of hope—but as a man who really would show up for you, every time. He doesn’t just play the part—he feels like Superman. Like Clark.

And Nicholas Hoult as Lex? Easily my favorite live-action take on the character. He’s not a cartoon. He’s terrifying because he’s real—a bitter, brilliant embodiment of corporate greed and unchecked ego. I’ve seen this guy in real life.

Rachel Brosnahan surprised me in the best way. I barely thought of the actress at all—she just was Lois. The version I grew up reading: sharp, confident, totally in on the secret, and fully in it with Clark. Not just his love interest—his partner. Their dynamic? The best Clark/Lois romance I’ve seen on the big screen, hands down.

Also, shoutout to the Daily Planet crew finally getting their due! Having Cat, Ron, Steve, and Perry all present felt like such a love letter to long-time fans. And Jimmy? Let’s just say they had fun with Jimmy.

Now, I know some folks were worried about the number of other heroes in this movie. But honestly? I thought it was perfect. It felt like a comic book come to life. Like… yes! Superman does live in a world with other super-powered weirdos. That’s normal. And Gunn weaves them in with care. They’re there, they shine, but they don’t steal the show. This is still Clark’s movie. Think Winter Soldier, not Civil War.

Special mention to Nathan Fillion as Guy Gardner. That man was born to play this particular brand of insufferable. I love to hate him already. And Edi Gathegi as Mister Terrific? Fantastic. He added flavor and brains without pulling the spotlight.

Is the movie “overstuffed”? Maybe for some. But for me? I was impressed with how tight it felt. It moves fast—sometimes breakneck—but it also knows when to slow down and hit you in the heart. It doesn’t waste time, and it definitely doesn’t waste emotion.

If I have one critique? It plays things a little safe. It doesn’t break the mold. But honestly… maybe that’s okay. Maybe, after two decades of misfires, what we needed wasn’t something radical. We needed a solid, heartful Superman story. And that’s exactly what this is.

I get why it took this long. The industry had to learn some lessons—both from Marvel’s highs and DC’s many stumbles. But it’s wild to think: if this movie had come out 20 years ago, maybe the superhero film landscape would’ve looked totally different. Still, we’re here now. And this Superman finally feels ready to take his place at the head of the table again.

I don’t know what the box office will look like. That’s a different conversation in the post-COVID world. But I do know this: for the first time since Christopher Reeve, I think the general audience is going to fall in love with Superman again. I know I did and I already can’t wait to go back tomorrow.

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Long before the fall of Krypton, the House of Seryn was a lesser-known noble lineage—guardians of the night sky and ancient protectors of Kryptonian lore. Unlike the House of El, whose focus was hope and science, the Seryn bloodline stood for clarity through darkness, insight, and emotional resilience.

Their emblem, the crescent moon, represented their quiet strength—ever watchful, soft but steady, able to reflect the light even in the blackest void. The twin stars signified dual virtues: compassion and conviction. They believed that only by embracing both emotion and discipline could one understand true justice.

The Seryns were archivists, empaths, and spiritual astronomers, said to be able to “read the soul” of the cosmos through its constellations. Many found their talents quietly woven into the upper layers of Krypton’s thought guilds and interstellar diplomacy, often serving as peacekeepers during Krypton’s civil tensions.

This crest was rediscovered among the shattered remains of the Tower of Solace, a once-forgotten vault beneath the capital Argo City. When Kal-El returned from Earth and began seeking remnants of his people, this symbol resonated with someone not through science or prophecy—but through instinct. That someone… was Karis-Ze Seryn.

Karis-Ze Seryn bears the legacy of the Seryns, not through blood, but through soul. She’s the last light of a forgotten lineage—one that chooses kindness when vengeance would be easier, one that listens in a world that shouts. The suit she wears isn’t a symbol of power—it’s a reminder that vulnerability, intuition, and heart are strengths of their own.

She’s not just Kryptonian. She’s the moon that never forgets the stars.

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Superman, But Make it High Fashion.

This look isn’t just an outfit—it’s a whole statement. I didn’t want to cosplay Clark Kent or Superman directly, but I wanted to carry his essence. The hope he stands for. The softness in his strength. The way he moves through the world with quiet power—never needing to shout, never needing a crown—just choosing to be kind, even when the world doesn’t deserve it.

The electric blue? That’s his suit—but also that feeling you get when you see him fly for the first time, when your breath catches and you believe again. The crimson skirt flows like a cape, but there’s no need for one. I don’t have to fly. I’m already grounded—present, powerful, here. The yellow belt ties it all together, like a nod to his symbol, but worn my way. Feminine. Fierce. Fluid. Kryptonian in spirit, Earthling by survival.

This isn’t just about fashion. It’s about reclaiming softness as strength. It’s about standing tall when you feel small. It’s about looking in the mirror and saying, “You can be gentle and still fight for yourself. You can be beautiful and still be powerful.”

So yeah. Superman—but if he wore black eyeliner, a velvet skirt, and channeled every ounce of queer magic and quiet defiance into one outfit. And I flexed. Because sometimes you’ve gotta remind the world: “You’re not just surviving. You’re thriving. In heels, in armor, in whatever the hell you choose.”

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There’s going to come a time—maybe it’s today, maybe it was yesterday—when everything just feels a little heavier. Like the whole world is pressing down on your shoulders, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it up.

I know that feeling. More than I’d like to admit. You start to question yourself. Wonder if you’re doing enough. If you are enough. If any of it really matters. Let me tell you something: It does. You do.

You don’t have to fly to make a difference. You don’t need super strength or heat vision. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is just show up—for yourself, for the people who count on you, for the future you still believe in. The world isn’t asking for perfection. It’s asking for presence. For persistence. For a little more heart today than you had yesterday.

So push your limits—not because someone else expects it, but because you deserve to know how far you can go. You’re stronger than you think. Every single time you get back up after a fall, every time you keep going through fear or doubt—that’s real strength. That’s the kind of courage I believe in.

But hey—don’t forget to breathe along the way. Life’s not just about the finish line. It’s about the small things, too. The quiet moments. The shared smiles. The deep breaths when you realize… you’re still here. You made it through. That’s worth everything.

And above all, be you. Not what someone else wants you to be. Not a headline. Not a symbol. Just… you. That’s who the world needs more of. Someone real. Someone kind. Someone unafraid to love deeply and live honestly. You don’t need a cape to be a hero. You already are.

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A dangerously dazzling drink that’s bold, zesty, and electrifying—just like the Man of Steel’s weakness in liquid form. Unlike its deadly green cousin, Blue Kryptonite doesn’t weaken Superman’s powers—it weakens his restraint. Expect flirty smirks, playful antics, and maybe even impromptu karaoke. He’s still super, just… super unfiltered.

Warning: May cause excessive charm, shirt unbuttoning, and spontaneous truth-telling.

1 oz Smirnoff Spicy Tamarind Vodka

1 oz Captain Morgan Chili Lime Rum

1 oz Blue Curaçao

2 oz Limeade

A pinch of edible blue glitter (for that shimmering superpower effect)

Ice

In a shaker, add the vodka, rum, Blue Curaçao, and limeade.

Add a pinch of edible glitter and a scoop of ice.

Shake vigorously until well chilled and shimmering.

Strain into a heart-shaped potion bottle or serve in a chilled coupe glass.

Optional: Rim the glass with lime and chili powder for an extra spicy punch.

Garnish with a lime twist or glow-in-the-dark swizzle stick for flair.

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It’s been 19 years. Nineteen whole summers since you soared back into my life, cape fluttering, theme swelling, and heart cracking wide open in the dark of a movie theater. I was only 12 years old, but even then—I knew. I knew you were something unforgettable.

I still remember how the world faded around me the moment Brandon Routh appeared on screen. There was something so gentle and strong in his eyes, something noble and aching in the way he carried the weight of two worlds on his shoulders. It wasn’t just the cape or the curl or the classic crimson and blue—it was the heart. His Superman was soft-spoken but powerful. Lonely but kind. Lost but still filled with so much hope. He didn’t just save the day. He felt it.

I remember clutching my soda with both hands, barely blinking, just watching. Watching him float above Earth with that quiet sadness. Watching him hover outside Lois’s window with longing he couldn’t speak aloud. Watching him lift an entire continent into the sky while the world held its breath—and so did I.

Superman Returns was more than a sequel or a revival. It was a memory carved into my bones. A reminder that strength doesn’t mean shouting. That love can be both silent and eternal. That sometimes, a goodbye still leaves the door open.

And now, almost two decades later, I still carry him with me. Brandon’s Superman. My Superman. The first one who made me believe in heroes not just because they were strong, but because they cared.

So here’s to you, Superman Returns. Nineteen years later, I still hear that John Ottman score swell, still feel my heart skip when the clouds part, and still remember what it felt like to look up and believe.

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Clark Kent experiences the world in a way no one else can. Every sense—sight, sound, touch, scent—is dialed up to levels that would overwhelm a human being. So when he’s with you—when he’s inside you—it’s not just sex. It’s symphonic. It’s transcendental. It’s everything, all at once.

He hears the flutter of your heartbeat before your moans ever leave your lips. He smells the honey-thick arousal before your thighs have even begun to tremble. He sees the way your body takes him with every push of his hips—the stretch, the slickness, the tightening of your muscles around him, almost like your body is trying to memorize him, mold itself to his shape.

He watches the beads of sweat on your skin start to form before you even realize how hot you’ve become. He hears the wet sound of every thrust, every press of his fingers against your clit, every delicate twitch of your walls pulling him deeper. The sound of your breath hitching? The tremble in your voice when you whimper out his name and tell him you’re close? He already knew. He knew the moment your blood started rushing, the moment your pulse skipped just once, the moment your thighs locked just a little tighter around him.

Wen you finally break—when that orgasm tears through you like a white-hot wave—Clark feels it all. All of it. The pressure of your release, the soft cries spilling from your mouth, the taste of your climax thick in the air, the heat radiating from your skin. It knocks the wind out of him. No villain, no meteor, no battle has ever unraveled him like the feel of you cumming around him. Because your pleasure is his and he doesn’t just witness it—he lives it.

And when he finally lets himself go—when he cums with a groan so deep it shakes the windows—he watches through his x-ray vision as his release floods into you, thick and warm, curling into the very deepest parts of you like he’s marking you from the inside out. When he sees it—his knees almost buckle. His vision flashes white for a moment. It’s overwhelming. It’s perfect. It’s intimate on a level only he could ever truly comprehend.

To Clark, your body isn’t just beautiful—it’s a miracle. A sacred place. And when you let him in, let him take, let him feel? He knows he’s found heaven. And he never wants to leave.

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Review: All-Star Superman Audiobook—A Hero’s Story, Reimagined in Sound

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ | A Powerful, Poetic Tribute to the Man of Steel

If you’re a Superman fan, the All-Star Superman audiobook is not just a listen—it’s an experience. Grant Morrison’s writing is already legendary, but hearing it brought to life with voice acting, music, and sound effects makes it feel like a cinematic journey for your ears.

The narration perfectly captures the heart of Superman—kind, noble, powerful yet humble. Every line of dialogue, especially between Clark and Lois, or Superman and Lex, is delivered with emotional weight. There’s a mythic, almost Shakespearean quality to the story, and the voice acting elevates that. You can feel the weight of Superman’s looming mortality, the awe in Lois’s discovery, and even Lex Luthor’s twisted pride.

One of the highlights for me was how the audiobook handles Superman’s quieter, more human moments—saving a girl on the verge of suicide, spending time with his father, or writing his final will. These scenes hit even harder with the right tone and pacing, and the actors nailed it.

The background music and ambient effects really add atmosphere without overwhelming the story. Whether it’s the hum of the Fortress of Solitude, the chaos of a supervillain brawl, or the stillness of space, it sets the tone beautifully.

As someone who resonates deeply with Clark Kent, hearing this story in audio form made me feel even closer to him. His struggle to balance immense power with compassion, and his unwavering hope in humanity, speaks to something real and deeply inspiring.

If you’re new to Superman or think you know all there is about him, All-Star Superman will surprise you. And if you’re already a fan, this audiobook will make you fall in love with the character all over again.

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The Day Anime Expo Failed Me: A Disabled Cosplayer’s Experience

I’ve held onto this for years now, and I think it’s finally time to talk about it—my experience at Anime Expo in 2014, and how I was mistreated not only as a cosplayer but as a disabled person simply trying to exist in a space that’s supposed to be welcoming.

That year, I cosplayed as Ghoulia Yelps from Monster High. It was one of my favorite builds—complete with Lolita-inspired layers, tights, heels, the whole detailed look. I worked hard on that cosplay. And like many others that day, I found myself waiting outside in line, drenched in 100+ degree Los Angeles heat, surrounded by concrete and a sea of people. But unlike many others, I was doing this with a titanium rod in my leg.

Back in 2011, I was hit by a pickup truck. Since then, I’ve had difficulty standing for long periods of time. Pain and swelling are regular occurrences when I’m on my feet too long. So while waiting in that oppressive heat, I reached a point where my knee was throbbing and visibly swelling. I saw a staircase nearby—empty, shaded—and asked one of the staff if I could sit for a moment, just to relieve the pressure and avoid collapsing.

She looked at me and told me, flat-out: “No. You can’t sit there.”

No offer to help, no concern for my safety or condition, no understanding. Just a rigid, uncaring dismissal. As if I were being difficult instead of just trying to take care of my body. I wasn’t asking for special treatment—I was asking for basic compassion.

That moment broke something in me. I didn’t feel like a guest. I didn’t even feel like a person. I felt invisible.

Later, I filed a formal complaint to the head staff. That evening, I received an “apology” email—if you can even call it that. It was cold and robotic, more concerned with policy than with what actually happened. It was the kind of response that makes you feel even smaller, like your pain is just a footnote in a larger machine that doesn’t want to be inconvenienced.

That experience still lingers in my memory. And it’s not just about me or that one moment—it’s about the way disabled cosplayers are often overlooked and disrespected in convention spaces. I wasn’t asking for the world. I was just asking to sit down so I didn’t pass out or make my injury worse.

We need to talk more about this. We need better accessibility, better training for staff, and most importantly—empathy. These conventions thrive because of the fans, the artists, the dreamers, the passionate weirdos who show up in handmade armor and five layers of fabric in the summer heat. Disabled fans are part of that magic, too.

We deserve more than half-hearted apologies and inflexible rules. We deserve dignity. We deserve to feel seen. We deserve to sit down.

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Lucy Maud Montgomery, The Blue Castle

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July is Disability Pride Month, and I’m showing up loud, proud, and unapologetically myself.

My disability isn’t something to hide, fix, or be ashamed of—it’s part of who I am, and it’s shaped me into someone strong, creative, and resilient. I’ve been through challenges most people can’t imagine, and I’m still here, still smiling, still slaying, and still me.

Whether it’s mobility, chronic pain, mental health, neurodivergence, or anything in between—disabled people deserve visibility, accessibility, love, and respect year-round. But this month? We’re celebrating ourselves. Our community. Our stories. Our victories, big and small.

I’m proud to be disabled. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. And I’m proud to stand with every single person who knows what it means to navigate a world that wasn’t built with us in mind—and thrive anyway.

Disability is not a weakness. It’s a different way of existing—and that difference matters.