It is vitally, vitally important that Clark Kent is boring.
I don't mean 'boring' in an inherently bad way. A desk job is boring. Data analysis is boring. Due process is boring. All of these things are imperative for a functioning society but almost nobody will ever be praised for them.
When my car got stolen a year ago, the guy who took it stole a bunch of other stuff too. I was sitting with a cop in a backroom of the campus police station for almost an hour while he was doing paperwork (to make sure everyone would get their stuff back), and at one point he looked up at me and he said, "sorry about this. It's not all shootouts and car chases like on TV."
And I almost said, "well, due process is sexy" (I didn't, for obvious reasons). But he looked surprised when I told him I thought due process was pretty cool. Like nobody is supposed to think due process is cool. Things are only cool if they're glamorous or flashy.
The guy who stole my car was horribly addicted to meth. The sheriff told me, "you should press charges so we can put him away for as long as possible."
The sheriff was lost in a world of heroes and villains. He was the "hero." The addict was the "villain." But the person who helped people was the guy at a desk, who went back over the mile long paper trail and returned every stolen item to its owner. The important stuff is when some guy in an office writes an algorithm to save endangered whales, or when the third double blind test finally shows sufficient evidence for the efficacy of a new cancer treatment. The goose that actually lays the golden egg almost never cackles.
This is why the 'Glasses' comic is so important, to me. We live in a world which glorifies exciting acts of heroism but not "boring" ones. We live in a world that thinks people like Clark Kent aren't important, when they're often doing the most important work, solving the systemic issues, saving people who aren't lost yet. Sometimes we need firefighters, but in a perfect world, we'd only need safety inspectors.
And sure, Superman is necessary within the story. There are disasters and villainy he can prevent. There are lives he can save. But being Superman is ultimately a terrible sacrifice, and if the heroism wasn't necessary he'd be Clark Kent all day. That's what makes him not a cop: he's not enjoying the car chases and shootouts. He avoids letting things get 'interesting' at all costs. He avoids glory.
The comic Strong Female Protagonist (by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag, BRING IT BACK) has several fascinating pieces of philosophy on superheroes and society, but my favourite is this:
Kal-el, living solar battery, isn't just someone who contributes to society from the outside or the top. He plugs away at boring, everyday kindnesses just like other humans. (This can make for great contrasts with Lex Luthor, who is the epitome of a light bulb person and could never understand why Superman would want to be a battery.)
Clark Kent is boring. Clark Kent plays things by the book. Clark Kent is sexy in the same way that due process is sexy, and any character who thinks the Clark Kent side is 'less than' the Superman side, is textually a goddamn idiot. "No glory save honour" and he will always have both.
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listen...listen... idk man i didn't expect downfall to hit me as hard as it did. but i'm at the end of ep101 and i have cried more maybe than during any other part of this story...and what a story within a story downfall is
it's about faith, the faith the mortals have in the gods and that the gods have in mortals, the faith in their creations, in and for their love of each other. and there is something so moving and intoxicating and emotional about that depiction, of gods deciding to become mortals to achieve an end goal, but of learning how much mortals love and feel and suffer
just the love between them all, everyone depicted. the wildmother and the lawbearer... the emissary.... trist and ayden, the everlight and the dawnfather... fucking just....everyone
idk man this sort of tragic story really just gets me so so so fucking bad, it hits me in such a unique way
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no man’s land. | @badheart
Wolfgang does not lose control. He groans and broods and slouches with indignance, denying all involvement in murderous activity when officers question his presence at recent crime scenes. He’s very careful about speaking of details and the who’s of what he’s seen, but Wolfgang manages to slip under the radar most times, because it’s not hard to stay hidden in plain sight when you’re a simple man on the streets of Germany. Tokyo treats him like a different beast entirely. He nearly suffocates at the presence of law enforcement and watchful citizen perched at odd corners and streets ends. He can’t breathe. He can’t feed. Wolfgang feels like an animal — all consuming of instinct, want and need to —to feed. He concentrates and finds it’s a lot easier to do so in the black of the alleyway far into a neighborhood so dingy it reeks of urine and beer and — and meth?
His hand reaches of the wall, fingers gliding between the brick layout. His other hand comes to his face, holding his forehead, thumb barring sharply to his temple. He waits and wants. The smell of blood fills his nose while the almost distinct chatters of men fill the alley. They sneer and laugh, wondering if he’s just a lost foreigner, wondering if he’s got enough cash for another bottle of that retched smelling beer. Wolfgang would love it if they all disappeared and the dark of the alley gave him enough room to breathe — if the alley were long enough to give time for this affliction to pass and not consume him. Wolfgang does not lose control, but he was never that lucky. He remembers his fingers piercing something gooey. The glint of streetlights hit a piece of metal in one of the assailants pockets and lots of screaming. There was a miserable sort of sobbing noise and he was confused since the only one standing seemed to be him in a pool of blood and another presence too overwhelming to ignore.
“Long way from the Sky Tree it seems,” Wolfgang mumbles, gaining his bearings. He has a ghost of a smile when she reaches from her gun, amused at the threat knowing he’d just massacred an annoying gaggle of men. “Would you believe I’m not from here? The hospitality didn’t live up to my expectations.”
Wolfgang summons the will of smile fully. He breathes deeply and can finally turn to meet the gaze of a woman who at the very least isn’t perturbed by his outburst enough to tremble. Good, he thinks. Someone he can talk to without having to hide that pesky side of him. “Kind of embarrassin’ to be caught in the middle of a tantrum. I don’t usually like travelling to the city often and, well, as you can see there’s a reason,” Wolfgang looks down to the twitching hand of a man way beyond the grave. “Albeit a very dangerous one. You wouldn’t maybe forget I was here, would you... Officer?”
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