"God has given you one face, and you make yourself another." -William Shakespeare
Roy Harper:
Speedy knew he could be shallow, also egotistical, and was well aware that he was like a misfired arrow lodged into a tree. Stubborn and unmovable; like a thorn in the side, he would instigate arguments with his team. Mostly it was an accident, but sometimes on purpose if he was having an off day. He would yell at the twins for messing with his things, or sneak in fish tacos just to spite Aqualad, and he would even mouth off to Bumblebee; that girl needed to seriously relax and he wasn't going to let her command over him everyday.
But he was more than just a troubled teen. He used his terrible attitude to protect himself from becoming close. If he let himself care too much, it would hurt far worse when those important to him left. And when he had lost his father the pain never faded. It stayed burned into his soul, so much so he masked the face that once shone its tears to the world.
A mask however, doesn't change the eyes, it only hides the windows to his soul. His irises were the color of the earth with rich brown tones and flecks of gold, even the hues of the forest's dark pines reflected in them. They were beautiful, a gift from his mother's spirit.
And as another day came the sun rose up from its dreams of the moonlit skies, again Speedy covered his earthen gems and went to wreak havoc on a dazed fish and a pesky bee.
Mal Duncan:
The Herald was an enigma. He was a musician with a soothing voice who traveled among the multiverse fighting crime, and playing jazzy melodies along the way. But who was he really under his mask and navy hood? Who was this mysterious visitor from across the dimensions?
What was really hiding behind his facade of tranquility were two perfectly pupil-less eyes. His brilliant silver orbs were a trademark of his title of Guardian of Gateways, which he kept hidden away to escape the enemies of his father's past.
The All Seers were constantly looking for him. They were cruel men of power using the portals to dominate worlds for their own selfish gain, and with the existence of the Herald the infinite worlds became theirs. However, they could not see him when his vision was altered, because it would blur the sight of the destinations not yet reached. So, despite the lack of clarity he shrouded himself so that all lands would remain free from the tyranny of the corrupted.
And to this day he remains veiled, still a riddle left unsolved by those unknowing of the vast places hailing from beyond.
Joseph Wilson:
Silence is not always a curse to bear. It can be a blessing, but it is not one that is disguised. No, Jericho knew with his sealed lips that the world would keep spinning regardless if he could speak or not. He understood that his words played no part in the growth of a forest, or could shift the rolling waves away from desolate shores. But his quietness was no dooming cloud thundering and storming at the radiant joy in his heart. In fact it became the opposite.
Without sound came sight, and with newly opened eyes came a world of beauty.
For the first time his emerald orbs sparkled like sunlight bathing a field of grass on a warm summer's day. His voice no longer a distraction that would be blending in with the mundane masses, but instead his vision would be what separated him from the chains of banality. And for this Jericho was thankful.
Garth:
Tempest pools of violet were his burden to bear; the eyes of an omen meant to terrorize the seas. His nobility meant nothing, his kindness invisible, if the people looked at him as a monster of the deep.
He could not change what he had been born with, despite the many years of pleading to the Gods to relinquish him of whatever sins he had committed. He could not erase the histories of his people's myths to earn their undying affections. Instead he fled from where he was given life in search of a land unknowing of the tales from Atlantis.
And when his feet became accustomed to walking rather than swimming, and friends became family, his hurting heart no longer drowning under the weight of the ocean floor, began to bubble over with happiness. For here he was accepted for all the quirks he had been given, and no longer was he a sad prince isolated in the caverns below.
Dick Grayson:
Soaring through the night skies was a habit that Robin never wished to break regardless of who he was flying as. When he was a child he was sapphire-eyed reaching towards the arms of his beloved parents, swinging under the circus lights for the crowd below. Now he was gliding away on ropes through the cities shielded by a domino mask with a group of fellow misfits fighting for justice by his side.
Either way he needed to spread his wings or the risk of becoming a caged bird, which would drag his soul down into clutches of darkness destroying a part of his identity. Being free to him meant having the breeze flow through his raven locks as he dove from one building to the next. After all, a bird with broken wings isn't as liberated as it might believe. He might've been able to walk through life without the looming presence of wickedness, but without the wind on his back and arms diving out in front of him, he would never be truly himself.
So, Robin kept his flight whether or not he wore his disguise, because staying true to himself meant staying up in the clouds closest to the ones he loved.