We only get to bring them in.

[gcpd-mcu.livejournal.com]

Detective MacDonald rubs her eyes surreptitiously before reading her final report one last time. She can't find anything wrong with it, but she has to be careful, so careful--not just for the sideways looks she'd get from the others in the MCU, but because of what it would mean if anyone learned just why she was such a good detective. She can hear the scornful voices (in her imagination, thank you, and yes, she has learned the difference), and they're all she needs to keep her secret:

( Read more... )

JLA/JSA/Titans Team Leaders Summit

[jsaboss.livejournal.com]

His T-Spheres download all of his data on the recent situations onto his wrist unit, and he takes a quick scan of the information before he goes. Everything's there.

One last check to make sure Hourman's all right with monitor duty. He's fine, and chides Terrific for being a nervous nelly every time he's going to be away from the team for awhile. But he's dragging a lot of the team into space right now, and they still have a lot of enemies out there.

That's the problem, and he knows not everyone's going to be happy with the solutions he's come up with. If he didn't know Batman was going to have his back on the moon, he'd assume the idea was doomed.

But drastic times call for drastic measures.

Fate and the Atom had done something to the Brownstone's and Watchtower's defenses -- no one could teleport in or out, except for through the JLA's teleport units. Caleb/Neron pushed that a bit, even he wasn't able to get in or out easily. So that was something.

He steps into the transport tube.

"One to the Watchtower. The others are meeting me up there."

And like that, he's on the moon.

The radiant star of hope...

[theotherlantern.livejournal.com]

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.



John Stewart didn't live in the 1950s and 1960s, but he acutely feels the struggle of those times every occasion he has to hear the voice of Dr. King.

The man had such a powerful voice. Sing-song inflections and soul-stirring words. You can hear the fight, the oppression and the determination in every speech. It never fails to bring a tear to his eye.

Growing up in the 1970s, he was cognizant of Dr. King, and the after-effects of the intense racial strife in America. His mother was a firm believer in God's plan, and for as many doubts as he has about that these days, when he listens to Dr. King speak, he WANTS to believe it. He would've followed that man anywhere.

His father was an assembly line worker, not a very good man, but one of the things he always stressed was how John needed to learn how the world worked in order to make himself indispensable to the white man. So he could live in a better place. John decided that meant he could just learn how to build a better place himself, without having to endear himself to anyone.

In college, it was easy to get caught up in militancy, strong and strident rhetoric, the immediate and temporary satisfaction "by any means necessary." Malcolm X is cooler, has more street cred, and probably wouldn't mind if you beat a man half to death with a bat - which, of course, is what people think when they forget that Malcolm tried to break out of the cycle of violence after his journey to Mecca, but that cycle of violence swallowed him up before he could finish climbing out.

Nonviolence is hard. It's not immediately rewarding. It takes time, patience and devotion to the cause. You don't get to watch the oppressor fall by your hand. You have to wait for the gears to set into motion to bring legislation or capitulation, and that's not visceral. That's intellectual. That's the difference, and there are times he can't help but wonder if he's failing Dr. King's dream when he's using his power to beat the hell out of some monster bent on his destruction... but it's easy to rationalize away - this isn't a cause, it's an immediate and violent threat, etc.

He idly twists the ring on his finger. Wondering if he's living up to his responsibility as the only black Green Lantern. If he's doing enough to support the social causes he fought the Oans to let him remain on Earth to handle. If being an active League member and occasional conscience for it is enough, of if he needs to heighten his profile among the black community and its causes.

He hates the public eye. Never a fan of the spotlight. That'll be a hell of a personal sacrifice if he steps it up.


...one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.


John knows he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he occasionally feels a hint of guilt about his personal life. Katma Tui would shift her appearance to look like a black woman, so the questions were often deflectable then. Merayn Dethalis didn't have that luxury, but a blue woman is an even smaller minority in this world. Still, his Aunt Loretta would often hint quietly about it, and his brother Damon would outright SAY that John must have some sort of inherent disrespect toward black women, if he keeps getting involved with orange and blue women instead of strengthening his own community. He's already imagined how they'll react when they find out about Diana. "The Ultimate White Woman."

John doesn't let this static affect him for long, though. His family has already gotten annoyed with his standard, repeated response whenever they try to lay the guilt trip on him. It's a response he has Dr. King to thank for... and with the ring's help, he can actually respond with the voice of the man himself.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

They will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

They will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.


That's the dream. But it still hasn't been achieved. There's always more work to do.

It's always work worth doing.

*Ibn Taking a Walk Around Stately Wayne Manor*

[ibn-al-xuff.livejournal.com]

It has been a nice couple of days, but he knows that his time is somewhat limited. He takes a last look around the grounds. Every inch seems weighted with history.

It is a good place to think about the future. The Foundation was doing well enough, but even with the funds he had been channeling from the League of Assassians, it would take years to make a real difference in the world. But at the least, it was a start.

He dreaded the thought of returning to the mountain, but if he stayed away too long, he knew the consquences. Someone else would take up the mantle. He had not done enough damage yet. Was that his responsibility? Could he do more elsewhere?

He had wanted to discuss it with his father, but really he was embarassed to admit that he might have been wrong. Killing this organization could take years. And if he did surrender the position, where would he go?

Mar'i lived at the Titan's Tower and she loved being a Titan. Did he want to be a Titan? Would being with her mean that he had to be a Titan? They hadn't had a real chance to be alone and talk. Once, they could have discussed almost anything, but he had fallen out of practice. He would force himself to speak of it the next time they were together.

In the other world, Grandfather had said something that chilled him. Something he never forgot. It had been an accusation, but Ibn now realized that in some ways it was the truth. Part of him did want to be the Batman.

Eating one of Alfred's cookies, Ibn decided to consider the matter a bit more.

There are a million stories in Gotham City

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

Most of them have unhappy endings. The plainclothesmen loitering in the car outside the nondescript house on Murphy hope that this one will be different.

It's cold in the car, but they're keeping warm with cups of coffee and thermoses of soup. Hopefully their relief won't be long. Stake-outs are boring, but guard duty is worse, because the long stretches of boring hours could turn into heart-stopping minutes, in less than a second.

The house doesn't look special. Inside, though, is someone very special indeed. Van Ngan, a Vietnamese dockworker who had been in the right place at the right time--or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on who you ask--and is now the DA office's best hope for convicting Jianan Guo for the murder of Yang Liwei.

"We got any sugar left?" asks the first plainclothesman.

"Just the pink stuff and the blue stuff," answers his partner.

The first cop makes a face. "Screw that artificial stuff. I don't buy that it's better for you, no matter what Margie keeps telling me."

"Margie always believe what you tell her?"

"She better. Dunno what kinda wife won't listen to her husband...."

And with such small talk, they pass away the hours.