#so he is a superhero that works in metropolis that relies on his suit for power
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hi!
i saw ur recent post :) i know nothing abt dc and booster gold but what sort of superhero is booster gold?? feel free to ramble hehe
ooh this is interesting. you see people tend to stereotype booster as either a time travelling hero, or a self absorbed sell out. and sure hes got elements of both, but he is way more than that
he kinda acts like a classic golden hero -- I mean he took a lot of inspiration from superman originally -- but he does sponsorships and advertisements and whatever because he was also a football player before, and athletes do that all the time, and he figured why dont superheroes do that? and that's the thing that most people dont understand -- both in canon (either intentionally, like in the original booster gold comics, or unintentionally like newer stuff or when he gets represented in shows a lot) and just in the general fanbase -- hes perceived as shallow and barely a hero, if anything just a laughingstock. but at his core, hes selfless and he wants to help people. he likes money, sure, he loves being rich, but he also grew up poor, so it doesnt take that big of an adjustment when he loses his funds. basically, booster gold is very heroic and can be very selfless, hes just kind of perceived as a glory hound
and then the time travelling element is fun, but I don't really like it as his main focus. nowadays hes just brought in because theres time travel involved, but I much prefer his original time aspect presented in booster gold 1986 and time masters 1990, in my opinion the aspect of him always meant to time travel back, as well as the methods of travel and the rules put in place. going to the 80s and saving people, as well as just being stuck there because the time sphere broke (and not being able to time travel instantaneously) and then we he did get to time travel forward he learned that 1) you can only use each time travel method once, which adds a fun barrier to time travel but still makes it fun and 2) he was always intended to go to the 80s and save the president, which also adds a build up to what happens in time masters which expands more on time travel and ties these two elements together in a way I really enjoy. him discovering that being booster gold, the hero, is his destiny is also a plotline I really enjoy. I feel by removing this element and restriction of time travel it kind of removes his important character arc with this
but also, the other thing that drives his character is his lack of secret identity. nobody knows his real name, sure, but he doesnt have a real real name anyway. he lives as booster gold, not as a "michael jon carter" (which he does not!! go by btw). his identity is tied so strongly to being a superhero he doesnt know how to live without it. when he loses his suit or even just power in his suit, he has no idea what to do. in booster gold #13 when his suit is drained of power and hes injured and sickly from the previous issue, he is so glad to get his flight ring back even if it's just a hint of his previous powers, and the entire time he is just struggling without the powers he was accustomed to because of the suit. on top of that, the issues in #25 that he has from not being a hero, where he doesn't know how to live normally but also considers going back to the 25th century because he cant live in the 20th century anymore (for multiple reasons) but that was also when he has to accept that being booster gold is his destiny, and he cant get rid of it (he doesnt know how)
anyways I dont know if this makes sense at all or actually answers your question but I just think that booster gold and like how he is perceived by the public and by himself is very interesting and I just love a hero who's secret identity is so tied up in being a hero (where they dont even have a secret identity) that they don't know how to not be a hero, especially when its tied with being a celebrity and having fame and wealth, while also caring deeply about being a hero and helping (if I had a nickel...) idk i just love that kind of hero
#āfeel free to ramble about booster goldā well dont mind if i do#i can always ramble about booster#idk if this is what you meant by what kind of hero#because this kind of broke down his character a lot#but for all i know you couldve meant like is he a superpowered alien like superman or a non powered vigilante like batman#in which it would be that he doesnt have powers himself but he gets powers from his suit and ring that he stole from a museum from the#25th century and time traveled back to the 20th century to be a hero and have a fresh start#so he is a superhero that works in metropolis that relies on his suit for power#but also can work his way rhrough problems without it#like yes the suit is an important part of his identity but he is not useless without it#and he is very smart
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Ok I'm like 12 issues into Booster Gold 1986 aka Booster Gold's og run. ANd there's a few things that bother me about the writing choices:
Ok so Booster Gold goes back in time to start his life over with the idea of being a big fish in a small to medium-sized pond with his advanced future tech to make money on superheroing. So why the fuck does he choose to work in Metropolis where he'd have to compete with Superman, in-universe the most popular superhero of all time ever apparently, for both crimes to stop and popularity.
It would make more sense for Booster to pick a city that doesn't have a big-name hero or who's main hero avoids the limelight/has a bad rep to operate out of after his debut.
2. That one issue where Superman has to educate hotheaded rash young Booster Gold that 'superheroes can't just be helping people who claim to be oppressed, they gotta listen to both sides b/c sometimes people who claim to be oppressed are scammers' which is a yikes fucking message to come from a white writer
3. The idea that a formerly poor person whose livelihood relies on the tech he uses for superheroing wouldn't do basic maintenance on his fucking equipment to make sure it stays in proper working order. That it wouldn't even cross Booster's mind to make sure the batteries for his suit stays charged and that he's flabbergasted that his powers are weakening without a hint of a clue why. That reflects poorly on both the character for being made such an idiot when he's not shown to be in the rest of the run and on the writer for thinking the audience are fucking dullards.
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Her speculations were correct; he wasn't Superman, nor did he want to be. I mean, have you seen the superhero's suit? Satoru would much rather be caught dead than wearing that wedgie-inducing spandex. It may have captured, or even inspired, the hearts of Lois Lane and the civilians of Metropolis, but not his. Hard pass.
So, yes, long story short, the strongest did get tired. But never in the presence of others, not even his best friend. Satoru couldn't afford to show vulnerability, especially when the bounties for his head had piled as high as they were now.
But an 'off day'? Yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen, mainly because it wasn't an optionānot just for himself but also for the sake of those who were relying on his protection. Like humanity itself.
If only he could say the same for bad hair days. Those he couldn't seem to overcome.
"Y'know Shoko, she runs on her own time," Satoru shrugged slightly, trying to take pieces of her delirious optimism and apply them to his own train of thought. He wanted to believe the poison would only knock her out as she said, but a part of him knew better. Curses didn't render people unconscious; they killed them. And right now, she didn't look good at all, growing paler and more lethargic by the second. Hell, she could barely keep her head up!
She left him no choice.
"Damn it, Jangmi. I had to play your knight in shining armor, and now I have to play your doctor, too? You're lucky I was paying attention to Shoko's little reverse cursed technique ramble the other day, cause I'm going to have to heal you on our way back." In the air, while holding her wedding style like the damsel in distress she was. Not that he really thought that way of her, she was simply a damsel who was quite literally in distress.
So as he took to the sky, Satoru shifted the First Year in his arms, turning her from a briefcase to a princess, who he was holding onto with both armsāone around her waist and the other underneath the back of her knees. White energy surrounded them shortly afterward as Shoko's reverse cursed technique went into effect, working quickly to repair the wound and rid it of the poison. His interpretation of the technique wasn't as refined as his classmate's, but he was trying.
His melodrama entertained her, but she felt too lightheaded to do more than breathe out a quick, amused breath through her nose. "Mn, well you could have an 'off day.' You never know," she teased. Rather than doubt, she simply remembered he was human; not the Superman that everyone made him out to be. Surely there were days where he wasn't at the top of his game, she thought. Even if there hadn't been a single day like that in his life, she knew it was foolish to think that he could keep it up forever. Even one of the strongest had to get tired, sometimes.
Suddenly she felt supremely guilty for not being able to handle the curse on her own, her stomach churning with the uncomfortable realization of her failure. It didn't help that the way he'd decided to carry her was making her uniform jacket and the camisole underneath pull tight against her abdomen and sides, causing the wound to sting. "Gee, my knight in shining armor," she replied with light sarcasm, just a little bit irritated that he was treating her about the same as a briefcase. She couldn't be too mad; he was saving her ass, after all. Still, it would've been nice to be treated like a human rather than dangling like a kitten grabbed up by the scruff of its neck.
Jangmi could barely lift her head at this point, even though she was trying. She must have lost consciousness briefly, because she hadn't heard him kill off the curse. The next thing she knew, he was telling her not to fall asleep. She mumbled, "Maybe it's just gonna knock me out. Maybe it's not the kind of poison that kills." Optimism, to try to convince herself that she wasn't dying. "Did she come along?" she asked, surprised. Yaga usually made Shoko stay behind, and anyone who got hurt had to tough it out until they could get back to Jujutsu High. "Or..." she trailed off, not liking the alternative, if she was already in and out of consciousness.
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You did your top ten Superman Artists before, who are your top ten Superman Writers? (I know you've already given your number one, but I'd still like to see your thoughts on the other 9)
Honorable mentions up front: There are the great creators who worked on him in the Silver and Bronze ages such as Leo Dorfman, Edmond Hamilton, Cary Bates (who would be VERY close to the top in a ranking of the best Luthor writers), and of course Jack Kirby. Mark Millarās work with the character is consistently among the best of his career, and his nebulously upcoming miniseries has every chance of shooting him into the top ten. Max Landisās American Alien is easily the best Superman story of the last few years, but given his atrocious previous shot at the character in Adventures of Superman and his frequently inconsistent quality across the board, Iām not certain yet that wasnāt a lightning-in-a-bottle moment. Making better showings in Adventures were Joe Keatinge and Matt Kindt, who blew me away with their respective pieces and I think could make real impacts if properly utilized. And while his work with the character was fundamentally compromised and cut short, Chris Robersonās vision of him was one that tremendously appealed. Finally, while heās neverĀ āofficiallyā worked on the character, Samuel Hawkinsā all but unknown Tales of Smallville for the site Superman Thru The Ages are absolute top-tier, all-time-great stories.
10. Greg Pak
What an utter goddamn shame; Pak was by all rights destined to be The Definitive 2010s Superman Writer, and DC shit all over him until he finally gave up and vanished back to Marvel. But in between the endless crossover nonsense and making him and poor Aaron Kuder put up with the New 52 suit, his Clark had a visceral sense of humanity and physicality that made him feel true and lived-in in a way few if any other writers have matched over the years, driven by a sense of righteous anger and pained compassion. If, god willing, he ever gets the subsequent shot he deserves (preferably with Kuder) and isnāt constantly compromised and undermined, expect to see him ultimately wind up significantly higher.
9. Joe Casey
Maybe the most frustratingly underrated guy in my top ten. In spite of a few gestures in a more radical direction - he explicitly wrote Superman as a pacifist, which obviously didnāt take - he didnāt particularly reinvent the wheel during his time with the character, especially given it was only for about his last year that he actually got to work solo rather than as a quarter of a complete unit. But that last yearās adventures are some of Supermanās best, with a vivid quirkiness and grand scope grounded in a particularly humble and introspective take on big blue that deserves its due as a cult classic run with the character.
8. Alan Moore
While I hold dearly to my contrarian take of For The Man Who Has Everything being significantly overrated, Mooreās other Superman comics more than make up for it, with both Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow? and Jungle Line scratching down to the bloody raw floorboards of his mind and demonstrating his vulnerability in a way that remains unmatched. He is to date the one and only truly great writer of Dark, Grim Superman Comics.
7. Otto Binder
Binder contributed more to the raw depth of Supermanās world in terms of mythology than anyone other than Siegel himself, ranging from Brainiac and Bizarro to Supergirl and Kandor and the Legion of Superheroes, with stories such as The Old Man Of Metropolis! and The Return Of Supermanās Lost Parents! proving he could also hang in there with the best of them in delivering the emotional gut-punches that Supermanās best tales so often rely upon.
6. Jerry SiegelĀ
I donāt think any reasonable person could seriously contest that Siegel belongs on any list such as this by default. But his position on it comes down not just to creating the dang guy, but the caliber of his material, particularly in his 1960s return where his stories ranged from mournful (Supermanās Return To Krypton!) to blackly comic and gleefully celebratory (Supermanās Day Of Doom!) to relentlessly heartbreaking (The Death Of Superman!) - just as he provided the rolicking adventure and bombast that birthed Superman alongside Joe Shuster, he and the contemporaries that walked in his footsteps found the wistful, melancholy heart that still defines his creation to this day.
5. Garth Ennis
Heās only written him the twice (thrice counting All-Star Section Eight, though he doesnāt pull focus in there in the same way, and it goes in aā¦different direction), but twice is enough for a lifetime in this case. The one superhero Ennis seems to hold sincere affection for as opposed to liking well enough at the absolute best, his Superman is whip-smart, ethical, self-aware, entirely understanding of how the world really works and the limits of what he can accomplish in it even as he grieves his inability to do more, and in Ennisās own wordsĀ āconstantly let down by humanity, and never giving up on themā.
4. Mark Waid
The ne plus ultra of Superman fans, that heās never secured a long-term tenure with his hero surely frustrates him even more than the legion of fans whoāve waited in vain for decades for him to get his deserved shot. What he *has* gotten to do has shown it would be more than worth the wait: while his vision with Alex Ross of an elder Superman in Kingdom Come weighed down by regret and lost in a strange new era resonated with a generation, his take is clearest in the criminally disregarded Birthright, whose alienated and passionate version of a young Clark Kent represented a scale of potential in his early days that has yet to be truly captured.
3. Kurt Busiek
Another underrated writer, Busiekās time on Superman proper - while never getting to reach its proper culmination as he left to work on TrinityĀ - is easily the best run that main title has ever had, with a warm, clever, classic Superman up against wild new threats that tested both his abilities and his ethics; in other words, the platonic example of Good Superman Comics. What pushes him into this kind of rarified air though is Secret Identity, with the most purely down-to-Earth, vulnerable, and thoughtfulĀ āSupermanā of all at its heart letting readers attach themselves to the fantasy he represents more acutely than maybe any other story.
2. Elliot S! Maggin
The first Superman writer to not only recognize that he was working with a modern legend but consistently and overtly write his stories with that in mind, it was under his pen that Superman gained a sort of self-awareness, questioning his methods and mindset as he tangled with some of his most astonishing threats. As Siegel provided Superman with his muscle and heart, Maggin was the first to actively map the contours of his mind and place in a larger universe, with a portrait of a truly alien intellect anchored by the most human of concerns and an unshakable ethical base that still resonates, bolstered by an equally well thought-out Luthor and a firehose spray of heady ideas - especially in his essential novels Last Son Of Krypton and Miracle Monday - that set a standard that has rarely if ever been recaptured.
1. Grant Morrison
Whether with a spitfire 20-something charging through the streets of Metropolis in a t-shirt and jeans, an unstoppable champion uniting with his counterparts from throughout the multiverse to rescue the very concept of story, or a relaxed god-man floating through his bittersweet last days among us, Morrison reaches deeper than anyone else into the vague, intangible essence of what Superman is to us - the goodest of guys, the one you can rely on, the one whoāll never fall and never stop believing in you - and grabs hard. With seemingly his every talent and every thematic preoccupation throughout his incredible career tailor-made to suit telling Superman stories, whether in his crushingly foredoomed attempts at redefining him for a new generation in Action Comics or All-Star with its mythic self-image and subtle character work, the very fact of Grant Morrison Doing Something With Superman constitutes an event unto itself. He fits the fundamentals together in the framework of his own unique cosmic approach and love for the material, with a model for Superman that while more flexible than any other always maintains his compassion and cleverness and unyielding spirit, and as it happens, thatās the tack thatās worked the best across all these 79 years and counting.
#Superman#Greg Pak#Joe Casey#Alan Moore#Otto Binder#Jerry Siegel#Garth Ennis#Mark Waid#Kurt Busiek#Elliot S! Maggin#Grant Morrison#Opinion
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Bruce/Clark; PG-13; grief and loss
Summary: Despite the fractured bones heād scanned countless times, the contusions and scars carefully hidden by armour, part of Clark believed the Bat would outlive them all. For fifteen years, night after night, Bruce survived the streets of Gotham. Until he didnāt.
Note: This fic references Bruceās canonical death in Final Crisis and relies heavily on the Superman: New Krypton storyline. To those unfamiliar, here is a brief synopsis of the events and timeline relevant for the purpose of this fic: Clark liberates the bottled city of Kandor from Brainiac, freeing thousands of Kryptonians, including his aunt and uncle, to live on earth; Jonathan Kent dies from a heart attack while Clark is off-world dealing with Brainiac; shortly after that, Bruce seemingly dies after being hit by Darkseidās omega beams; humans and Kryptonians donāt get along, Clarkās uncle gets assassinated, and Clarkās aunt eventually relocates their people to another planet to serve as New Krypton.
Thank you to @superhero-justice and @superbatfleck for cleaning this up for me. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Constructive criticism welcome.
Reporters rush in and out of the Daily Planet offices in pursuit of the latest scoop, shoes squeaking and clicking on the floor. Others are hunched over their computers, racing to meet the print deadline, each keystroke as loud as a bullet. One floor down, the refrigerator in the break room emits a low hum. Ten blocks away, a car alarm is blaring on the street and a dog starts barking. There are other indistinct sounds he canāt isolate, nor can he manage to block them out. He hears all of it, and he hears none of it.
He startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder, swivelling his chair to find Jimmy leaning against his cubicle. Judging by the worried expression contorting his face, he mustāve been trying to gain Clarkās attention for some time. Clark watches his mouth move, the thunderous tick tick tick of his wristwatch making it impossible to concentrate on the individual sounds that make up the words. Bruce had not been wrong to insist lip-reading would be a useful skill to pick up.
āāark? You okay, buddy?ā
The smell of freshly-brewed coffee wafts into the room from the shop across the street, so overpowering that Clark can taste it in the back of his throat. āYeah, Iām fine,ā he says in a rush, fighting the urge to gag. He reaches under his glasses to rub at his aching eyes, squinting against the too-bright fluorescent lighting and the glare from his computer screen. It takes a full five seconds to realize what a colossal mistake like that could cost him, and he lets the frames slide back onto his nose, hoping the slip-up went unnoticed.
Stupid, the voice in his head berates. It sounds remarkably like Bruce. Stupid and reckless.
Jimmy frowns and bites his lip. āYouāve been staring at that article for, like, forty minutes.ā
Clark turns back to glance at his computer. Heād been searching the Gotham Gazette archive when he stumbled upon an article about the charitable work of the Wayne Foundation. A picture of Bruce accompanies the headline, looking handsome and respectable in a tailored suit. It was taken at a recent fundraiser, where he had given a speech about building a brighter future for Gotham, about believing in the city and its people. The small, private smile on his face is what makes the photo remarkableānot the patented smirk Bruce Wayne would wear in public, but a warm, genuine twitch of his lips. Cassandra had been in attendance that evening, and Bruce kept his focus on her as he spoke, his smile that of a proud father.
Clarkās heart lurches at the memory. Will details like that eventually begin to fade? Given time, will he forget the rhythm of Bruceās heartbeat, like an old song whose tune can be recognized but never recalled? Will he forget the sound of his voice? Not the low growl of the Bat or the charming lilt of his public persona, but the deep, rich cadence that belonged to Bruce, with its notes of grief and sorrow. Batman and Bruce Wayne each leave behind a legacy, but they were a mask and a performance. The man underneath was known to so few, and the realization heās the one who doesnāt get to live on leaves Clark hollow.
As far as the public is concerned, both Bruce Wayne and Batman are alive and well. It required impeccable planning and execution, of course, but that was Bruce down to his core: always ten steps ahead of everyone else, always a contingency plan for even the most inconceivable scenario. His own death was hardly that, of course, but Clark never imagined it would go completely unacknowledged.
āI justā¦. have a lot on my mind,ā he says, fighting to keep his voice from breaking.
I lost my dad and best friend within weeks of each other, is what he doesnāt get to say, what he aches to cry out. Theyāre dead. The words crawl up his throat like bile, leaving an acrid taste on his tongue as he bites his lip to trap them, nothing but a thought for him to choke on.
āYou know, Chiefās in a good mood today,ā says Jimmy, gesturing toward Perryās office with his thumb. Clark tries and fails to hide a flinch as Perryās assistant begins stapling stacks of documents. āI bet heād let you take off early, if you ask.ā
There is truth to that. Despite his gruff exterior, Perry is a kind man; he has been taking it easy on Clark since his return from bereavement leave, assigning fluff pieces that required little time and effort. Just as Superman was powerless where it mattered most, Clark Kent could offer nothing of substance.
āNo,ā Clark says, even as a splitting headache assaults his temples and his X-ray vision flickers on and off. He hadnāt lost control over his senses like this since his abilities first started developing. The buzzing in his ears gets worse and he barely resists the instinct to cover them. Maybe, he thinks, his eardrums will finally give out and rupture. Ā āI need the distraction.ā
āWell, all right, if you say so,ā Jimmy concedes, though he doesnāt seem convinced. āIf thereās anything you need, palā¦ just say the word.ā
Though he means the gesture to be genuine, the smile that stretches Clarkās mouth is strained, pulling on muscles he thought had atrophied over the last few weeks. āThanks, Jimmy,ā he says. āYouāre a good friend.ā
After Jimmy disappears down the hall, Clark turns towards Loisā empty cubicle with a sigh, craving the comfort of her company. Her investigation in Washington pertains specifically to New Krypton, and heās beyond grateful for the work sheās putting in.
He pulls out his phone, intending to return Dianaās message from a couple days ago. Scrolling through his recent calls, he tenses when he reaches Paās number. He hasnāt been able to bring himself to delete it, and he stares at it for a long time.
He doesnāt make a single call.
***
They always believe they can outrun him, Clark notes with exasperation, wondering if Flash often encounters the same issue. He wraps a metal pole around the three robbers he captured before turning to deal with the two whoād taken off by foot. As they run, the robbers turn to shoot at him, the bullets ricocheting off of Clarkās chest. Really, will they ever learn?
Busy as they are emptying their ammo on Clarkās chest, they donāt notice the dark figure that descends from above. Clark hardly needs the assist, but he stops and watches as the first robber is knocked down with a swift kick to his back. Wide-eyed, the second robber turns his attention to the figure, aiming the gun in his direction. Batman avoids it with ease, performing a flip right over the robber, kicking his legs as soon as he lands behind him. Thereās fluidity to the way he moves, like poetry in motion. If Clark didnāt know better, heād swear the man was flying.
The man aims his gun at Batmanās head a second time, but his reflexes are no match to the vigilanteās. Batman grabs his arm and twists, the sound of bone breaking almost as loud as the manās scream. The gun scatters out of his grip, sliding on the ground until it lands at Clarkās feet.
āWas that really necessary?ā Clark says, folding his arms over his chest. He steps on the barrel of the gun, assuring it cannot be fired but still admissible as evidence.
Batman makes quick work of tying up the two robbers, police sirens wailing in the distance. āItās a clean break,ā he responds. Clarkās X-Ray vision confirms as much. āWe need to talk.ā
They land on a secluded, dark rooftop of a skyscraper, city lights twinkling below them. A quick scan confirms there are no cameras that could compromise them and no aircrafts with a vantage point to capture the exchange.
Back turned to Clark, Batman observes Metropolis from the landing. Heās as still and silent as a statue, cape billowing in the wind.
You wanted to talk, so talk, Clark wants to snap, but bites his tongue. He knows better than to press the issue, but even after all these years, heās irked at the way Batman monopolizes his time with so little regard. Instead, he puts his hands on his hips, tapping his foot as he waits.
Finally, Batman turns his head to address him. āWeāve got a situation.ā
āIf this is about New Krypton,ā Clark begins, heart hammering in his ribcage, āIām handling the situation.ā
āIām sorry about Zor-El,ā says Batman, the modulator masking any emotion in his voice. He turns fully until theyāre facing one another. āI understand your aunt seeks retribution for the attack that took his life.ā
Clark clenches his fists. āAs I said,ā he speaks through gritted teeth, āIām dealing with it.ā
āGiven how personal this situation is for you,ā continues Batman, āsome in the League are concerned about where your loyalties may lie. If you bothered turning up for a meeting, perhaps you could put those fears to rest.ā
Clark feels a muscle in his jaw jump, heat rushing to the surface of his skin. āAnd what do you think, Worldās Greatest Detective?ā
āGiven your auntās actions up to this point, Iām concerned about escalating conflict between Earth and New Krypton,ā Batman says. āYou, of course, will be caught in the crossfire. Your loyalty to the people of Earth, however, has never been in question. I only worry about the psychological effect having to make that kind of decision would have on you.ā
The sentiment would mean more, Clark thinks, if he weren't staring at the impassive white lenses of a mask.
āI also think,ā continues Batman, reaching for his cowl, āitās a necessary discussion we will table for a later time. Iām here on a personal matter, not League business.ā
Clarkās heartbeat speeds up and pulsates in his ears, chest growing tight as he holds his breath. Of course, he knows exactly who heās been talking to, who inherited the mantle. The distinct way he moves alone would have given it away. Still, in that split second before the mask is removed, thereās the possibility of seeing his friend again.
A familiar pair of blue eyes meet his gaze, framed by a shock of black hair. The similarity is remarkable.
āDick,ā says Clark, trying to hide his disappointment. āWhat can I do for you?ā
āItās about Tim.ā Dick takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. āHe thinks Bruce is alive.ā
A chill goes down Clarkās spine, body going rigid. āWhat?ā
Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. There are heavy bags under his eyes. āHeā¦ doesnāt believe Bruce is really gone. Heās insisting we have to find him.ā
Furrowing his brow, Clark opens and closes his mouth before settling on a response. āButā¦ I donāt understand. He knows what happened. You both saw the body, read the reportāā
āIām aware,ā Dick cuts in, an edge of impatience creeping into his tone. After a moment, he relaxes his jaw. āIām worried about him. I thinkā¦ maybe heās reaching his limit. Heās lost so much this year alone and now that Bruce is goneā¦ Iām scared of what it might do to him.ā
Tim lost a father for the second time, Clark realizes with an aching heart. That on top of the other tragedies that have mired his life.
āMaybe I donāt have any business asking this of you,ā Dick continues, āBut I donāt know what else to do. He wonāt listen to anything Alfred and I have to say on the matter. He refuses to let go. I was hoping thatā¦ maybe you could talk to him.ā
āDick,ā Clark starts as gently as he can. āThere is nothing I wouldnāt do for your family. You know that. But if Tim wonāt listen to you, what makes you think heāll want to hear anything I have to say?ā
āYou were there,ā is the curt explanation Dick provides. āYou found his body. Youā¦ you were there.ā Guilt flickers across his face. āBesides, Iām not exactly his favourite person these days. I took away the one thing he had left that meant something to him.ā Heās trying so desperately to fill the void Bruce left in everyoneās life, to keep his family from crumbling under the grief.
Clark thinks of the ten-year-old whoās lost a father heād hardly gotten to know, hiding his grief behind a Robin costume. āHow is Damian?ā
āAngry,ā Dick says with a sigh, his eyes glazed over and far away. āLost. Confused. Impulsive.ā
Throughout the years, Clark had seen that same expression on Bruceās face whenever he thought of Jason, all that he couldnāt do for him. Clark imagines Dick is thinking much the same.
āHeās a good kid,ā says Clark. āIf anyone can get through to him, itās you.ā He places a hand on Dickās shoulder, giving it a squeeze. āTim will come around, too. He loved being Robin, but he loves you more.ā
āPlease,ā Dick says, bowing his head. For a moment, he looks exactly like the little kid Clark first met fifteen years ago. āHeās my brother, and I canāt help him. I donāt know what else to do.ā
āAll right,ā Clark agrees. āI canāt promise itāll accomplish much, but Iāll talk to him.ā
Dick abandons his military stance, rounding his back as some of the tension leaves his body. āThank you.ā
They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the traffic below them, the blinding glow of headlights giving Clark a headache.
āI was thinking,ā Clark starts, āAbout the day you came to see me at the Planet, after Bruce fired you.ā
Dick snorts, lips quirking at the memory. āNot his finest moment.ā
āNo, it wasnāt,ā Clark smiles. āGod, I donāt think Iāve ever yelled at anyone like that. We didnāt speak for three weeks.ā
A flash of surprise crosses Dickās face. āHe never told me that.ā
āOf course he didnāt. He knew I was right.ā Bruce never liked hearing truths he wasnāt ready to acknowledge. āYou were cultivating an identity of your own, building an independent life, and he feared there might not be any room in it for him. Ā He was terrified of losing you, so he pushed you away.ā
āFor all his brilliance, he was a goddamn idiot sometimes.ā
The laugh that rolls off of Clark catches him by surprise, the sound of it foreign to his own ears. For the first time in their conversation, Dick sounds like himself, rather than an imitation of his father.
It had been so important to Dick to carve a path for himself, to create an identity that was his alone. When he had taken up the mantle of Nightwing, inspired by the Kryptonian myth Clark shared with him, Clarkās chest swelled with pride. Now, the same age Bruce had been when he first donned the cowl, Dick is giving all of that up, relinquishing the life heās built to preserve a legacy. Itās not the kind of sacrifice someone so young should feel compelled to make.
āDick,ā Clark tries, biting his lip. Ā The pressure in his chest intensifies, grief squeezing his heart. āYou donāt have to do this. There are other ways to honour him.ā
Itās the wrong thing to say.
Dick steels his jaw. āYouāve made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear,ā he says, āAnd Iāve done the same.ā
Clark bows his head, shame flushing his cheeks. The first time he had seen him as Batman, Clark lost it. The words he hurled at Dick were cruel and fuelled by anger, accusing him of parading around in Bruceās skin. Rao, he had nearly lost control of his heat vision, ready to strip Dick of the costume by any means.
When he finds his voice again, his mouth tastes like cotton. āItās not what he wouldāve wanted.ā
That much, Clark knows unequivocally.
Dick puts on the cowl, turning away and walking towards the edge of the roof. āItās what Gotham needs.ā
āWhat about what you need?ā
Dick turns his head. āDonāt worry about me, Superman,ā is his curt reply before firing his grapple gun. āIām Batman.ā
***
It takes two tries to enter the right security code into the hidden panel, his shaking hands causing him to hit the wrong buttons. Another attempt would have triggered extensive and unpleasant safety measures. Once the fingerprint and retinal scans confirm his identity, the gate swings open with a small creak.
Clark stands frozen in front of the picturesque property, inspecting its perfectly manicured lawns and impressive architecture. The grounds of the Manor are completely unchanged from the last time heād visited; nothing to reflect the devastating loss it sustained, the absence of its very soul. It seems impossible, when Clark feels it with every beat of his own heart, every breath drawn from his lungs.
Leaves crunch under his boots as he begins walking, his legs feeling heavier with every step. The lone figure sitting in front of the unmarked grave doesnāt react to his arrival. Tim has his arms wrapped around his legs, knees drawn to his chest with his chin resting on top of them. The thin t-shirt heās wearing hangs loosely on his wiry frame, offering little protection from the cold October breeze. His hair is a little longer, falling messily across his forehead.
Clark settles next to him in silence. Heād done the same for Bruce, a few times, as he knelt by his parentsā graves, and later Jasonās, placing fresh flowers on the polished stones. Clark had kept a hand on his shoulder and said nothing as Bruce wept. The only comfort he could offer was his presence; all he could do was bear witness to his friendās pain, so Bruce wouldnāt have to confront it alone.
He hasnāt been able to offer the same to Bruceās family, these past few weeks.
āWondered if you were going to come by,ā Tim says after a time, voice rough with disuse. How long has he been sitting here, cold and immobilized with grief?
The words arenāt accusatory, but guilt still slices Clark like a shard of kryptonite. He shrugs out of his jacket, wrapping it around Timās shoulders. Tim doesnāt slide his arms through the sleeves, but doesnāt take it off, allowing it to engulf his smaller frame.
āSometimes,ā Clark starts, throat going dry as he pushes the words out, āmost times, evenāā he pauses to wet his lips, staring at his shaking hands. He can feel Timās eyes on him as he struggles to speak. āIt was so easy to think of him as invincible.ā
Bruce may have been one of few non-powered individuals on a team of metahumans, but there never seemed to be anything he couldnāt do. So much strength, brilliance, and competence that defied all odds. Despite the fractured bones heād scanned countless times, the contusions and scars carefully hidden by armour, part of Clark believed the Bat would outlive them all. For fifteen years, night after night, Bruce survived the streets of Gotham. Until he didnāt.
āHeās out there, Clark,ā says Tim. āHeās alive.ā
Nothing could have prepared Clark for how excruciatingly painful those words were. He squeezes his eyes shut, a violent lurch unfolding in his chest. Is this how Dick felt, listening to his brother insist Bruce is alive while grappling with his own grief?
āTim,ā he starts, swallowing past the lump in his throat. āI know you want that to be true. I know you miss him. We all do, butāā
āDonāt give me that crap!ā Tim snaps, startling Clark into opening his eyes. āI know how it sounds. This isnāt denial, this isnāt grief. Why wonāt any of you listen? Heās alive.ā He takes a deep breath to regain composure, nostrils flaring. Gradually, he schools his features into calm apathy that betrays nothing.
It reminds Clark so much of Bruce that he has to look away. Outbursts were a rare thing to witness; anger always crackled underneath the surface, but it was always so carefully-controlled, channelled to where it could be used as an advantage.
I donāt want him to end up like me, Bruce had confessed to Clark only months ago, as Tim grieved his family, forever branded with the loss. On that dark Gotham rooftop, for the very first time, Clark heard fear in his friendās voice. I can see too much of myself in him.
āI carried his body in my arms.ā Even now, Clark bares its weight; like Atlas, eternally condemned to hold up the sky. āYou saw it, too. You heard Dr. Mid-Niteās analysis. Itās Bruce.ā
āYou were dead once, too,ā says Tim, digging his fingers into the dirt. āItās practically part of the job description.ā
āYou know thatās different.ā Clark bows his head in shame, staring at his hands. Bruce was only human. Yet, even with all his abilities, Clark had been completely powerless to save him. Just as heād been too late to save his father. What use were they if he could do nothing to save those he loved?
āIs it?ā
Thereās a moment of silence. āI canāt hear his heartbeat,ā Clark finally says. āIf he wereāIād be able toā¦ā he pauses to wet his lips. āI thought that maybe, maybe it was just out of my reach. But Iā¦ I looked everywhere. Even went back to Apokolips. I canātā¦ I couldnāt hear it anywhere, Tim. Itās gone.ā
Tim whimpers. When Clark turns to look at him, he has a hand over his eyes. Clark is suddenly reminded of just how painfully young he is. Too young to have lost so much, to shoulder so much of the world.
He reaches to place a comforting hand on Timās shoulder, only to have it knocked away. āThereās an explanation for it. There has to be. We donāt know much about the Omega sanction,ā Tim lifts his chin, the knot of muscle at the side of his jaw pulsating.
Clark hangs his head. āI told myself that, too,ā he admits. He had used every piece of technology at his disposal to assess different possibilities. Had made Hal replay the scene of Bruceās death with his ring over and over again, a dozen times, until Hal placed a gentle hand on his back and said, Enough.
āHe wouldnāt have given up on us,ā Tim says, voice breaking. āAny of us. You all may have given up on him, but I wonāt. I canāt. Bruce needs me.ā
āThereās a difference between giving up and letting go, Tim.ā Even as he says them, the words feel out of place on his tongue. The truth of the matter is, Clark has no idea how to let go.
āNot in this case,ā Tim says. āI owe him too much.ā
Something heavy settles in Clarkās stomach at that. āThatās notā¦ he would never want you to think that,ā he urges, furrowing his brow. āAfter Jasonā¦ā Clark tries, unable to complete the thought. āYou were the one that saved him, Tim. Bruce thought of you as a son long before he signed the dotted line that made it official.ā
Tim says nothing to that. āDid you ever tell him?ā he asks instead, staring ahead at the unmarked grave. Clarkās expression must reflect his confusion, because Tim elaborates before he can ask. āHow you feel about him.ā
Loving Bruce had come as naturally as breathing, the feeling festering in his chest for years before he recognized it. Timās use of the present tense is accurate, too. Nothing, not even something as finite as death, holds the ability to eradicate all that he feels for Bruce.
He was fairly certain Bruce felt the same about him. Though they never spoke of it, the tension between them had always been too thick, the air too charged, for it not to be the case. The truth was, Bruce not reciprocating his feelings was not the worst case scenario. Clark knew exactly what would come to pass if he confessed his feelings, and itās what he dreaded most. Bruce would admit to sharing those feelings, but refuse to allow himself to act on them. Because the mission came first. Because there was no room for something so frivolous and self-indulgent in their lives. Because it was too dangerous. Because of a million reasons Clark couldnāt bear to hear Bruce list.
āI didnāt think heād wanna hear it,ā is what he settles on saying, his voice so small he hardly recognizes it. Heāll never get the chance to now.
āIām going to find him,ā says Tim, hugging his knees closer to his chest and curling into them. Tears streak down his cheeks, but his voice is determined. āWhatever it takes, Iām gonna find him.ā
Clark shuts his eyes, a tremor passing through his body. āThereās something you should know,ā he starts. Speaking the words feels like swallowing stones. āIām going away for a bit. Maybeā¦ maybe more than a bit. Thereās something I have to take care of.ā
Tim nods. āNew Krypton,ā he concludes. Always the detective. āYour family needs you. And mine needs me.ā He gets up and dusts the dirt off his clothes before beginning the walk back to the Mansion.
āTim,ā Clark calls after him. Tim stops but keeps his back turned. āYouāre family to me, too. All of you.ā
Timās entire body droops, as if finally collapsing from the weight chained to it. āFor what itās worth,ā he says, āI think he wouldāve wanted to hear it.ā
The words hit like a jolt of electricity, crackling down Clarkās spine as he watches Tim walk away. He sits in silence for a long time, pulling at the wet blades of grass beneath his hands, the gravity of his failure slamming square into his chest.
Even when he finds the strength to stand, his legs are wobbly, making for a painful trek back to the Mansion. He stands at the front door for ten minutes, staring at the expanse of wood before gathering the courage to ring the doorbell.
When Alfred opens the door, Clarkās breath catches in his throat at the sight of him. āMaster Clark,ā he greets, tone polite. His attire is immaculate as ever, suit crisp and freshly-pressed. Itās his haggard face, however, that belies the change in him, as if heād aged years in the span of weeks. There are dark circles rimming his eyes, deep lines etched on his skin like battle scars. My son has died, he said when Clark and Diana had come to deliver the news, holding Bruceās ruined uniform like an offering.
āAlfred,ā Clark says, his own voice strained. He takes a step forward into the house, only making it through the threshold before he collapses onto his knees. Alfred catches him, his arms infinitely strong, accustomed to handling more weight than he should be able to carry. They donāt waver even when Clarkās entire body convulses with the force of his sobs.
āIām sorry.ā Clark presses the words into Alfredās jacket, barely more than a whisper. Sorry for not having been around in the last few weeks, leaving Alfred to pick up the pieces of grieving children. Sorry for not being there to save Bruce in time. Sorry for having all these abilities, yet being so powerless, so utterly useless when it mattered most. āIām so sorry.ā
Alfredās arms tighten around his shaking back, voice wet when he speaks. āItās all right, son. Itās all right.ā
#superbat#bruceclark#fic#my fic#otp: because of you i know a man can be anything he wants to be#otp: we'll never give up on each other#otp: make me believe#superbatfam
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Top 7 things to think about in a Nightwing movie
(VERY long but educational to new Nightwing fans. lol)
Soā¦
It has been announced that they recruited director Chris McKay to direct the Nightwing movie! You may have known Chris from his latest works with Lego Batman.This both excited me and worried me. On the one hand, you have a guy that understands comedic timing and for the most light-hearted of the Robins, who loves to quip and make jokes while crime fighting, that understanding will FINALLY give mainstream audiences a potential glimpse into the comic book version of Nightwing.
Up to date, the best Nightwing (to me) that has ever been in non-comic book format has been Nightwing in Arkham Knight and probably Dick in the recent series of Batman themed movies involving Damian Wayne. (Ironically, these are the costumes I despise the most but the characterization is on point, especially in AK.)
Some people might like Dick in Young Justice but honestly, this one felt more like a fusion of Tim Drake & Dick Grayson to me, (the brainy, geek-hacker is more of a Tim thing, tbh) that left the ACTUAL Tim, feeling very flat. Yes, that Dick was kinda funny but not in the same teasing style as Dick should be. (My opinion) That being said, comic book Dick is the most charming mo-fo youāll ever meet and surpass in leaps and bounds (hehe) Batman in likableness. On the other hand, the fear that I get is that Dick is such a strange balance of serious and funny, cocky and humble, confident while being insecure that such a nuanced character can be a difficult thing to full off.
You canāt go for straight out funny like Robin in the Lego movie or a joker like Spiderman or Deadpool. This strange chemical concoction that is Nightwingās personality has to be handled right if you want a version that can please hardcore Nightwing fans & newcommers.
Soā¦ here are my top 7 things to consider when making a Nightwing movie.
#7 - Villains, what are they good for?
Absolutely everythingā¦ well, not everything but they are key ingredients to tell a good superhero story. Itās hard to get invested with weak villains. The only issue with Nightwing is, that unlike Wonder Woman, the Flash or the rest of JLA, he doesnāt really have his own Rogues Gallery.
He heavily borrows from other titles, (especially Batman, obviously) to flesh out his stories. Being a founding Batfamily member, & founder of the Teen Titans/Titans who, they themselves,Ā are extended characters from other titles, Dick has faced off with street level thugs & gangsters to inhuman/meta-humans & aliens. His most prolific battle has been with Deathstroke who actually started out a Teen Titans villain. This hit Nightwing especially hard since Deathstrokeās aim was infiltration of his team via a member of the group. For a solo Nightwing title, determining the villain will matter HEAVILY of what kind of story you want to write for him: Street level Batman'esque or inhuman (which he does kinda often actually).
So casting a villain should only be done after figuring out what kind of story to use.
I know that seems like a āduhā kinda of concept, but itās not necessarily forced to happen that way. You can have a villain in mind and weave out a story around it but Nightwingās villains have too much range. You know Superman is going to fight aliens or metas, you know Batman is going to fight criminally insane people. With Nightwingā¦ itās up in the air.
#6 - This is the story of my life!
Dick Grayson is probably the most (or at least one of the most) constantly evolving characters in the DCU. Itās much easier to evolve a character in a permanent sense when they start off as kids and Dick Grayson was Batmanās first Robin after all. Actually, he wasnāt just the first Robin but he was the first side kick EVER. Batman was created in 1939 and Dick Grayson popped up as Robin in 1940. Iāll give you guys a minute to do the math on thatā¦
Done? Yeah, Dick Grayson is
77 YEARS OLD
He spent a huge portion of his existence in limbo like many comic book characters do (which is why his Robin persona is still so popular) but the shift into Nightwing came only in the early 1980s. Where evolving him past Robin became a means to refresh the Batman series. Dick separation from Bruce and his evolution into Nightwing is a permanent point in DC publication which also does the job of permanently aging him as well. (and also reestablished any Robins that come after him.) Dick was a kid or tween when he started with Batman and now due to his evolution is always in his early 20s when any DC reboot happens and has more often than not, has already left Batman which makes his comics to focus quite a lot on ācoming of ageā super-hero styled stories when he breaks away from his childhood and becomes his own hero.
What should and probably will happen is that weād get a brief look into into his Robin history (which, frankly wasnāt all that interesting) and start us off in his mantle but Dick as Nightwing is faaaaaar more interesting.
ā¦ I mean, yeah, honestly guys, who cares bout his Robin days? But which of these stories would make for a good introduction to character with this much history? If I had to do this, I would forcibly make it: āNightwing year 1ā
Just for the sake of context and introducing new people in the idea that Batman has had more than 1 Robin in his life. Him getting his vigilante name, him dealing with leaving Batman & stopping a threat to a new city that he adopts which leads us toā¦.
#5 - Location, location, location
So, we all know 2 things: Gotham Belongs to Batman and Robin lived with him. Granted, he has lived alone in other places like New York & Chicago and was even a globe trotter for a while during his āGraysonā run. So what should be the most ideal setting if you want to distinguish Nightwing & Batman from eachother?
Bludhaven
Bludhaven is NIGHTWINGāS city. It was made FOR him. Bludhaven is sister city close to Gotham but not quite in its range.
Hereās a Wiki description of the city because itās so precise I couldnāt write it better myself:
Once nicknamed, āAsbestos Town, USA,ā BlĆ¼dhaven started out as a whaling town, rapidly giving way to highly industrial sectors which then fell into urban decay as businesses collapsed or moved out of the area during the Depression. Itās infamous for its somewhat rank odor and high crime rate. Approximately 33 minutesā drive from Gotham City, Nightwing moved here initially to help Batman solve a string of murders related to a thoroughly corrupt police force, only to remain there to carve out his own reputation away from either Batman or the Titans.
Asbestos townā¦ geeze. It makes Gotham look like Metropolis.
Bludhaven already feels like a different place based on the name. Itās an industrial port town so the possibility of illegal activities feels even more likely. Consider things like weapons/drug trade being easy to circulate in a place where lots of boats dock from far off places. Nightwingās city should be HEAVILY worked on for this project. When you consider the names DC uses for itās cities, Bludhaven already makes you think: āMan, this town is pretty badā without context and I think itās important that like Gotham or Metropolis, it has to take on a character. Especially since itās never been portrayed in live action before. Bludhaven would be making itās cinematic debut along with the Nightwing mantle. Make it a place Nightwing FEELS he need to be in to protect but also a place worthy of him calling it home.
#4 - Twoās company, the Batfamās a crowd.
Now, I saw lots of people getting excited over the prospect of getting other characters in the bat family involved in the Nightwing movie and itās a fair assumption to make: Nightwing isnāt Batman. Heās a team player and never has beef with getting help. He might not want to at first if itās dangerous but I find he tends to cave super easily when pressed and knows he can rely on his allies (Heās no fool!) but we have to watch out about this because of this problem:
Nightwingās personality is a very accommodating one.
Like I mentioned, he plays VERY well with others. This unfortunately also makes him fall into the background very often when characters with more abrasive or loud personalities come into the picture. He can do fairly well with funny characters but also sort of syncs into their groove. (Actually, him and Barbara Gordon aka Batgirl/Oracle are probably best suited to work against eachother since their banter is an even match of quips and sarcasm which is more like a mirror and reflects how silver tongued the bird boyĀ can be.)
If they want to make it a Nightwing movie, theycanāt use it too heavily to introduce new characters into the cinematic universe like they did with āBad Blood ā¦I honestly, find it strange when people tell me that the movie Bad Blood is a Nightwing movie. Iā¦ I canāt consider it a Nightwing movie when, #1, heās playing Batman, #2 when his turmoil over the Batman mantle happens off screen, #3 when Batwoman & Batwing take over 50% of the story (Iād argue that Batwoman is the star of this movie).
Introducing too many first time screen characters drowns out Dick because he wants them on his team so badly and itās important that he is front and center for hi titular movie. This is especially true for Batman himself and Bats should be restricted to flashbacks or origin storytellingā¦ At best 1 or 2 characters should be more than enoughā¦ not that thereās a Robin thatās active or anythingā¦
(if you want to see my "Robinsā movie idea called āFlight of the Robinā which would add Jason & Tim back into the setting, then feel free to look here: Flight of the Robin )
If they want to have Nightwing in a place of importance or leadership then make a Teen Titans/Titans movie or something but make his solo title about him.
#3 - āŖāŖ IIIIIIII want to swiiiiiing from the chandelieeeeeeeerrrrrr āŖāŖ
He flies through the air with the greatest of eaaaaase, the daring young man on the flying trapeze! His moves are so graceful, the girls he did sway, my heart he has stolen awayyyyyyyy!
Yeah soā¦
Dickās a circus acrobat.
Most people know this story but Iāll refresh (skip if you know):
Once upon a time, there was a cool circus by the name of āHaleyās Circusā. It traveled the country showing off itās amazingly talented acts which included the world famous trapeze act: āThe Flying Graysonsā. The members of the act were a family: husband John, wife Mary & son Richard āDickā Grayson. They were especially famous for doing their act without the use of a safety net. One day, Haley was extorted by a gangster named Tony Zucco then subsequently threatened when Haley refused to bend to him. So, to show that Zucco meant business, he sabotaged the ropes that held the trapezes and when Dickās family went to perform, both his parents fell to their deaths. This was not any night however, for that night, Bruce Wayne just happened to be in the audience, feeling sorry for the poor lad, he decided to take him in as his ward. Having been witness to the extortion, Dick decided to take revenge on Zucco and ran off in the middle of the night to get leads on his parentsā murderer. Eventually, Dick discovered (or was told) that Bruce was Batman and Bats seeing Dick recklessly plunge head first into danger, decided to let him in on his vigilante life style so he could properly deal with the death of his parents in the way he never could. Thus the dynamic duo were born!
There are different versions of the story but that is the general gist.
What Iām trying to say is, Batman and Robin are night and day, that much I think everyone can agree on, but that Robin, the one who set that standard, was Dick Grayson and thankfully, that personality he gave to Robin stuck with him into Nightwing. So the way he moves, the way he fights & the way he āheroesā isnāt Batman-like. More often than not, Dick will JUMP into the fray. This is what he did with Batman after all, and it seems like that habit never left him. It causes him to get into sticky situations, buuuut thatās sort of what we like to see. How his very creative mind gets him out of a bind. So the sneak in the shadows and wait for the right moment only really happens when he already knows heās over his head. But Nightwing is extremely creative with his environment and uses that to defeat foes very often. Not being as bulky as Batman this makes his punches softer BUT his body type also promotes the acrobat in him. His panels in the comics, more than any other, involve constant motionĀ and tactful, on the fly reading of the situation and the fact that his agility gives him time to avoid damage and think his way out of his problems makes him more unique.
Here are a few examples of Nightwing/Dick Grayson movements:
Old school I donāt need luck You fight like Jazz
Midnighter says it best:
āDisciplined but not adverse to improvisationā¦ you fight like Jazz.ā
So you have to understandā¦ that no matter how BADLY they botch this up as long as they retain the distinct acrobatically visual, creative, Jacky Chan'esque style of Nightwingās fighting style, Iāll have been happy to have seen this movie. I NEED them to focus on the Acrobat. Dick has been quoted as the most agile character in the ENTIRE DC Universe. If they donāt have actual acrobats working on stunts and a lead that can at the very LEAST keep up with some basic fighting style that marries with the acrobaticsā¦ then Iāll consider this whole project a complete botch up.
#2 - So ya wanna be Dick Grayson huh?
We are now at a point where casting here MUST depend sorely on 3 factors:
Can you be funny & charming without being obnoxious?
Can you do drama & allow yourself to portray a character filled with, insecurity & empathy?
Are you handsome & is your ass on point?
I know the last one seems EXTREMELY SHALLOW but there are not a lot of DC Superheroes that have been called out on their hotness. Youād think:āBruce Wayne is!ā Actuallyā¦not as much as you think. Charming, totally but handsome, that has been left to interpretationā¦ lots of heroes give off the vibe but are never really stated as such.
Not Nightwing.
Dickās handsomeness once made a girl fall off her motorcycleā¦ Iām not joking: Here there Dickās ass is canonically seen as amazing in continuity now. Hereās Midnighter again, recognizing it: Dat ass Hereās just some gratuitous exposition: Are you paying attention? And hereās Grayson wondering the why of it all: Whatās the fuss?
And unfortunately, to please the people who have been wondering WHO would be so damn worthy to play a handsome guy who looks like a model but doesnāt seem like a complete douchebag feels jarring and nearly impossible. (I lost my pick to DC already.
Tyler Hoechin has the charm & the butt but is the Superman of the Supergirl TV show.)
So this actor NEEDS to have a decent appeal all around the board for guys and girls. (I would NOT want to be the casting director for this.) A script that is a bit funny and coy but still serious? They have their work cut out for themā¦
#1 - Who art thou Nightwing?
Iāve discussed here and there Nightwingās personality. Classically, he is an upbeat character but the nuances that stem from him can be somewhat conflicting. Yes, there is the ever present humor and charm but Dick rcan be a ābig brotherā to the other Robins & had as surprising amount of empathy & humbleness despite his arrogance. Without the other birdies to care for, he is still a social butterfly and will not hesitate to make connections. He gives EVERYONE a second or even third chance even when they wrong him and this can be troublesome for him too since doing so, often allows him to lower his guard and he can get potentially hurt by the people he puts his faith in.
If Superman is āhopeā & Batman is āJusticeā then Nightwing is definitely āTrustā
That being said, betrayal is most probably in the cards if they know this about Nightwing. Writing this character without making him too arrogant or too naive can be extremely hard. (Though I say, write him as the uber dork he is) DC NEEDS to get comic writers on this and the script and more importantly, the dialogue will set the tone of the character but it needs to come off kind but confident, cocky but insecure about his role as a Superhero, humble and willing to openness ā¦ But the big question is will they use comic book Nightwing?
Will we, the readers, finally get a version that runs close? It really depends on what they have planned and if DC plans to shoehorn in other tie-in projects to Nightwing. It all starts with the script. It all starts with how much heart they will be able put into this project and how tightly knit a story they want to do with him. They canāt mess this up, the way they have with other characters because Dick is a REACTIVE character and who he is will adapt to the situation he is placed in.
I just hope, itās a good one.
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Thoughts on humanity, fame and love | Shah Rukh Khan
New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/thoughts-on-humanity-fame-and-love-shah-rukh-khan-2/
Thoughts on humanity, fame and love | Shah Rukh Khan
Namaskar. I am a movie megastar, i am 51 years of age, and i do not use Botox as yet. (Laughter) So iām clean, but I do behave like you saw like a 21-12 months-old in my movies. Yeah, I do that. I sell goals, and i peddle like to millions of people again residence in India who assume that iām the first-class lover on the planet. (Laughter) when you do not tell anybody, i will let you know iām no longer, however I under no circumstances let that assumption go away. (Laughter) Iāve also been made to realize there are plenty of you right here who havenāt noticeable my work, and that i suppose really sad for you. (Laughter) (Applause) that doesnāt do away with from the truth that iām fully self-obsessed, as a movie big name should be.(Laughter) that is when my pals, Chris and Juliet known as me here to communicate about the future "you." Naturally, it follows iāll converse about the reward me. (Laughter) seeing that I real feel that humanity is rather a lot like me. (Laughter) itās. It is. It is an aging film superstar, grappling with the entire newness round itself, wondering whether or not it obtained it right in the first position, and nonetheless trying to find a strategy to hold on shining regardless. I was born in a refugee colony within the capital metropolis of India, New Delhi. And my father was a freedom fighter. My mom was, well, only a fighter like mothers are. And very similar to the normal homo sapiens, we struggled to outlive. Once I was in my early 20s, I misplaced each my mum and dad, which I have to admit seems a bit careless of me now, but ā (Laughter) I do recall the night my father died, and i do not forget the motive force of a neighbor who used to be driving us to the sanatorium.He mumbled some thing about "dead folks donāt tip so good" and walked away into the darkish. And i used to be simplest 14 then, and i put my fatherās lifeless physique within the back seat of the auto, and my mom apart from me, I began riding back from the health facility to the residence. And within the center of her quiet crying, my mother checked out me and he or she mentioned, "Son, when did you learn to force?" and that i idea about it and realized, and i said to my mother, "just now, mom." (Laughter) So from that night time onwards, much corresponding to humanity in its early life, I realized the crude instruments of survival.And the framework of lifestyles was once very, very simple then, to be sincere. , you simply ate what you bought and did something you have been advised to do. I thought celiac was a vegetable, and vegan, of path, used to be Mr. Spockās lost comrade in "big name Trek." (Laughter) You married the first woman that you just dated, and also you had been a techie if you happen to might repair the carburetor for your auto. I rather concept that homosexual used to be a cosmopolitan English phrase for joyful. And Lesbian, of direction, was the capital of Portugal, as you all understand.(Laughter) where used to be I? We relied on methods created by means of the toil and sacrifice of generations earlier than to look after us, and we felt that governments certainly labored for our betterment. Science used to be easy and logical, Apple was still then just a fruit owned by way of Eve first and then Newton, now not by way of Steve Jobs, unless then. And "Eureka!" used to be what you screamed when you desired to run naked on the streets. You went anyplace existence took you for work, and persons have been customarily welcoming of you. Migration was once a time period then still reserved for Siberian cranes, no longer human beings. Most importantly, you were who you were and you said what you idea.Then in my late 20s, I shifted to the sprawling metropolis of Mumbai, and my framework, like the newly industrialized aspirational humanity, started to alter. Within the city rush for a new, more embellished survival, matters started to look a bit of exclusive. I met humans who had descended from all over the sector, faces, races, genders, cash-lenders. Definitions became more and more fluid. Work started to outline you at that time in an overwhelmingly equalizing manner, and the entire programs started to believe less risk-free to me, practically too thick to maintain on to the variety of mankind and the human ought to progress and develop.Suggestions were flowing with more freedom and speed. And that i experienced the miracle of human innovation and cooperation, and my own creativity, when supported by way of the resourcefulness of this collective endeavor, catapulted me into superstardom. I started to suppose that I had arrived, and almost always, by the point I was once forty, I was once fairly, relatively flying. I used to be all over the location. You realize? Iād carried out 50 movies by using then and 200 songs, and iād been knighted by means of the Malaysians.I had been given the absolute best civil honor through the French government, the title of which for the life of me I cannot pronounce even until now. (Laughter) iām sorry, France, and thanks, France, for doing that. However a lot greater than that, I acquired to meet Angelina Jolie ā (Laughter) for 2 and a 1/2 seconds. (Laughter) and i am definite she also remembers that stumble upon somewhere.Good enough, probably no longer. And that i sat next to Hannah Montana on a round dinner table along with her back toward me most of the time. Like I stated, I was once flying, from Miley to Jolie, and humanity was once hovering with me. We were both normally flying off the control, definitely. And then you definately all understand what happened. The web happened. I used to be in my late 40s, and that i began tweeting like a canary in a birdcage and assuming that, you realize, persons who peered into my world would admire it for the miracle I believed it to be. But something else awaited me and humanity. You realize, we had expected a variety of recommendations and goals with the improved connectivity of the sector. We had no longer bargained for the village-like enclosure of notion, of judgment, of definition that flowed from the same position that freedom and revolution was taking position in.The whole lot I stated took a new that means. Everything I did ā excellent, bad, unpleasant ā was once there for the arena to remark upon and judge. If truth be told, the whole lot I didnāt say or do also met with the same destiny. 4 years ago, my lovely spouse Gauri and me decided to have a 3rd baby. It used to be claimed on the net that he was the love baby of our first youngster who was 15 years old.It sounds as if, he had sown his wild oats with a girl at the same time using her auto in Romania. And yeah, there was once a false video to go with it. And we had been so disturbed as a household. My son, who is nineteen now, even now when you say "hello" to him, he simply turns round and says, "but bro, I failed to actually have a European driving license." (Laughter) Yeah. In this new world, slowly, reality became digital and digital became real, and i began to consider that I would now not be who I wanted to be or say what I virtually suggestion, and humanity at the moment wholly recognized with me.I feel both of us were going by means of our midlife situation, and humanity, like me, was once fitting an overexposed prima donna. I began to promote the whole thing, from hair oil to diesel turbines. Humanity was buying everything from crude oil to nuclear reactors. , I even tried to get right into a skintight superhero suit to reinvent myself. I have to admit I failed miserably. And simply an aside I need to say on behalf of the entire Batmen, Spider-men and Supermen of the world, you have got to commend them, on the grounds that it quite hurts within the crotch, that superhero suit. (Laughter) Yeah, i am being honest. I need to let you know this right here. Rather. And by chance, I happened to even invent a new dance kind which I did not fully grasp, and it became a rage. So if itās all right, and you might have seen a bit of of me, so i am relatively shameless, iāll show you.It was referred to as the Lungi dance. So if itās all proper, iām going to simply exhibit you. I am proficient in any other case. (Cheers) So it went anything like this. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi. That is it. It became a rage. (Cheers) It relatively did. Such as you detect, nobody could make any sense of what used to be going down besides me, and that i failed to provide a damn, fairly, in view that the whole world, and entire humanity, appeared as harassed and lost as I used to be. I didnāt quit then. I even tried to reconstruct my identification on the social media like everybody else does. I idea if I placed on philosophical tweets available in the market individuals will think iām with it, but one of the responses I acquired from those tweets had been extremely complicated acronyms which I didnāt have an understanding of.You realize? ROFL, LOL. "Adidas," a person wrote again to one among my more inspiration-frightening tweets and i was wondering why would you name a sneaker, I imply, why would you write again the identify of a sneaker to me? And that i asked my 16-12 months-historic daughter, and she or he enlightened me. "Adidas" now way "All day I dream about sex." (Laughter) particularly. I didnāt be aware of if you know that.So I wrote back, "WTF" in bold to Mr. Adidas, thanking secretly that some acronyms and matters is not going to change at all. WTF. But here weāre. Iām 51 years old, like I instructed you, and intellect-numbing acronyms however, I just need to inform you if there has been a momentous time for humanity to exist, it is now, seeing that the reward you is brave. The present you is hopeful. The present you is innovative and imaginative, and of direction, the present you is annoyingly indefinable.And on this spell-binding, imperfect moment of existence, feeling just a little courageous simply earlier than I came right here, I made up our minds to take a excellent, hard look at my face. And i spotted that iām commencing to look increasingly just like the wax statue of me at Madame Tussaudās. (Laughter) Yeah, and in that moment of attention, I asked probably the most central and pertinent query to humanity and me: Do I have to fix my face? Rather. I am an actor, like I instructed you, a state-of-the-art expression of human creativity. The land I come from is the source of inexplicable but very simple spirituality. In its massive generosity, India determined by some means that I, the Muslim son of a broke freedom fighter who unintentionally ventured into the industry of promoting desires, must grow to be its king of romance, the "Badhshah of Bollywood," the finest lover the nation has ever seen ā¦ With this face. Yeah. (Laughter) Which has alternately been described as unpleasant, unconventional, and strangely, now not chocolatey enough. (Laughter) The folks of this old land embraced me in their limitless love, and i have learned from these folks that neither power nor poverty can make your existence more magical or less tortuous.Iāve discovered from the persons of my nation that the dignity of a existence, a individual, a culture, a faith, a nation definitely resides in its capability for grace and compassion. Iāve discovered that whatever moves you, anything urges you to create, to build, anything maintains you from failing, anything helps you live on, is probably the oldest and the easiest emotion identified to mankind, and thatās love. A mystic poet from my land famously wrote, (Recites poem in Hindi) (Poem ends) Which loosely interprets into that something ā yeah, if you know Hindi, please clap, yeah.(Applause) it is very complex to bear in mind. Which loosely translates into simply announcing that the entire books of expertise that you just might learn and then go forward and impart your capabilities through innovation, through creativity, by way of technology, but mankind will under no circumstances be the wiser about its future unless itās coupled with a way of affection and compassion for his or her fellow beings. The two and a half alphabets which type the word "," this means that "love," in case you are capable to realize that and observe it, that itself is enough to enlighten mankind. So I real suppose the future "you" has to be a you that loves. In any other case it will stop to flourish. Itāll perish in its own self-absorption. So you may also use your vigour to build walls and preserve persons outside, or you can also use it to interrupt boundaries and welcome them in.You may also use your faith to make folks afraid and terrify them into submission, or you should use it to present braveness to folks in order that they upward thrust to the finest heights of enlightenment. You can use your energy to build nuclear bombs and unfold the darkness of destruction, or you should use it to unfold the joy of sunshine to thousands. You can also filthy up the oceans callously and scale down all of the forests. That you may break the ecology, or flip to them with love and regenerate existence from the waters and timber. You may also land on Mars and construct armed citadels, or you can also look for life-types and species to learn from and appreciate. And you should use all the moneys we all have earned to wage futile wars and provides guns in the fingers of little youngsters to kill each different with, or you should utilize it to make more food to fill their stomachs with.My country has taught me the ability for a person to love is akin to godliness. It shines forth in an international which civilization, I consider, already has tampered too much with. Within the last few days, the talks right here, the exotic persons coming and displaying their talent, speakme about man or woman achievements, the innovation, the technological know-how, the sciences, the expertise we are gaining with the aid of being here within the presence of TED Talks and all of you might be explanations enough for us to rejoice the long run "us." but within that social gathering the search to domesticate our potential for love and compassion has to say itself, has to say itself, simply as equally. So I feel the long run "you" is an unlimited you. It can be known as a chakra in India, like a circle. It ends where it begins from to complete itself. A you that perceives time and house differently knows both your unattainable and extremely good importance and your whole unimportance in the better context of the universe. A you that returns again to the usual innocence of humanity, which loves from the purity of heart, which sees from the eyes of reality, which goals from the readability of an untampered mind.The future "you" needs to be like an aging film famous person who has been made to think that there is a possibility of an international which is entirely, utterly, self-obsessively in love with itself. A global ā particularly, it needs to be a you to create a world which is its own pleasant lover. That I suppose, women and gentlemen, must be the long run "you." thank you very a lot. Shukriya. (Applause) thanks. (Applause) thanks. (Applause) .
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Thoughts on humanity, fame and love | Shah Rukh Khan
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Thoughts on humanity, fame and love | Shah Rukh Khan
Namaskar. I am a movie megastar, i am 51 years of age, and i do not use Botox as yet. (Laughter) So iām clean, but I do behave like you saw like a 21-12 months-old in my movies. Yeah, I do that. I sell goals, and i peddle like to millions of people again residence in India who assume that iām the first-class lover on the planet. (Laughter) when you do not tell anybody, i will let you know iām no longer, however I under no circumstances let that assumption go away. (Laughter) Iāve also been made to realize there are plenty of you right here who havenāt noticeable my work, and that i suppose really sad for you. (Laughter) (Applause) that doesnāt do away with from the truth that iām fully self-obsessed, as a movie big name should be.(Laughter) that is when my pals, Chris and Juliet known as me here to communicate about the future "you." Naturally, it follows iāll converse about the reward me. (Laughter) seeing that I real feel that humanity is rather a lot like me. (Laughter) itās. It is. It is an aging film superstar, grappling with the entire newness round itself, wondering whether or not it obtained it right in the first position, and nonetheless trying to find a strategy to hold on shining regardless. I was born in a refugee colony within the capital metropolis of India, New Delhi. And my father was a freedom fighter. My mom was, well, only a fighter like mothers are. And very similar to the normal homo sapiens, we struggled to outlive. Once I was in my early 20s, I misplaced each my mum and dad, which I have to admit seems a bit careless of me now, but ā (Laughter) I do recall the night my father died, and i do not forget the motive force of a neighbor who used to be driving us to the sanatorium.He mumbled some thing about "dead folks donāt tip so good" and walked away into the darkish. And i used to be simplest 14 then, and i put my fatherās lifeless physique within the back seat of the auto, and my mom apart from me, I began riding back from the health facility to the residence. And within the center of her quiet crying, my mother checked out me and he or she mentioned, "Son, when did you learn to force?" and that i idea about it and realized, and i said to my mother, "just now, mom." (Laughter) So from that night time onwards, much corresponding to humanity in its early life, I realized the crude instruments of survival.And the framework of lifestyles was once very, very simple then, to be sincere. , you simply ate what you bought and did something you have been advised to do. I thought celiac was a vegetable, and vegan, of path, used to be Mr. Spockās lost comrade in "big name Trek." (Laughter) You married the first woman that you just dated, and also you had been a techie if you happen to might repair the carburetor for your auto. I rather concept that homosexual used to be a cosmopolitan English phrase for joyful. And Lesbian, of direction, was the capital of Portugal, as you all understand.(Laughter) where used to be I? We relied on methods created by means of the toil and sacrifice of generations earlier than to look after us, and we felt that governments certainly labored for our betterment. Science used to be easy and logical, Apple was still then just a fruit owned by way of Eve first and then Newton, now not by way of Steve Jobs, unless then. And "Eureka!" used to be what you screamed when you desired to run naked on the streets. You went anyplace existence took you for work, and persons have been customarily welcoming of you. Migration was once a time period then still reserved for Siberian cranes, no longer human beings. Most importantly, you were who you were and you said what you idea.Then in my late 20s, I shifted to the sprawling metropolis of Mumbai, and my framework, like the newly industrialized aspirational humanity, started to alter. Within the city rush for a new, more embellished survival, matters started to look a bit of exclusive. I met humans who had descended from all over the sector, faces, races, genders, cash-lenders. Definitions became more and more fluid. Work started to outline you at that time in an overwhelmingly equalizing manner, and the entire programs started to believe less risk-free to me, practically too thick to maintain on to the variety of mankind and the human ought to progress and develop.Suggestions were flowing with more freedom and speed. And that i experienced the miracle of human innovation and cooperation, and my own creativity, when supported by way of the resourcefulness of this collective endeavor, catapulted me into superstardom. I started to suppose that I had arrived, and almost always, by the point I was once forty, I was once fairly, relatively flying. I used to be all over the location. You realize? Iād carried out 50 movies by using then and 200 songs, and iād been knighted by means of the Malaysians.I had been given the absolute best civil honor through the French government, the title of which for the life of me I cannot pronounce even until now. (Laughter) iām sorry, France, and thanks, France, for doing that. However a lot greater than that, I acquired to meet Angelina Jolie ā (Laughter) for 2 and a 1/2 seconds. (Laughter) and i am definite she also remembers that stumble upon somewhere.Good enough, probably no longer. And that i sat next to Hannah Montana on a round dinner table along with her back toward me most of the time. Like I stated, I was once flying, from Miley to Jolie, and humanity was once hovering with me. We were both normally flying off the control, definitely. And then you definately all understand what happened. The web happened. I used to be in my late 40s, and that i began tweeting like a canary in a birdcage and assuming that, you realize, persons who peered into my world would admire it for the miracle I believed it to be. But something else awaited me and humanity. You realize, we had expected a variety of recommendations and goals with the improved connectivity of the sector. We had no longer bargained for the village-like enclosure of notion, of judgment, of definition that flowed from the same position that freedom and revolution was taking position in.The whole lot I stated took a new that means. Everything I did ā excellent, bad, unpleasant ā was once there for the arena to remark upon and judge. If truth be told, the whole lot I didnāt say or do also met with the same destiny. 4 years ago, my lovely spouse Gauri and me decided to have a 3rd baby. It used to be claimed on the net that he was the love baby of our first youngster who was 15 years old.It sounds as if, he had sown his wild oats with a girl at the same time using her auto in Romania. And yeah, there was once a false video to go with it. And we had been so disturbed as a household. My son, who is nineteen now, even now when you say "hello" to him, he simply turns round and says, "but bro, I failed to actually have a European driving license." (Laughter) Yeah. In this new world, slowly, reality became digital and digital became real, and i began to consider that I would now not be who I wanted to be or say what I virtually suggestion, and humanity at the moment wholly recognized with me.I feel both of us were going by means of our midlife situation, and humanity, like me, was once fitting an overexposed prima donna. I began to promote the whole thing, from hair oil to diesel turbines. Humanity was buying everything from crude oil to nuclear reactors. , I even tried to get right into a skintight superhero suit to reinvent myself. I have to admit I failed miserably. And simply an aside I need to say on behalf of the entire Batmen, Spider-men and Supermen of the world, you have got to commend them, on the grounds that it quite hurts within the crotch, that superhero suit. (Laughter) Yeah, i am being honest. I need to let you know this right here. Rather. And by chance, I happened to even invent a new dance kind which I did not fully grasp, and it became a rage. So if itās all right, and you might have seen a bit of of me, so i am relatively shameless, iāll show you.It was referred to as the Lungi dance. So if itās all proper, iām going to simply exhibit you. I am proficient in any other case. (Cheers) So it went anything like this. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi dance. Lungi. That is it. It became a rage. (Cheers) It relatively did. Such as you detect, nobody could make any sense of what used to be going down besides me, and that i failed to provide a damn, fairly, in view that the whole world, and entire humanity, appeared as harassed and lost as I used to be. I didnāt quit then. I even tried to reconstruct my identification on the social media like everybody else does. I idea if I placed on philosophical tweets available in the market individuals will think iām with it, but one of the responses I acquired from those tweets had been extremely complicated acronyms which I didnāt have an understanding of.You realize? ROFL, LOL. "Adidas," a person wrote again to one among my more inspiration-frightening tweets and i was wondering why would you name a sneaker, I imply, why would you write again the identify of a sneaker to me? And that i asked my 16-12 months-historic daughter, and she or he enlightened me. "Adidas" now way "All day I dream about sex." (Laughter) particularly. I didnāt be aware of if you know that.So I wrote back, "WTF" in bold to Mr. Adidas, thanking secretly that some acronyms and matters is not going to change at all. WTF. But here weāre. Iām 51 years old, like I instructed you, and intellect-numbing acronyms however, I just need to inform you if there has been a momentous time for humanity to exist, it is now, seeing that the reward you is brave. The present you is hopeful. The present you is innovative and imaginative, and of direction, the present you is annoyingly indefinable.And on this spell-binding, imperfect moment of existence, feeling just a little courageous simply earlier than I came right here, I made up our minds to take a excellent, hard look at my face. And i spotted that iām commencing to look increasingly just like the wax statue of me at Madame Tussaudās. (Laughter) Yeah, and in that moment of attention, I asked probably the most central and pertinent query to humanity and me: Do I have to fix my face? Rather. I am an actor, like I instructed you, a state-of-the-art expression of human creativity. The land I come from is the source of inexplicable but very simple spirituality. In its massive generosity, India determined by some means that I, the Muslim son of a broke freedom fighter who unintentionally ventured into the industry of promoting desires, must grow to be its king of romance, the "Badhshah of Bollywood," the finest lover the nation has ever seen ā¦ With this face. Yeah. (Laughter) Which has alternately been described as unpleasant, unconventional, and strangely, now not chocolatey enough. (Laughter) The folks of this old land embraced me in their limitless love, and i have learned from these folks that neither power nor poverty can make your existence more magical or less tortuous.Iāve discovered from the persons of my nation that the dignity of a existence, a individual, a culture, a faith, a nation definitely resides in its capability for grace and compassion. Iāve discovered that whatever moves you, anything urges you to create, to build, anything maintains you from failing, anything helps you live on, is probably the oldest and the easiest emotion identified to mankind, and thatās love. A mystic poet from my land famously wrote, (Recites poem in Hindi) (Poem ends) Which loosely interprets into that something ā yeah, if you know Hindi, please clap, yeah.(Applause) it is very complex to bear in mind. Which loosely translates into simply announcing that the entire books of expertise that you just might learn and then go forward and impart your capabilities through innovation, through creativity, by way of technology, but mankind will under no circumstances be the wiser about its future unless itās coupled with a way of affection and compassion for his or her fellow beings. The two and a half alphabets which type the word "," this means that "love," in case you are capable to realize that and observe it, that itself is enough to enlighten mankind. So I real suppose the future "you" has to be a you that loves. In any other case it will stop to flourish. Itāll perish in its own self-absorption. So you may also use your vigour to build walls and preserve persons outside, or you can also use it to interrupt boundaries and welcome them in.You may also use your faith to make folks afraid and terrify them into submission, or you should use it to present braveness to folks in order that they upward thrust to the finest heights of enlightenment. You can use your energy to build nuclear bombs and unfold the darkness of destruction, or you should use it to unfold the joy of sunshine to thousands. You can also filthy up the oceans callously and scale down all of the forests. That you may break the ecology, or flip to them with love and regenerate existence from the waters and timber. You may also land on Mars and construct armed citadels, or you can also look for life-types and species to learn from and appreciate. And you should use all the moneys we all have earned to wage futile wars and provides guns in the fingers of little youngsters to kill each different with, or you should utilize it to make more food to fill their stomachs with.My country has taught me the ability for a person to love is akin to godliness. It shines forth in an international which civilization, I consider, already has tampered too much with. Within the last few days, the talks right here, the exotic persons coming and displaying their talent, speakme about man or woman achievements, the innovation, the technological know-how, the sciences, the expertise we are gaining with the aid of being here within the presence of TED Talks and all of you might be explanations enough for us to rejoice the long run "us." but within that social gathering the search to domesticate our potential for love and compassion has to say itself, has to say itself, simply as equally. So I feel the long run "you" is an unlimited you. It can be known as a chakra in India, like a circle. It ends where it begins from to complete itself. A you that perceives time and house differently knows both your unattainable and extremely good importance and your whole unimportance in the better context of the universe. A you that returns again to the usual innocence of humanity, which loves from the purity of heart, which sees from the eyes of reality, which goals from the readability of an untampered mind.The future "you" needs to be like an aging film famous person who has been made to think that there is a possibility of an international which is entirely, utterly, self-obsessively in love with itself. A global ā particularly, it needs to be a you to create a world which is its own pleasant lover. That I suppose, women and gentlemen, must be the long run "you." thank you very a lot. Shukriya. (Applause) thanks. (Applause) thanks. (Applause) .
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Fractured
First post on this tumblr. It took a while but Iāve finally caved and decided to make an account here.Ā Iām a bit hesitant still considering some of the horror stories Iāve heard of this place but hey, itās just the internet. That said, this one is for all you Teen Titans fans out there.Ā This is based in the world of the cartoon, with a crossover with the DCAU for giggles. The rest of the story will follow shortly after. Hope yāall enjoy!
Ā Prologue
āThat's....quite a story, Terra.ā Robin said, his face still a mixture of disbelief, a trace of anger, and the flash of sympathy as he looked down at the shamefaced blonde sitting in front of him, her head hung low with her long bangs covering her eyes while Beast Boy held her hand. From what Robin could tell, Beast Boy had been by her side like this for the last hour or so before Terra had come down and called them all to the living room, and he couldn't blame him. If Starfire had been in this much pain, he would have been doing exactly the same. The others looked as shocked as him, even Raven, who stood wide-eyed to his left, her hood down and her gaze fixed on the geomancer.
Ā She'd been a traitor. Or at least, that had been the plan. After the first time they had met her, when she had left after she believed Beast Boy had told them about her lack of control over her powers, Slade had found her. He'd convinced her that he could help her, trained her in her powers and then sent her back here as a mole. Tonight was supposed to have been his coupe de grace; She was supposed to have sent the tower's security codes to him, and then his drones would have taken care of the rest. In the end, however, her conscience had won out, and she'd refused her final task. So how they were here. There was silence for a full minute before Terra spoke up again, her voice hoarse and full of regret.
Ā āI'm so sorry...I can't believe I did this to you all. You trusted me...you haven't done anything but help me...you must hate me now.ā She sniffled at the last word, looking as he she might start sobbing again any second now. Beast Boy gave her hand a firm squeeze at that, and she seemed to calm down again at that touch. Cyborg was the first to speak up.
Ā āTerra, you're family far as I'm concerned. That's all I need to say on that.ā Instantly forgiven. That was Cyborg, alright. He always did like to play big brother. Robin couldn't help but crack a bit of a smile at that. The big guy certainly did a good job in that role. Then it was Starefire's turn. She was....well, she was Starfire.
Ā āOh, Friend Terra, how could I hate you!? You are the most wonderful friend I have ever had! The terrible, terrible Slade has lied to you and manipulated you! I will break him for this!ā She shouted as she scooped up Terra in a fierce, almost bone-crushing hug. The first part of her declaration of forgiveness had been typical of the Tamaraian. The last part, however, was not. That part had actually frightened Robin. He could actually see that normally sweet, innocent girl doing her best to break every bone in Slade's body for something like this. Slowly, Starfire realized she might have been holding onto Terra a little too tightly, and let her go with a comforting little smile. Terra did her best to smile back, but it was still obvious that she didn't feel much better. Beast Boy was still quite. He'd no doubt already said his piece in private. That left Raven.
Ā Truth be told, Robin had expected Raven to storm out or chew their newest member out like a drill sergeant. Instead, the ash-colored young woman set herself down beside Terra with a nod.
Ā āYou followed your conscience. You beat Slade's manipulation. That's what matters now. We can't change what happened or the choices you made before, but you choose your future. You chose us over him.ā Her hand was on Terra's shoulder as she spoke, her tone surprisingly gentle compared to her usual abrasive monotone. Terra looked shocked at that. Obviously she hadn't been expecting that kind of response from Raven either. There was a long pause, and then, with a sob she threw her arms around Raven and began to cry again. Not guilt alone this time. There was relief in it too.
Ā āI...I don't know what to say. I can't believe you're all forgiving me after this.ā She finally choked out. Robin looked the geomancer in the eye as he spoke
Ā āYou're a Titan, Terra.ā That struck the girl more than anything else that had been said tonight, it was clear. She looked at all of them slowly with bloodshot eyes.
Ā āYou're the best friends I've ever had.ā
Ā TTTTT
Ā Deep bellow Jump City, secure from intrusion by those pesky little superheroes that seemed to be cropping up like weeds all over the world, Slade Wilson swore as he picked the shards of glass from his hand. He'd broken his favorite wine glass when he'd read the little girl's message, and now his hand was covered in glittering red specks. It was supposed to have gone so simply. Train her, gain her trust and loyalty, and then send her in to do the same with the Titans, then crush that vermin once and for all. But no. She'd just had to go and grow a conscience while she was with the Titans. He could still feel his blood boil as it tricked from the dozens of small gashes in his hand.
Ā One word. It has been one word she'd sent, but it was still enough to send him into a rage.
Ā āNo.ā
Ā He swore again as he drew the largest shard from his palm, earning the attention of the men waiting at either side of the entrance to the room. Sharpes and Deych were recent hires. Professional killers that had worked in Gotham for most of their lives before relocating to Jump City after a nasty run-in with that grim town's own caped crusader. Both men were in their forties, like him, wearing black suits, balding (Sharpes retaining his rusty brown mane, while Deych's had gone prematurely gray), and carrying .45 automatics under their jackets.
Ā āSir? Everything alright?ā Sharpes said a bit cautiously, not moving from his spot. Slade briefly thought about slapping his underling for such a stupid question, but he understood that men in that position only had so many responses to this kind of display. If their places were reversed, he imagined he would have asked the question as well.
Ā āYes. There is a setback in operations. But only a minor one. Plan 2 is still workable. Deych, speak with Calculator within the hour. Sharpes, all of my contacts in Gotham, Metropolis and Central City. We will require heavies.ā He was done with the local muscle. Cinderblock and Plamus? They'd failed on multiple occasions, as had those HIVE children. No, it was time to bring in some real talent. Plan 2 would be more extensive, and costly than his initial operation, but the results would be well worth it. It had gravitas as well. Gravitas and a certain classical charm to it.
Ā His domination of this city was only delayed. Things would go his way. And when they did....well, the world would never be the same again.
Ā TTTTT
Ā āWhen your checks start to actually clear, sweety. The last one you sent me bounced so high it might as well have been a satellite. You want a tip on a score? Go ask Intergang. I'm sure they could use some muscle as dumb as you.ā
Ā Calculator groaned wearily as he pressed the disconnect key, taking a long, angry drag on his cigarette before he returned his attention to his work. Livewire was always a pain in the ass to deal with, especially when the work was slow for her. Which was all the time, in the last few months. He was not what many would expect in a criminal master mind; short, dumpy, with receding brown hair and thick, gold-rimmed spectacles, he looked more like a New England banker than anything else. Nobody that saw him on the streets would peg him for the man that nearly every super-criminal in the United States relied on for up to date information on scores, superhero activity and general tips and rumors.
Ā He sighed and looked down at his array of monitors; one tuned to newsfeeds, one to a blog popular with the less than reputable super-types, and one to the Gotham City Police Department staff records. That last one was the most important at the moment, as he opened up Detective Renee Montoya's file. Squeaky clean, a list of commendations as long as his arm, a widow with a husband killed in the gangland shit Gotham seemed to stew in every second of every day. He wasn't going to find the sort of crap he'd need to get Two-Face's request done here. Thankfully, there were other sources, and if his runners were to be believed, he'd soon have some very interesting photos of Ms. Montoya and a one Ms. Kate Kane, heiress and recently discharged army-wanabe that would probably put a pause to her investigation for a good long while.
Ā The call came a second later, and the stout little man's eyebrow went up as he saw where it originated from. Jump City, eh? He hadn't gotten too many requests from that town in a good long while, and more often than not it was from a single man in particular, or a proxy. When he saw the name, his suspicion was confirmed.
Ā āYou're through to Calculator. What can the master of all he surveys provide today, my one-eyed friend?ā He asked, a sort of sarcastic cheerfulness to his voice as he stubbed out his smoke into the overflowing ashtray, then almost immediately lighting up another.
Ā ā'Fraid it ain't the big man himself, bud. He needs ya to find sum'n quick and quiet-like.ā The voice was gruff, harsh and with a distinct Gotham accent, one he'd heard a few times before. So ol' Deych had gotten a new employer, eh? He'd have to make a note of that, seeing as Slade had seemed content to stick with the local boys before. If he was bringing in hired guns from out of town, it meant something had changed, maybe even dramatically so.
Ā āThat's what I do. What's this special order Mr. Wilson needs oh so badly?ā Calculator asked with genuine curiosity now, his fingers flying over his keyboard to pull up Deych' record. The goombah grunted and rattled off what his boss wanted in as clipped and professional a tone has he was probably capable of. It gave the information broker pause, and a frown began to melt over his lips. It was a tall order, but he thought he remembered hearing....yes, some of the product Slade needed was in town.
Ā āWell lucky you, Mr. Deych. You boys happen to be sitting not very far off from what you need. I'll go ahead and send you some recommendations for getting past security, too. Consider that a favor to Mr. Wilson.ā And so he did, sending off the e-mail with the properly encrypted files. With that he cut off the call, leaning back in his chair and smiling around his cigarette. The Titans were going to be in for a very nasty surprise if this was going to go the way he thought it would. Oh, this was going to be a very interesting show indeed.
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