#dc lois

[starfires-comet]

LOIS JOANNE LANE-KENT. “i don't know who you are. just a friend from another star.”

( for @sozzoe )

[namesaretomainstream]

Lois and Clark (DC) Ship Moodboard by @namesaretomainstream

‼️REQUESTS ALWAYS WELCOME AND ENCOURAGED‼️

Please give credit outside tumblr!

(An: BIG DOPEY ALIEN MAN LOVES PETITE BOSS BITCH WIFE 😩❤️😖)

Song pairing:

[juliearchery107]

If Question was in "Superman and Lois":

[daytimevigilante]

Lois confronting Barbara, about her theory that she is Oracle:

Barbara ready to blackmail her to keep her mouth shut. 😆

I can’t, this was too funny

( Birds of Prey, 1999)

[favficbirthdays]

Happy Birthday

Lois Lane (17th August)

DC Comics

[starfires-comet]

♡ . — ꒰ america is not a closed door ꒱ by lois lane “the only thing more powerful than hate is love.” - bad bunny

i married an immigrant. that sentence shouldn’t feel political. it should feel ordinary. my husband came here as an infant from a world that no longer exists. he was raised in kansas by parents who taught him that being american isn’t about birthplace. it’s about responsibility. about showing up for your neighbors. about believing that freedom is strongest when it is shared.

he’s not alone. this country has always been shaped by people who arrived from somewhere else. by choice or by desperation or by hope. farmers who coaxed food from unfamiliar soil. engineers who built skylines. scientists who cured diseases. journalists who held power accountable. immigrants are not a footnote in the american story. they are the story. and yet, we talk about them like a threat.

we reduce human beings to statistics. we turn families into “cases.” we describe children seeking safety as if they are security breaches. we let acronyms or numbers replace names. let me be clear: enforcing laws is a function of government. cruelty is not. when immigration enforcement becomes synonymous with fear—when people are detained without dignity, when families are separated as leverage, when asylum seekers are treated like criminals for asking for protection—we have crossed a moral line.

policies can be debated. but humanity is not negotiable. i have reported on detention centers. i have spoken with parents who don’t know where their children are sleeping. i have interviewed citizens afraid to report crimes because they fear deportation more than danger. when enforcement creates silence instead of safety, it undermines the very stability it claims to protect. a nation confident in its identity does not panic at difference.

immigrants expand markets. start businesses at higher rates than native-born citizens. fill critical labor shortages. serve in the military. teach in our schools. care for our elderly. they pay taxes. they build communities. they innovate. they also bring something less measurable and just as vital: something i like to call perspective. when you leave everything you know and rebuild from nothing, you understand resilience in a way that cannot be taught. you understand gratitude differently. you understand the value of opportunity because you have lived without it.

my husband wears a symbol on his chest that people associate with hope. but hope is not a superpower. it is a practice. and this country practices hope best when it remembers that nearly all of us descend from someone who arrived with an accent, a suitcase, or a dream. we can have secure borders and humane policies. we can enforce laws without abandoning compassion. we can reform a system that is undeniably broken without dehumanizing the people inside it. what we cannot do—what we must not do—is pretend that fear makes us stronger. it does not.

what makes america strong is its capacity to absorb, adapt, and evolve. to take in the tired and the brilliant, the desperate and the daring, and create something new together. immigrants are not invaders. they are investors in this country’s future. and if we want that future to be worthy of the ideals we recite, then our policies must reflect not just power, but principle.

america is not a closed door. it is a promise.

the question is whether we intend to keep it.

[starfires-comet]

my next fic is something completely different from anything i have ever written before. i just felt like i needed to say something about everything that is happening in the world currently with ice. ice has affected my best friend. her uncle and her mom’s boyfriend were both detained in minneapolis. i needed to write and i decided what better way than to write as lois talking about her marriage to an immigrant.

fuck ice. abolish ice. anti ice. i love immigrants.

[starfires-comet]

lois lane’s christmas eve deadline ─── day five of my advant calendar

summary. lois must finish her front-page christmas story before midnight. clark is mysteriously missing, unaware she’s cursing him while he’s saving the city.

lois lane had written stories from war zones, alien ruins, burning buildings, and once from the inside of a malfunctioning lexcorp elevator with nothing but a pen and a protein bar. nothing, nothing, compared to writing a front-page christmas feature on christmas eve while your superpowered husband was off doing superpowered nonsense with zero warning.

the daily planet bullpen was dim, half-deserted, and draped in decorations that looked like they’d lost the will to live. a crooked garland sagged off jimmy’s desk. a plastic wreath lay upside down on the breakroom floor like it had given up. her fingers hovered. her foot tapped. “okay,” she whispered to herself. “we’re going to write this. we’re going to channel joy and spirit and holiday whatever. we are not going to commit homicide.”

she cracked her knuckles.

typed:

“christmas in metropolis is a celebration of hope-”

she stopped. “hope is fake,” she muttered, deleting the sentence. “joy is fake. everything is fake except deadlines.”

she tried again.

“in a city of lights, christmas reminds us-”

delete.

“christmas is a time for togetherness-”

delete. her jaw clenched. her phone stayed stubbornly silent beside her. it had been silent for two hours. two hours since clark had kissed her cheek, smiled that soft, guilty smile that meant something was happening and he wasn’t telling her until later, and then said he “had to step out for a minute.”

a minute. a minute in superman time could mean anything. stopping a flood. diverting an asteroid. saving a puppy from a tree. saving six puppies from a fire. rescuing an entire science station from falling into a black hole.

lois loved him. adored him. would die for him. she also desperately wanted to throw her laptop directly at his stupid heroic face right now. she glared at her blinking cursor.

“it’s christmas,” she said to her computer, “and my husband is definitely out there punching a missile or something. BUT CAN HE TEXT? NO. CAN HE CALL? NO.”

she checked her phone. no messages. “unbelievable,” she muttered, shooting out a text.

LOIS LANE: Clark Joseph Kent, if you are not dead or kidnapped or rescuing orphans from a burning sleigh, I SWEAR—

jimmy sidled up with a mug of something steaming. “uh… coffee? or tea? or cocoa? honestly i forgot which one i handed you.”

lois took a long gulp. “it’s hot, that’s all that matters.”

“you okay?”

“oh, sure.” she tossed up a hand. “i adore spending christmas eve rewriting the same paragraph while my husband vanishes like a ghost.”

jimmy blinked. “didn’t he say he was picking up the ornaments from that shop on fifth street? he said he’d be twenty minutes.”

she stabbed the keyboard. “he lied.”

jimmy looked like he wanted to disagree, but self-preservation won out. “i’m sure he’ll be back soon.” soon. clark always said that. he also always ran toward trouble with the same earnest desperation he ran toward her. lois knew it. she loved him for it. she also wanted to shake him. hard.

jimmy thought very, very carefully. “you look like… you’re… very productive?” lois let out a sharp, unhinged laugh. “productive. yes. incredibly productive. behold my magnum opus.” she spun her laptop toward him.

it displayed a single sentence:

“christmas is—”

jimmy blinked. “uh…”

“REVOLUTIONARY, I KNOW,” lois barked.

jimmy moved along. lois dropped her forehead onto the keyboard with a muffled groan. meanwhile, hundreds of feet over the east river, superman was carrying a derailed monorail car back onto the tracks while balancing two injured passengers under one arm and extinguishing sparks with a quick blast of freeze-breath.

his cape was on fire. he didn’t notice. he did however, feel a faint, psychic sort of chill. the unmistakable sensation of his wife somewhere in the city muttering extremely creative curse words that were definitely about him.

he winced. “lois is gonna kill me,” he whispered as he welded metal into place.

the conductor, shaking, said, “wow, thank you-”

“sorry! gotta go! merry christmas!” and he shot off again.

back at the planet, lois sat up, hair a mess, eyes blazing. “okay. okay. enough pity party. we’re doing this.”

she retyped:

“metropolis glows brightest not because of its skyline, but because of the people who keep it shining-”

she paused. hmm. not terrible. she kept going.

“from first responders to late-night volunteers, to neighbors who shovel stoops that aren’t their own-”

she nodded. good. solid. normal.

then she murmured under her breath: “unlike certain superpowered idiots who van- nope. nope. not putting that in the article. focus, lane.”

her phone still didn’t buzz. still no clark. still no “i’m alive btw! :)” text. she typed harder.

“christmas spirit isn’t one grand gesture. it’s hundreds of small ones that remind us we’re not alone.”

she paused. she felt something soften in her chest, annoyance bending into reluctant fondness. because the truth was? clark would text if he could. clark would be here if he could.

and she knew exactly what he was doing or at least the shape of it. saving, lifting, shielding, patching up the city piece by fragile piece. still. he could have warned her. her deadline stress curled right back in. she typed with renewed spite:

“and while some people vanish without a word and leave their wives to finish front-page features alone-”

her eyes widened.“oh GOD, delete delete delete!”

lois dropped her forehead onto the keyboard. “i’m going to fail this assignment and perry is going to kill me and bury me under the planet’s ugly plastic nativity set.” she inhaled deeply, forcing herself back into journalist mode. she checked the time.

11:07 PM.

perry strode by. “lane! how’s that feature?”

“i’m crafting a masterpiece,” she said.

“is it finished?”

“...no?”

“then it’s not a masterpiece yet,” he barked, and marched off. lois inhaled slowly. exhaled slowly. picked up her empty coffee cup and briefly considered throwing it. instead, she opened a new paragraph.

typed:

“this year, as snow falls across the city, perhaps the greatest gift we give one another is simply showing up.”

she paused. re-read it. nodded once.

okay. that was… decent.

she kept typing, faster now, irritation turning into flow. sentences fell into place. her brain finally stopped screaming long enough for her fingers to do their job.

then a burst of wind swept through the bullpen. her hair whipped into her face. her papers fluttered everywhere. she didn’t look up. she just snarled, “CLARK, IF THAT’S YOU, I’M STILL MAD.”

a familiar voice answered, slightly out of breath: “…noted.”

lois froze. turned slowly. clark stood there, snow in his hair, coat askew, looking like he’d been run over by a blizzard full of tiny elves with grudges. her jaw dropped. then snapped shut. then she jabbed a finger in his direction.

“YOU.”

clark blinked. “me?”

“yes, you! where have you been?! i needed quotes! i needed metaphors! i needed someone to tell me that the word ‘illumination’ doesn’t sound pretentious!”

he lifted a hand, sheepish. “i can help now.”

“it’s eleven forty-eight.”

his eyes widened. “oh. so i should-?”

“sit,” she ordered. “you’re being used.” he sat. lois shoved her laptop toward him. “say something christmasy.”

“metropolis is full of—”

“stop. something better.” clark cleared his throat, brow knitting as he thought.

“christmas,” he said slowly, “is the reminder that even in the darkest nights, there’s always someone doing their best to bring a little light.” lois typed it word for word. then typed faster. then kept writing even after he finished talking. her story bloomed, warm and sharp and finally right.

at 11:58 PM, she hit SEND. her article sailed into perry’s inbox with two minutes to spare. clark raised both eyebrows. “did we do it?”

“we did.” she shut her laptop with a triumphant snap. “and it’s good. it’s very good. pulitzer-worthy good. eat-your-heart-out-jimmy-olsen good.”

jimmy, passing by, frowned. “what did i do?”

clark laughed, lois sagged back in her chair, exhausted.

clark smiled softly. “you okay?”

“no,” she said. “but i will be after i eat something deep-fried.”

he hesitated. “…are you still mad at me?”

“oh, absolutely,” she said, standing and grabbing her coat. “but right now i’m too hungry to express it properly.”

he laughed. she didn’t smile, not fully, but her eyes softened. “c’mon, smallville,” she murmured. “let’s go home.”

and as they walked toward the elevator, lois muttered under her breath: “you’re still explaining where you were.” clark winced. superman could survive meteors. he was not sure he would survive lois lane’s post-deadline interrogation.