Caitlin Hates The Inaction Inherent In Being An Enforcer. She Hates The Red Tape, The Way Her Every Move

If Mrs. Monroe, head of maths at Gotham Prep, had to describe Dick Grayson in one word it would be ‘prefect’.

If she were allowed two she would say ‘worryingly perfect’.

She didn’t keep up with the media storm around Bruce Wayne’s ward as it happened, but when she heard that the kid would be in her class she decided that she had better catch up with it. She reads about how the boy came from a travelling circus and how his parents died in an accident (or was it a murder? She isn’t quite sure). She reads that after coming from a working class background he’s just been placed with the richest man in the city during a particularly traumatic time. Everything she sees worries her to no end and as she walks in on Monday she braces herself for a boy to turn up made up of grief and fear for being in this strange, strange place that’s nothing at all like the circus where he grew up.

Instead, Dick Grayson walks into class seeming like a perfectly well adjusted young boy who she would never have guessed had endured anything particularly awful in his life.

All lesson she waits for him to slip up, to show that he’s going through something terrible. Then he doesn’t and she waits for the rest of the week. Then she’s left waiting for the rest of the month and, after that, the rest of the year.

Dick Grayson never slips up. He has plenty of friends, even though he never seems that close with them, he’s the best in her class, even though he never had formal schooling before, and he never seems at all out of place at Gotham Prep.

She’s mentioned it to the other teachers, that something about how good the kid is bothers her, but none of them seem to pick up on it. They all just offer testament to how well Dick’s getting on at Gotham Prep and how it just goes to show how much potential the boy has.

So Mrs. Monroe waits for Dick to slip up and tries not to worry too hard.

~

During the summer after Dick’s first year of school (having placed first in all his classes, naturally) Mrs. Monroe sees him outside of school for the first time.

It’s a nice day and her husband is away on business so she decides to take the time to go on a walk by herself. As she’s turning onto one of Gotham’s nicer streets she almost runs directly into Dick.

He’s with three other boys. They all seem older than him but it only surprises her a little since one of the many things on Mrs. Monroe’s list of ‘reasons why Dick Grayson is a very worrying boy’ is that he’s oddly mature for his age.

When Dick sees her he stops and smiles, and Mrs. Monroe can’t help but smile back.

“Hi Mrs. M,” he says. She notices that he’s leaning closer to the boys than he does with any of his school friends.

“Hello Dick. I hope you’re having a good holiday.”

“Totally Miss-” he starts, but then one of the boys, with brown hair and a confident gait, stops him by landing a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re having a boys night.” he says, “So we’ll just be on our way.”

The other three let out long-suffering sighs and Mrs. Monroe feels like she’s missing out on something.

“One, it’s daytime.” says another of the boys, black with close cropped blonde hair, “and two, the only reason the others aren’t here is because they’re actually having a girls night and kicked us out.”

The only one who hasn’t spoken yet nods seriously.

“Well I wouldn’t want to keep you,” answers Mrs. Monroe, not quite sure what else to say, “I’ll see you again when school is back in session, Dick.”

Dick nods happily while the rest of the boys wave goodbye to her and make their way onwards.

As Mrs. Monroe walks home she thinks about the encounter. She knows that none of those boys go to Gotham so they must be friends from something else. The way they had acted around each other though, well, she doesn’t think that she’s seen Dick that close with any of his friends at school.

Thinking about it, he’d seemed a little more human in that group. Less like the perfect student and popular kid he always was at school.

Whatever it was seemed good and after that encounter, Mrs. Monroe worries about Dick Grayson a little less.

The rawest line to ever be conceived, honestly.

Gertrude Robinson is decisive.

She makes her choices and she backs them up with every action she takes. She does not hesitate. She does not question herself. She does not regret.

This was good for a while. It made her move forward faster than anyone else she’d ever met and Gertrude likes being fast. Overtaking peers who’d figured out far later than her that they simply were not in the same league brought her a special kind of joy. Then there was that look her teachers and professors and so-called superiors would give her when they realised that she was destined to surpass them. That was an even better kind of joy. The sort she could sink her teeth into and let fill her belly like a warm meal.

Then Gertrude was twenty five and a man she thought was called James Wright asked her if she would like to be head archivist and she said yes.

Then things started to try and kill her. Then she started to try and kill those things back. And, hey, what do you know? It turns out that killing monsters is just another thing Gertrude Robinson excels at.

It’s not like she had another option.

Gertrude Robinson is decisive and unwavering and has never doubted herself in her life. So when she looks back on the choice she made at twenty five all she sees is the inevitability of it. The way the path of her life had no side roads, there was always only one route she could ever take.

You’re wrong, the eye tells her, your choices are yours, yours, yours and you could have done all the other things you were planning to do with your life. You’re the one who blinded yourself to the other paths you could have taken and I would never presume to hide such knowledge from my beloved archivist.

Gertrude Robinson never regrets her choices. Not even when she should.

The parallel in the umbrella academy where in ‘I think we’re alone now’ it says ‘the beating of our hearts is the only sound’ and Vanya using the beating of her heart to bust out of the cage thing is god tier foreshadowing and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Continuation of this and this

Pt. 3:

“Do you feel it too?” Adora asks Glimmer one day when she can’t hold it in any longer.

They’re eating dinner with Queen Angella and Bow. The table’s previous conversation, full of good humour and niceness, goes silent at her question.

“Feel what?” Glimmer asks carefully.

“Everything.” It’s not the right word for whatever it is but it’s the closest one she can think of. It makes Glimmer pause for a moment as she turns to look at Adora. Her gaze turns intense in a way that makes her look older, more like the Queen she might become one day.

“Only when I’m with you.” She says and Adora nods. It was sort of the answer she was expecting.

“Is it the same for the others?” Adora asks, because Glimmer isn’t the only person she knows who’s tied to the universe by chains of faith and stardust.

“Of course.”

A pause.

“I feel it all the time.” Adora says quietly.

Bow and Queen Angella exchange a look, half-knowing half-afraid. Glimmer just seems like she was expecting it though. Adora isn’t surprised by that, Glimmer is tied to the moonstone in a different way to her mother. Angella is connected to it in a way that’s full of magic and precision and order. Glimmer’s bonds with the moonstone are more hope and blood and chaos.

She-Ra is made of hope and blood and chaos. Adora might hate her for it if she hadn’t always been made of those things too.

~

link to Shana cause these lil drabbles are pretty much just me trying to copy her style

The Batman:

Bruce Wayne:

“Hobie did more for Miles after knowing him for ten minutes than Gwen did” my brother in christ one of these characters was presented as having very little fondness, one might even say some derision, for spider society while for the other it was their entire support system they are not the same

Tell me I’m wrong

Dan Powell is seven years old and if he’s certain of one thing it’s that he loves stories.

Not quite the same way as Mark. Mark prefers his words drenched in the mud and grit of the reality he thinks is true.

“Doesn’t it make the stories taste bad?” Dan asks, “Doesn’t it make them grind against your teeth and cut against your tongue?”

Mark just laughs. “I can stomach it. It’s way cooler than all that unreality fluff you like.”

Dan laughs but inside he’s frowning. The stories he likes are real. It’s just that what he counts as reality and what Mark does must be very different things.

Dan likes stories about odd things. He likes stories about monsters and cults and old, old gods. He likes weird. The stories don’t have to have a hero either, Dan is perfectly happy without a happy ending, just so long as there is an ending. When Dan starts a story leaving it unfinished has never been an option. When his parents read him bedtime stories, always a chapter at a time, he picks the book up once they leave and gets through as much as possible before passing out with the book falling wide open over his face.

Dan like stories and he likes endings and he likes weird. So when he overhears some people on the subway talking about the Visser Building and the odd happenings within, he can hardly not go searching for the endings of that tale.

The next day he walks down seedier streets than any seven year old should really be walking down to get to the Visser Building. He wonders if it’s odd that he didn’t need to look at any maps before coming here. It’s probably normal, he decides, I’m just good at finding odd things.

Dan is good at finding all the stories at the school library that probably shouldn’t be available to children as young as him and no one finds that strange. This is just more of the same.

As he walks into the Visser Building an overwhelming feeling of rightness comes over Dan. This is where you’re meant to be, it whispers, stay here forever and all will be right, right, right, it sings. Dan thinks the whispers make a very good point but he has to be home for dinner otherwise his parents will worry. So he won’t stay. This time.

He walks through the corridors. Some of them feel like mazes. Some of them tilt downwards so harshly that they feel like slides. All of them are new and interesting and definitely full of stories. Dan turns on the tape recorder he stole from his Dad. Mark is always going on about how a journalist needs a good record of everything that happens and this feels like the sort of story Dan is going to need to replay to fully understand.

“This is Dan Powell recording.” he says into it, trying to sound as serious and adult as he can. There isn’t really anything else for him to say after that since all the things he’s feeling are too new and unexplainable to put words to so he just lets the tape recorder go. The whirring of it is nice background noise and Dan likes the way the machine feels in his hand. Almost as if it’s a part of his hand.

Something about that thought may be significant, but before Dan can examine it too thoroughly he’s rounding a corner and face to face with a woman about to knock on a door and holding a tape recorder just like his own.

She looks surprised to see Dan. As if Dan isn’t meant to be there. Dan thinks this is a bit unfair as the woman’s presence doesn’t sing to him like the rest of the building does so she definitely isn’t meant to be there. She looks like she’s nice though and she hasn’t shouted at Dan for trespassing yet so Dan doesn’t say that. He just stands there, listening attentively to the twin whirring of two tape recorders.

“Hello,” the woman says after a moment, cautious. “I’m Melody Pendras, do you live here?”

“No. I’m Dan Powell.” Dan holds his hand out for Melody to shake since he’s sure that’s what he’s meant to do. Melody smiles as if this is a little funny but bends down and shakes Dan’s hand seriously enough that he forgives her.

“Then why are you here?”

Dan frowns. “The same reason as you.” He gestures towards her tape recorder. “I want to know the story.”

Melody starts frowning as well. “That’s a very dangerous thing to want.” she says.

“I know. It’s okay though. Getting to the end is worth it.”

Dan feels Melody re-evaluate her opinion of him. He feels the way her eyes land on him shift until it’s a lot more like how she looks at the rest of this strange, strange building. “I think you would fit in here very well.”

Dan nods in agreement. “Thanks. You wouldn’t.”

Melody laughs lightly. “I hope you’ll forgive me for finding that to be a good thing.” Dan shrugs. It’s not a good thing. It’s not a bad thing. It just is. “I need to get back to work but it was nice to meet you, Dan.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Melody. I hope your story doesn’t end badly.”

Melody looks at Dan very oddly but before she can say anything the door she had been stood in front of swings open and she becomes too caught up in greeting the occupant to notice Dan fading back into the shadows of the Visser Building.

~

Dan ends up having to leave to get home for dinner before finding anything else important. Then he has a playdate with Mark the next day. Then he goes to his school’s very small creative writing club the day after that. Then there’s a disciplinary meeting between his parents and his teacher about the somewhat disturbing story he wrote and Dan gets grounded for the rest of the week.

When Dan finally gets a chance to return to the Visser Building all that’s left is rubble and the odd blood splatter and something else.

The something else is calling to him. The whirring, crackling, spinning of a tape recorder with nothing left to record is loud in his ears despite the fact he know no one else can hear it. His hands are too small and his body too weak to lift the rubble but he aches to do so.

“You lost, kid?” a voice asks from behind Dan. He turns to see a woman who definitely doesn’t care if Dan is lost or not.

“No.” Dan pauses so that he doesn’t sound too demanding or rude. Then, “Can I have the tapes?”

The woman’s eyes narrow and Dan is struck by how unlike Melody she looks. Melody had a kind face, all arranged in the most welcoming shape. The whole time this woman has been looking at Dan she’s kept her face twisted into something mildly disgusted.

“What tapes are these?”

Dan points to the rubble. “The ones in there. They have a story on them, I need to know how it ends.”

“Huh.” the woman says, looking at Dan like an artefact in a museum. “If you were a little older I would know a lot of people who would be interested in employing you.” She tilts her head to the side as if considering Dan. “Do you like cities?”

Dan hasn’t thought on it much before but the concept of living anywhere less full of stories than New York kind of makes him want to tear his skin off. “Yes.”

The woman’s eyes gleam with interest. “Do you have friends?”

Dan thinks to how Mark can make him laugh hard enough to snort milk out his nose and yesterday he fixed the plaster on Mark’s knee just right when the school nurse did it wrong. “Yes.”

The interest in the woman’s eyes dulls a little. “A pity. Still, far more useful than most people will ever be.” She reaches into a pocket and pulls out a card with the letters LMG on it and a phone number. “My name is Iris Vos. Once you’re old enough to be useful, maybe get a degree or something, call this number and tell them that I sent you.” She turns away from Dan a little. “That should give me some credit with the bastards.” she mutters to herself.

Dan looks down at the card. It’s in pristine condition, just like he supposes everything of Miss Vos’s must be. The numbers have an odd shine to them though and Dan finds himself wondering if there might be something interesting there. “Thank you for the opportunity.” he says, because he’s certain that someone said that after receiving a job offer in one of the TV shows his dad watches. Miss Vos nods so Dan guesses he probably said the right words and she walks off towards people in suits holding official looking clipboards.

Dan wants to know how this story ends. He needs to know how this story ends. The curiosity burns in his stomach like acid and fire and hatred and wonder and Dan isn’t sure how many years he can last before it finds a way to destroy him. He’s always loved endings after all, perhaps a little too much.

So Dan tucks the card very carefully into his pocket and spends a moment hoping fervently that one day he’ll be old enough to be useful.

“Y’know, sometimes I get jealous of you.”

Bruce hopes that the look on his face communicates what a ridiculous notion that is. From the way Clark snorts a little he’s sure he manages it.

“I know, I know, it’s silly. It’s just.” He licks his lips. “Your secret identity is just so not you. I feel like Superman and Clark Kent get further away from each other every day, but they’re both still me. Is that dumb?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s good. It’s just that it’s getting harder, y’know? But it’s also getting easier. Well I guess you don’t know. You’ve probably never had an issue with separating Batman and Brucie Wayne.”

Bruce looks at Clark, “I have trouble separating my identities. Just not those two.”

He frowns before catching himself. “Oh right. Sorry, sometimes I forget you have three. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one.” He pauses, looking at Bruce as if asking permission to continue. Bruce doesn’t give it but Clark goes on anyway. “You have problems splitting up Batman and Bruce then? They’re both you?”

“Of course.” He says, answering the second question. That’s a fact he’s always been sure of. Then, in reference to the first, “I know what you mean about being able to feel the two people you are drift further and further apart.”

“Really?”

Bruce smiles and it’s full of self loathing. “Bruce is a father, Batman’s a partner, a mentor. There was a time when those things all meant the same to me.” He pauses, thinking. “It’s strange, I can barely see the overlaps any more.”