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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years

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(pt 1) i really enjoy all your atla analyses & you've done a great job breaking down the usual arguments re how eip shows that kataang shouldn't have happened. i'm curious about your take on one specific argument that i just saw today, in an analysis of the show by a zker that was otherwise quite good and respectful (i know you've already talked about eip a lot, so no problem if you don't feel like rehashing). the premise: aang didn't just pressure katara in eip, he threatened her.

(pt 2) they point to when katara joins aang & asks if he’s alright: “aang: no, i’m not! i hate this play! katara: i know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting. aang: overreacting? if i hadn’t blocked my chakra, i’d probably be in the avatar state right now!” the suggestion is he’s threatening her when he says ‘i’d probably be in the avatar state right now’ to describe his anger. i think this take exaggerates and oversimplifies it, but interested in your thoughts on it.

Hello my friend!! It is true I am Old inside and don’t like rehashing dhdlksjslks BUT your comments on my posts are always incredibly kind and insightful so I am more than willing to do a bit of rehashing for you 🥰 Besides! I’ve seen this general take before a few times and it’s always irked me for the exact reason you point out - it simultaneously exaggerates and oversimplifies the situation (and honestly that’s an impressive duality since it’s seemingly contradictory, so hats off to them lmaooo) - and now is as good a time as any to address it. So, for starters, let’s go ahead and get the excerpt they love to focus on so much:

Cut to Aang standing alone on a balcony. Katara enters and walks up to him.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.

Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Here’s the thing about so-called analyses of this excerpt: in a manner extremely convenient to the poster, they never seek to contextualize this moment. (I mean, to do so would deplatform their entire “argument” - perhaps that’s why they avoid performing a full analysis?) So let’s avoid that pitfall from the start.

Firstly, below are some links to related posts; I’m going to do my best to summarize the most relevant parts, but for anyone who desires greater detail, I gotchu 😤

This post explains why EIP (the play, lol) is imperialist propaganda and is intended to belittle the entire Gaang.

This post explains how Aang never acted “entitled” to Katara’s affections, particularly in regard to EIP.

This post breaks down the infamous EIP kiss like Snopes Fact Checker, covering common misconceptions, important perspectives to consider, etc.

Alright. With that out the way, it’s time for some context.

Aang and Katara have this conversation on the balcony after watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” a play chock-full of Fire Nation propaganda that demeans the entire Gaang in order to prop up the Fire Nation as superior (hence why the play ends with Ozai’s victory). Here is my general breakdown of Aang and Katara’s treatment in particular from a previous post:

- katara, an indigenous woman, is highly sexualized and portrayed as overly dramatic and tearful, because the fire nation objectifies women not of their own people and views them as less intelligent and less emotionally stable

- aang, the avatar, the sole survivor of the fire nation’s genocide of the air nomads who is incredibly in-touch with his spirituality and femininity, is portrayed as an overly-airy and immature woman. the fire nation portrays him with a female actor to demean him (like, that’s classic imperialistic propagandist tactics) and furthermore writing his character as a childish airhead reinforces the fire nation sentiment that the air nomads were weak, foolish people who did not deserve to exist in their world

In other words, these kids have just watched almost an entire play that preys upon their insecurities and depicts them using racist and sexist stereotypes about their respective nations. It is completely understandable that tensions might run a little high and that their interactions would not be as balanced as usual (Katara and Aang have a great track record of communicating well with each other, as it happens!).

So we have to keep that in mind when examining the aforementioned excerpt. But there are other factors to consider, too! Namely: they are kids. Children. Teens. Aang is 12, Katara is 14.

If we want to be scientific, a person’s brain doesn’t finish developing until they are 25, lmao, and the preteen/teen years are when the prefrontal cortex that controls “rationality,” “judgement,” “forethought,” etc. is still developing. This doesn’t mean Aang and Katara are irrational and make poor decisions 24/7 (obviously not), but it does mean that in an intense, highly emotional situation, like after watching a play that intentionally demeans them and depicts them as inferior, they are more likely to overreact, more likely to be emotional, and more likely to make mistakes. Like, I’m serious, lol. “Teens process information with the amygdala.” That’s part of the brain that helps control emotions! It’s why teens sometimes struggle to articulate what we’re thinking, especially in situations that require instinct/impulse and quick decisions, because we’re really feeling whenever we make those choices. Acting more on emotion. Our brains simply haven’t finished developing the decision-making parts, lmao.

In sum: Aang and Katara are both kids, not adults, and should be interpreted as such. This doesn’t negate their intelligence, because they are both incredibly smart and Aang is arguably the wisest of the Gaang, but they are human. Young humans. They have emotions, and we should not be so cruel as to assume they’d never act on them.

So taking that all together, we can now acknowledge the high stress Aang and Katara are under, understand why they might be upset (*cough* imperialist propaganda is hurtful *cough*), and examine how their youth might play into their emotional reactions. And funny thing - all analyses that come to the conclusion of Aang “threatening” Katara here do not usually bother with this context. I can’t imagine why!

And you know what, let’s add one more piece of context: Sokka states that Aang left the theater “like, ten minutes ago,” which is what cues Katara to go look for him on the balcony. The reason I mention this line is because to me, it suggests Aang knew he was more worked up than usual! He chose to separate himself from his friends so he could process his frustration! He did not take his anger at the play out on them; instead, he purposefully took time and space to be alone.

With that in mind, I don’t understand at all how Aang’s Avatar state quote could be interpreted as a threat? Canonly, Aang is someone who was aware enough of his frustration to separate himself from the others - yet the logical next step is him threatening Katara as a result? He knew his intense emotions were because of the play (which he says himself), so the logical conclusion is that he then pinned the fault on Katara? What?? Sorry, that interpretation has no textual basis, lmao. But I digress!

Aang tells Katara, “If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!” As you said, this is the line people point to in an attempt to justify their (baseless) conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. So let’s bring in the two key pieces of context: imperialist propaganda and age. Given that Aang is 12, and given that Aang has just watched almost a full play that demeans him and everything his people stood for (and let’s not forget it also mocks his and Katara’s love for each other)…

His reaction is understandable. An exaggeration and needlessly dramatic, but understandable. He feels vulnerable and insecure and Aang is human. He is human and flawed and he overreacts here and I love that A:TLA shows how even our heroes, even people who are truly good at heart and in soul, can get overly upset (especially given the aforementioned circumstances!). Would Aang actually be in the Avatar state at that moment, had it been possible? Of course not! He’s young and he’s hurt and as such he says something dramatic to convey his anxieties and frustrations. The line is not meant to be taken literally, and seeing people do so despite all the factors that should be taken into consideration when analyzing it… Cue a long, tired sigh from me and so many other A:TLA fans.

And to be honest? I cannot fathom how people watch this episode and come to the conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. To me, this episode - besides being a recap episode - is one that humanizes our cast even further. Aang snaps at Katara, kisses her when he shouldn’t (which the story appropriately treats as wrong). Katara pushes down her true feelings and retreats into herself, afraid to start a relationship with the boy she loves because she’s already lost him once before and can’t bear to do so again. Zuko further confronts the hurt he’s enacted upon others, especially upon Iroh. Toph practices being vulnerable and accepting vulnerability from others by conversing with Zuko. Sokka witnesses how others have erased his contributions and labelled him as nothing more than the token nonbender in the group. Even Suki learns that she is not the only person who holds a place in Sokka’s heart and that she can never replace what he has lost.

To watch this episode where our heroes must come to terms with how the Fire Nation deems them inherently inferior, with how they have more fights to overcome in the future with the Fire Nation than a single war, and to come to the conclusion that… that what, Aang is abusive? A monster? Irredeemable? That he would threaten his best friend, someone he loves in every way?

Wow. That says more than enough about the viewer, doesn’t it?

#getting back into the swing of things babey ✌️#aang #katara #kataang #kataangtag #the ember island players #atla #avatar the last airbender #amy answers #dramaticowl #amy analyzes #also i am speaking in GENERAL TERMS here lmaooo this is not a direct response to any one post 😂😂

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sceptilemasterr · 3 years

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Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 1, Scene 9 - Theory and Practice

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: Fiora gets a wake-up call to the dangers of stoichi in her first practical lesson.

Previous Scene: The First Day

Masterlist: Link

INT. TUBIGAN HALL - AUDITORIUM 4 - DAY

Auditorium 4, which features seats that are much more spaced-apart and have large counters between each pair of seats, is filled with background chatter as Fiora and the other students file in. Fiora and Shreya find a pair of seats together; Zeph sits across the table from Fiora, while Beckett ends up beside him, across from Shreya.

BECKETT: Ah. If it isn’t “Mr. Lost Forces” himself.

ZEPH: Ugh. I’m never gonna live that one down, am I?

SHREYA (laughs): Doesn’t sound like it.

ZEPH: Well, I’ve got a name, you know. It’s Zeph.

BECKETT: Beckett.

ZEPH: Okay, at least we’re getting somewhere! Nice to meet you, Beckett--

He is interrupted by a door at the front of the auditorium slamming open forcefully, propelled by a huge clod of earth in the shape of a hammer. The hammer dissolves into mud, then re-forms into a wave of earth that slides across the podium. Atop it rides a large man with short black hair, wearing a blue sweater and striped tie. He makes a powerful, sweeping gesture with his arms, and the mound coalesces into a pillar that raises him up until he is almost to the ceiling. This is DR. ENGLUND, another Penderghast professor. With a powerful, booming voice, he declares:

DR. ENGLUND: Students! Welcome to Applied Stoicheal Technique and Practice!

He gestures again, and the pillar of earth slowly lowers him back to the ground to resounding applause from the students. Fiora grins eagerly.

FIORA: Okay, I think I’m gonna like this class!

BECKETT: Certainly an impressive demonstration, to be sure.

ZEPH: That. Was. AWESOME!

DR. ENGLUND: Thank you, thank you all. I am Dr. Englund, and I will be your ASTP teacher for the year. However, I won’t be your only teacher in this course; being an Earth-Att, there is only so much I can teach once we get into unique types of stoicheal techniques. Other professors will be giving guest demonstrations when needed. But that won’t be for a while, yet, so don’t worry. For now, we’ll be doing only the basics of channeling stoicheal energy: things that, with minor variations, any Attuned can perform.

He stomps one foot and gestures behind him, and the pile of dirt he rode in on dissolves into nothingness. Where the dirt had been sits a stack of covered mason jars, each containing a small amount of an elemental object: blue-dyed water, swirling wind that has been colored light green, small flickering candles, tiny clumps of dirt, a small plant shoot, or a little cube of metal.

DR. ENGLUND: I will need volunteers to help me pass these out. Anyone?

Beckett raises his hand, along with a few others. Dr. Englund selects him and two other students, one of whom Fiora recognizes as Shinelle from the Test of Attunement. Dr. Englund and the students each take a tray of jars, walking through the auditorium and asking each student for their Attunement before passing out the corresponding jar. Eventually, Beckett is the one to reach Fiora’s row first.

BECKETT: And you are?

FIORA: Uh, fire?

SHREYA: Oh, me too!

Beckett nods, and passes out a jar with a candle inside to each of them. He places a jar with a metal cube on his own table, then frowns at Zeph.

BECKETT: If you’re about to say something ridiculous like “Time-Attuned,” so help me--

ZEPH: Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m... (sighs) Whatever, look, I’m a Water-Att. Okay?

Beckett starts to say something, then stops and simply hands Zeph a jar of water before moving on. After Dr. Englund has finished handing out his own jars, he walks back to the front of the room where a single jar of dirt sits on the table.

DR. ENGLUND: As they finish passing out the remaining jars, let me start going over today’s exercise. Now, Attuned are capable of creating their respective elements from nothing, but this is a more challenging technique that we will get to later in the course. For now, we will tackle the relatively simple task of manipulating an existing source of stoicheal energy.

He holds up his jar of dirt and opens the lid.

DR. ENGLUND: What we are going to do today is get our element to cover the top of the jar without touching it ourselves. Observe.

He closes his eyes and stretches out a hand toward the top of the jar. The dirt inside twitches, then starts to flow up the sides of the jar and toward the top, finally consolidating into a perfect recreation of the actual lid of the jar.

DR. ENGLUND: Not as flashy as my entrance, I admit, but it should be easy enough for you all to manage by the end of today’s class. The key to accomplishing this is to focus on the center of energy within the object in question. Stoicheal energy is bright and easy to sense in an external object, but likely most of you have never tried to directly tap into a center of energy before.

Fiora leans forward, trying to focus on the professor’s words.

DR. ENGLUND: That is the easy part. More difficult will be covering the top of the jar. To do this, you must be in tune with the external object, using your innate stoicheal foundation to coax the object to where you want it to go. I don’t expect any of you to make a lid this perfect, of course!

He laughs and indicates his own perfectly formed dirt lid.

DR. ENGLUND: Just a simple cover will suffice. Keep in mind that stoicheal energy does not like to be contained once released; when you cover the jar, make sure to keep it covered and not allow your element to escape all over the lecture hall! ...And that goes double for the Fire-Atts here in the room, for reasons that should be obvious.

Fiora glances over at Beckett, who has already unscrewed the lid of his jar and begun concentrating on his cube of metal. Fiora and Shreya exchange a glance.

DR. ENGLUND: If anyone has trouble with the assignment or needs help, please raise a hand and I will be there as soon as I can. When you are finished, bring your jar to me at the front of the room for approval. Ready? Begin!

He stomps forcefully with one foot, and a light shockwave ripples out through the floor of the auditorium. Fiora lets out a small shriek when it reaches her, then looks around to see that everyone else have already begun opening their jars. Blushing slightly, she pulls her jar toward her and unscrews the lid, setting it aside.

FIORA (muttering): ‘Innate stoicheal foundation...’ okay, but how do I do that?

She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face in concentration, stretching out a hand toward the open jar. Nothing happens for several moments. Then, Shreya yelps in surprise, and Fiora opens her eyes to see Shreya’s flames beginning to creep up the sides of her jar.

SHREYA: Oh! I think I--

As soon as Shreya starts speaking, the flames abruptly recede back into the candle flame. Shreya frowns.

SHREYA: Zut! I almost had it!

FIORA: Hey, at least you did something. Mine won’t even budge.

SHREYA: Oh, right... here, let me help you with the basics. What you have to do is--

BECKETT: Amateurs.

The two girls look over to see Beckett holding his jar in his hand, a neat metal circle perfectly covering the top of the jar. Their mouths drop open in astonishment.

ZEPH: What, already?!

BECKETT: Naturally.

He stands and walks away toward Dr. Englund at the front of the room. Zeph slaps his hand down onto his table in frustration.

ZEPH: Sure, make me feel dumb, why don’t you...

Shreya takes Fiora aside and starts whispering the basics of stoicheal manipulation to her. As the two of them start attempting to control their candle flames, Zeph grips his jar tightly in both hands and holds it up to his face, frustration evident in his expression.

ZEPH: Okay, water... it’s just you and me.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again.

ZEPH: C’mon, let’s go! Up!

He shifts his hands so that his left hand is holding up the jar by the base, and gestures with his right hand up toward the top of the jar. The water twitches, then starts to ripple, and then finally begins climbing up the sides of the jar.

ZEPH: C’mon... just a little further...

Fiora watches, enraptured, as Zeph continues gesturing around and around the jar. The water starts to swirl upward, hugging the inside of the jar, until it reaches the top and begins to form a neat film over the top of the jar. Zeph keeps his concentration, sweat forming on his brow, as he brings his palm up and over the jar and starts moving it in slow circles.

SHREYA: Wow. Nice!

FIORA: I guess the hand motions help?

SHREYA: Might be worth a try...

As Zeph continues moving his palm in circles, frost starts accumulating on the watery lid. He stops and nearly drops the jar in surprise, and the water completely ices over. He looks down at the icy lid in confusion.

ZEPH (shrugs): Okay, that’s not what I meant to do... but I guess it works?

He flashes a triumphant grin to Shreya and Fiora.

ZEPH: Good luck with yours! I’ve always heard fire’s a bit trickier to learn than the other Attunements...

He nods toward the front of the room. Fiora follows his gaze to see the group of students lined up with their jars for Dr. Englund. Not a single one among them has a fire jar.

SHREYA: Well, that’s good to know. Guess there’s no shame in taking a bit longer, then.

ZEPH: Exactly! That’s the spirit!

He walks off to join the line. Shreya and Fiora turn their attention back to their jars.

SHREYA: Okay, so... he did something like this?

She holds her hands out to either side of her jar, palms facing inward. Then, she closes her eyes and concentrates. Fiora watches as the candle suddenly twitches and starts burning brighter, and Shreya opens her eyes again.

SHREYA: Found the center! Now...

She starts experimenting with various hand motions and gestures, gradually coaxing her flame into spreading outward toward the walls of the jar. After a moment of watching, Fiora turns her attention to her own jar.

FIORA: Okay. I can do this. Fiora, just... breathe.

She closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath.

FIORA: The center. The center. The center.

After a brief moment, her own candle flares brightly, and she opens her eyes.

FIORA: Whoa! Okay, don’t lose it!

SHREYA: Nice, Fiora!

Shreya’s own flame has begun slowly but surely creeping up the sides of her jar, coaxed along by her swirling hand gestures. Fiora stays fixated on her own flame, but attempts to copy Shreya’s gestures.

FIORA: Okay, c’mon, up we go...

Shreya’s flame reaches the top of her jar and starts to flare up and into the room. She pulls her arms back, dropping them to the table.

SHREYA: Non! Oh, no you don’t!

The flames recede, quivering shakily between the inside and outside of the jar. Fiora, whose flames are still at the base of her own jar, closes her eyes again, concentrating even harder.

FIORA: Okay, fire... up we go. Up. UP!

She overenthusiastically sweeps both her arms upward. The fire within the jar roils, then jets upward in a spectacular geyser of flame. Shreya, whose jar was nearly covered by her own flame, leaps back in shock, knocking over her jar and causing it to shatter on the ground. Other nearby students panic and grab their jars, backing away from the sight. Fiora’s eyes shoot open and she stumbles backward in shock.

FIORA: AAH! Wait, no, stop it! Go back down! Go back down!

DR. ENGLUND (authoritatively): Everyone, remain calm! I’ve got this!

Dr. Englund stops what he is doing and immediately starts sprinting toward Fiora and her rogue flame, which has now spread to the nearby tables, gathering strength. Zeph follows closely behind Dr. Englund, his jar with its icy lid clutched in his hands.

FIORA: Help! Sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean--

DR. ENGLUND: Stay back!

He raises his arms, then crosses them in front of his chest. A pile of earth begins to form in front of him, growing in size as he focuses. Then, he extends his arms outward and sends the earth flying toward the fire, extinguishing a large portion of it.

SHREYA: Fire, go away! Begone! Vanish!

Shreya gestures frantically at the remaining flames, but to little effect. As Dr. Englund begins gathering the dirt back around him, building the pile back up, Zeph stretches a hand out over his jar, then gestures toward the remaining flames. His small piece of ice lifts off of the jar, then melts back into water and splashes itself onto the flames. Dr. Englund nods in approval as he sends his dirt pile flowing back over the flames, putting the remainder out. Fiora breathes a sigh of relief, then gulps as Dr. Englund turns and looks down at her sternly.

DR. ENGLUND: Are you okay? Are you hurt?

FIORA (nervously): Uh... no, I think I’m okay... I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--

Dr. Englund raises his voice, addressing the entire class along with Fiora.

DR. ENGLUND: As I made clear earlier: stoicheal energy does not like to be contained. Isn’t that right, Ms. Luxen?

FIORA: Yes... yes, that’s right. I’m sorry--

DR. ENGLUND: And I believe I even specifically said that this goes double for the Fire-Atts. Correct?

FIORA (ashamed): Yes, sir.

Dr. Englund waits in silence for several moments. No one says anything.

DR. ENGLUND: Clean up your jars, both of you. Ms. Mistry, you are excused from the exercise owing to these exceptional circumstances.

Shreya bows and crouches down to pick up her broken jar. Dr. Englund turns to face Zeph.

DR. ENGLUND: As for you... I am impressed. You showed quick thinking and expert stoicheal manipulation in a time of crisis. Though your actual assignment left a bit to be desired, I will nevertheless award you full points for today’s class. Well done!

ZEPH (surprised): Wow! Oh, uh... thank you, Dr. Englund!

DR. ENGLUND: Right. As for the rest of you! Class is still in session; those of you who have not yet been graded, please return to the line at the front of the room. As before, when you have been graded, you are free to leave.

As the other students start lining up at the front of the room, Dr. Englund crouches down beside Fiora.

DR. ENGLUND (quietly): Ms. Luxen. A moment.

FIORA: Uh... right. I’m seriously so sorry about this, I didn’t mean to--

Dr. Englund waves her apologies aside.

DR. ENGLUND: I know from Dr. Swan that you have a very unique Attunement. One that grants you incredible stoicheal energy and the potential that comes with that. But let this be a lesson to you: great power does not mean everything will be easy.

Fiora nods.

DR. ENGLUND: Some students struggle to accomplish any stoicheal techniques at all. You, however, will have the opposite problem: your Attunement means that your greatest challenge will be learning to modulate your power to a manageable level. Do you understand?

FIORA: I... I do, sir. Thank you.

DR. ENGLUND: Good. Now, be sure to practice on your own time. Preferably with your Water-Att friend nearby, just in case.

He stands and strides off back toward the front of the room. Shreya and Fiora exchange embarrassed glances.

SHREYA: What was that all about?

FIORA: I’ll tell you when it’s just us. It’s about my... y’know...

SHREYA: Oh. Oh, right. Your Attunement. Gotcha.

They return to their task. As they pick up the shards of glass and pieces of candle wax on the ground, Shreya laughs.

FIORA: What’s so funny?

SHREYA: Just... well, I’d spent all week hoping for an exciting first day of class. Can’t say this was what I had in mind!

FIORA: Be careful what you wish for, right?

They smile at each other, then return to their cleanup work.

_______________________

Scene Notes: And so the first-years have their first practical lesson! Accidents are inevitable, and doubly so when you have a Light-Attuned in your midst. Worldbuilding notes:

Earlier, we established that Attunements are much stricter in terms of cross-element overlap. Hence the jars of different elements: though it’s fundamentally the same exercise, an Attuned needs their exact element to perform well. And as Dr. Englund said, manipulating an existing element is MUCH easier than creating it.

_______________________

Next: New Routine

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady

DotF/Elementalists Tag List:

#defenders of the flame #the elementalists rewrite #choices the elementalists #choices stories you play #csyp #fanfic #ciu project #choices interconnected universe #fiora luxen #shreya mistry #zeph hernandez #beckett harrington #professor englund #shreya x mc #wlw #next scene: montage time!

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avidbeader · 4 years

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New Sheith Fic

Probably rated T, but we’ll see.

VLD post-S8, but Allura lives and the endcards are thrown on a trash heap where they belong

This is the fic thread I’ve been posting to Twitter for the last few days. Thought I’d share here as well. It’s between 1/3 and 1/2 done at this point. It will get to AO3 eventually once it’s finished and beta’ed.

I just got this idea of something that the Atlas might do in a given situation and ran with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first couple of requests were reasonable. A real-time updated roster of the Atlas crew made sense for both organizational and security purposes. A record of the ship’s known offensive and defensive capabilities was necessary as the admirals and generals developed strategies for any potential threats, minimal though they might be after Voltron’s defeat of Honerva.

The order to have a Garrison official installed as their liaison made Shiro pause, but only for a moment. On the one hand, there were already several crew members on board who performed that role: Sam, Mitch, Veronica, himself. On the other hand, it was not unwarranted for the Garrison to have a point person for communication purposes so as not to add an extra burden to the duties of any one crew member. If Shiro had tried to keep up with every Garrison inquiry or notification on top of his own duties as captain, he probably would have gone to the Black Lion and begged to be taken back to the astral plane. This would take one thing off his plate without pushing more responsibility on any member of the command staff.

But when a General Stone reported to him, demanding both quarters in the same section as the senior bridge crew and an office next to Shiro’s ready room, his hackles rose instinctively. Atlas’ presence in the back of his head, usually a quiet and cheerful sensation, grew wary like a wild animal sensing a predator.

“Given that this was only communicated to us today, you’ll have to make do in guest quarters until we are able to make arrangements, General. I didn’t expect anyone to be appointed, much less arrive so soon.”

Which meant that someone in the Garrison hadn’t wanted to give them time to ask questions or protest the decision. And the fact that a general was assigned to a position that should have gone to a lieutenant at most was unsettling.

Stone growled at him. “This lack of preparedness is the kind of thing that I’m here for. As one of the Garrison’s most valuable assets, the Atlas must be primed and ready for action at any given time.”

It took Atlas a moment to identify what the general meant, but Shiro knew immediately when she understood. There was now an angry cat hissing and spitting in his mind and it was taking everything Shiro had to maintain a polite expression.

“It’s not a lack of preparedness when information is not provided in a timely manner,” he retorted. The general reared back slightly, taken aback that Shiro had not immediately accepted the criticism.

Shiro pressed a button on a small console in his desk for show, but Atlas had already found the ship’s senior steward and asked him through his datapad to report to Shiro’s ready room. Before the general could form a response, he continued. “I’m sure you remember this from your protocol training, General, but bear in mind that aboard a ship, the captain is the ranking officer. You are welcome to observe and advise, but you are not part of the chain of command.”

Stone’s eyes narrowed and he entered something on the datapad in his hand. It beeped and he frowned. “What’s the matter with the connectivity here? My message didn’t go through!”

The malicious giggle that only he could hear was answer enough for Shiro. “I expect your device will need to go through a security clearance. Mention it to—” Shiro paused as his door opened before the steward could signal his presence “—the steward. Lieutenant Rasal, this is General Stone. He’s been assigned to us by the Garrison and will need quarters and an office when you are able to arrange it. In the meantime, could you escort him to an available space in the guest accommodations?”

The lieutenant nodded, the flash of a dimple in his cheek the only sign that he understood what Shiro was not saying. As the officer in charge of organizing lodging, supplies, and maintenance aboard the ship, he knew better than most what the Atlas was capable of. If she cared to, she could have produced everything Stone was demanding within minutes. Shiro was honoring her choice not to, and Rasal followed his captain’s lead. He saluted and held out a guiding hand.

“If you’ll come with me, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stone’s presence had an immediate and negative impact. He began by insisting on a full tour of the ship with Shiro. He complained constantly about the randomness of his datapad connection, too focused to pick up on the fact that Atlas was only letting neutral and positive reports get through. When Shiro convinced her that yes, she had to make him an office and a set of quarters, Atlas’ response was to make an office, not much bigger than a broom closet on the opposite side of the bridge from Shiro’s ready room, and a minimal set of quarters, as far away from Shiro as possible while still in the section for the command staff.

Stone’s next step was to observe, watching the normal routines of the crew. It made everyone nervous and more prone to mistakes. Even the oldest, most seasoned officers like Sam and Mitch were side-eying Stone when he was on the bridge. Shiro made time to circulate through the ship so he could reassure his crew that they had done nothing wrong. He noticed a sharp drop in the number of people hanging out in the common areas or lounges as any socializing shifted to rooms behind closed doors, out of Stone’s sight.

The Taujeerians made a formal request for the Atlas to map a nearby star system for potential relocation sites when their planet next went through its renewal cycle. Keith took advantage of the deep-space mission to run training drills with the lions and the MFEs, improving their teamwork and response times. Stone seemed especially interested in the paladins, having noticed how their quarters were all on the same hall as Shiro’s.

Shiro was in one of the conference rooms, talking with Baujal and his council, when Atlas nudged him, then sounded an alert on his datapad. He quickly excused himself and headed down to the Black Lion’s hangar.

He walked in on a shouting match between Stone, the paladins, and the MFE pilots. As he crossed to where they were gathered, he scanned their faces. Stone and Lance were nose-to-nose, yelling at one another, with Nadia backing up Lance. Keith, Allura, and James were clustered together. The others were watching closely, all in various stages of anger or irritation.

“...and I’ll see all of you court-martialed for this insubordination!”

“As their captain, I would appreciate knowing what your complaint is against Commander Griffin and his squad.” Shiro’s voice cut through the quarrel like a knife.

“These squads are refusing my direct order! I need to observe them in action and Kogane says he won’t permit me to board his ship!”

Shiro glanced at Keith, who cocked an eyebrow at him. He had held onto his temper and let Lance as his second lead the outburst against the general. Shiro’s pride in his best friend surged, knowing that just a few years ago Keith would have been the one shouting first.

“General, it is absolutely within Commander Kogane’s rights to refuse you access to the Black Lion. The Voltron team is not part of the Garrison—”

Stone interrupted him with a squawk of disbelief. “Since when?”

“Since always,” Allura interjected, her voice full of ice. “Voltron represents the Coalition and agreed to use the Atlas as one of our bases for ease of coordinating our efforts to build on the peace we have created. You may not simply demand access to any lion and expect to be obeyed without question.” Shiro noticed that Allura had used her shape-shifting abilities to make herself several inches taller than usual and she used that height advantage to glare down at the general.

“And as today’s drills are a joint exercise with the MFEs, you are not permitted to ride along with Commander Griffin. If he and Captain Shirogane give permission, you can observe the MFEs another time,” Keith added.

“I don’t need permission! I am—”

“Here to facilitate communication between the Atlas and the Garrison, or so I was told,” Shiro interrupted. “Unless there is a secondary agenda that has been kept from me, your remit doesn’t include breathing down the necks of my crew or our allies. You’ve been overstepping your role for days and it ends now.”

Stone drew himself to his full height, which meant he was eye level to Shiro’s collarbones, and snarled, “We’ll just see about this, Captain.”

His attempt at stalking out of the hangar was ruined when Black let out a menacing growl and Stone jumped in alarm.

Once he was gone, everyone began to relax. Shiro noticed that Keith’s stance was still rigid and went over to him, laying a soothing hand on one shoulder. “You okay?”

“We will be. Didn’t expect we’d have a battle before we even got in our ships.” Keith turned to Lance and Nadia. “Thank you both for stepping up.”

“No problem,” Nadia chirped. “He’s a puffed-up toad.”

“And now that he’s gone, we need to get back to work. These joint exercises will continue until further notice since we need to take advantage of our current situation.” Evil grins broke out as everyone understood what Keith was doing. “Do we need to go over today’s plan again?”

“Nah, we got this,” Pidge replied before throwing a glance Shiro’s way. “Thanks for coming, Captain.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took four days for Stone’s message to the Garrison to get through, and another two days of Shiro showing the general his message inbox as proof that he had no instructions to discipline any of the MFEs. Stone’s temper was running high, as he had received a reprimand of his own from the Coalition over his attempt to assert jurisdiction over an ally’s representatives. The fact that that message had been received within hours only added to Stone’s fury.

Once Shiro finally got the orders that he was to punish all four MFE pilots for their insubordination, he met them before their usual workout routine and instructed them to run twenty extra laps around the track in the Atlas’ enormous gym. The squad’s groans turned to glee when they turned around and saw that the length of the track had been shrunk to a fifth of its usual size.

That evening, Keith tapped on the door that connected his quarters to Shiro’s.

Shiro looked up from the reports he was reading and frowned. “You knocked. What’s wrong?”

“Got a message from Kolivan. They found a ship of former Galra soldiers turned mercenary, and they’ve been hired by one side on a planet dealing with a pair of feuding lords. He wants to stop the conflict now before it spreads.”

“Should I—”

“No.” Keith shook his head. “If the Blades go in with stealth and take out the mercs, that puts the two sides at stalemate again and the planetary government might finally contact the Coalition for help. Then we can officially come in to negotiate a settlement.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Shiro reached out a hand and Keith took it, letting Shiro draw him into a tight hug as usual. And as usual, Shiro resisted doing or saying anything more. “Be careful.”

“You, too. I don’t like leaving you with that Garrison watchdog.”

“He’s here as a liaison.”

“He’s here to find a reason to ground Atlas.”

Even as Shiro shook his head at Keith’s statement, he could feel Atlas’ alarm. “No, that would be just about the worst move the Garrison could make. The Coalition planets recognize two major factors right now that ended the Galra Empire: Voltron and the Atlas. Taking one away would make the Garrison the new intergalactic villain.”

“Not forever, but long enough to figure out how to put someone else in command of her. They need you and Coran and Sam—hell, probably Iverson and Veronica, too—off her bridge so they can have complete control of her, including all her battle capability.”

“I mean...we do need to figure that out, if for no other reason because I will have to retire someday, but there’s no rush.�� Shiro struggled to keep his expression mild as he dealt with twin reactions. He ran his hands along Keith’s arms to allay the sudden tension there and

mentally tried to soothe Atlas, who was almost screeching in fury as she surrounded him possessively.

Ironically, the strength of her reaction made Shiro stop and wonder if maybe the Garrison didn’t have a point. After all, he couldn’t lead Atlas forever. He might have done the impossible once thanks to Black and Allura, but humans still had limited lifespans. But surely the Garrison brass, if they were considering the options already, would talk to him about possibilities?

“Just keep an eye on your six while I’m gone, okay?” Keith squeezed his shoulder.

“I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He swung the sword as wide as he could, trying to hit as many opponents as possible as he forced them back.The roar of the spectators droned like machinery, a persistent buzz in the back of his head as he tried to reduce the impossible odds. Who had decided to punish him this way, with a dozen opponents? Was this the match where he finally died?

He shifted tactics, the sword in his hand shrinking back into a dagger. He took advantage of his smaller stature and dove between the legs of the nearest adversary, using him as a temporary shield against the others and slicing one quick stroke through the thigh above the cuisse. He spared a lightning-quick thought to thank the universe for giving the majority of bipedal beings a femoral artery.

He continued to dodge, eluding their attacks and striking at any weak point he saw. Suddenly there was only one enemy between him and an open path to the door and he dealt a vicious cut across the throat as he made his bid to escape.

Something struck and wrapped around him from behind, dragging him to the floor. He had just enough time to press the communicator at his wrist and signal the others to leave before the cord electrified, ripping screams from him before he blacked out—

Shiro shot upright, gasping for breath and fighting the covers that were tangled around him. There were sounds, the ordinary hum of the dim nightlights, his datapad beeping an alert, a furious pounding coming from somewhere in the next room...and an engine’s roar.

The Atlas was moving at top speed.

Shiro freed himself from the bedclothes and staggered to his feet. He grabbed the datapad and looked at the message, a priority one from the night comms officer—Cullen, Cuddy, something that began with C—stating that the Atlas had changed course about fifteen minutes before and was at full throttle. The bridge crew was locked out of all of the controls.

Shiro reached across the room with his prosthesis and snatched his robe from its hanger before moving into the sitting area. Once there, he identified the pounding as someone knocking furiously on the door to his quarters. Voices were coming from the hallway and they all sounded angry.

He pressed the control and the door slid open. General Stone staggered when his obstacle vanished, wrenching himself back upright from the momentum.

“Shirogane! What’s the meaning of the course change? You weren’t scheduled to be done with the Taujeerians for another forty-eight hours!”

The paladins were behind him, shouting at him for waking them all up. Shiro looked back down at his datapad and noticed a second new message below the one from the bridge. He opened it and felt the blood drain from his face.

It was two brief sentences from Kolivan: Mission a trap. Keith has been taken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean, you can’t stop the ship? It’s a SHIP! You’ve got two Holts right here that can supposedly hack anything that beeps! Break the security codes and set a new course for Earth!”

Shiro had been walking briskly down a hallway, Atlas subtly cutting the distance to the bridge, and trading messages with Kolivan to coordinate a rendezvous point with the remaining Blades on the mission team, Krolia, and a squad of Coalition fighters led by Matt. He stopped short, so abruptly that Hunk ran into him, and stared at the general.

“Earth? What makes you think we’d go to Earth at a time like this? We’re going to rescue Commander Kogane!”

“You said it yourself, Voltron isn’t part of the Garrison!” Stone flapped a hand at the other paladins who had been trailing them. “So let them go take care of the situation! We’ve got to fix this malfunction immediately and since the ship was built by the Garrison, that’s the best place to go to do the repairs!”

Shiro couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a wave of derision. The mental image of Atlas in robot form and rolling her eyes brought him to the edge of hysterical giggles. It was verging on too much for him to handle.

Allura must have seen something in his face. She grabbed Stone by the collar and yanked him back before he could crowd into Shiro and continue his tirade. “If you are going to be so ridiculously focused on procedure in a situation this urgent, then consider this the formal request from the Coalition to the Atlas for support in a rescue operation!”

Stone tried to twist out of her grip and she hoisted him up until his toes barely touched the deck. His face grew red as he snarled, “Captain, I am ordering you to dismiss this group except for Katie Holt and turn all your efforts to retaking control of your ship!”

Pidge’s expression grew dangerous. Shior shifted and put one hand on her shoulder, willing her to hold her temper.

“As I told you the day you arrived, General, you are not part of the chain of command here. Your role is to keep both us and the Garrison informed of what the other needs to share. And you have not performed that role faithfully.

“The Coalition has every right to call on the Atlas. It was built from plans given to us by the Alteans and is powered by the crystal that houses the remains of their flagship. They have just as much claim to it as the Garrison does. We will lead the operation to recover Commander Kogane and you can inform the Garrison of our status. After that, you have two choices; you can stay in your quarters or be escorted to the brig until this operation is concluded. Which will it be?”

Stone stared at him, open-mouthed. Allura shook him, rattling his teeth with her strength. “You heard the captain. Which will it be? We have more important issues to deal with.”

“I am your superior officer and—”

Before Shiro could even bring up his datapad, much less start a message requesting assistance from security, a faint shimmer formed around Stone and Allura released her hold, skipping back nimbly. The general surged forward and bounced off the force field Atlas had brought up.

The paladins laughed as Stone began pounding his fists against the barrier. Allura smothered her giggles into her hand and looked at Shiro. “Shall we leave him here for the moment?”

Shiro was busy silently arguing with Atlas that, no, she could not open a portal in the floor and jettison the man into space. He gave one more psychic push, adding aloud, “Leave him here for now. We’ll take care of him later.”

They moved quickly to the bridge to find Sam and Coran with their heads together over one of the nav panels and the rest of the bridge crew huddled uneasily in the center. Sam brightened as he saw them enter. “Shiro! The Atlas has locked everyone out—”

Shiro stepped up to his position and laid both hands on the panels. He focused, trying to form a request to let the bridge crew access their stations in as clear and simple of terms as possible. He heard shouts of surprise in the background as the connection solidified and Atlas drew him in.

His hands were cuffed behind him. Two of the “mercenaries” dragged him from a pod into a hangar of a battleship, pausing in front of a Galra commander. The commander seized him by the throat and growled, “You’re almost certainly the right one, judging from your size, but let’s be sure. Drop your mask, Blade.”

He paused, just long enough to spark a reaction. The commander’s grip tightened. “Drop the mask or I tear it off. The druids want you alive, but they didn’t say that you had to be uninjured.”

He let the mask disappear and glared at his captor, who pulled his head up by his hair to study his face carefully.

“It’s him. Put him in a cell and double the guard on it.” The commander raised his wrist comm and opened a channel. “Set course for the Alvega system.”

The scene dissolved around Shiro, melding into the blue circuits that would surround him when the ship morphed into its robot form. Already he could sense Atlas changing course, plotting an intercept of the Galra battle cruiser.

We need to meet with the others. We need the Blades’ intel. We need Krolia and Kosmo. We need the backup from the Coalition.

You need him. Why do you waste time?

We need a plan. We need support. We can’t get him back safely if we just charge in.

Not fast enough.

The ship shuddered around him and Shiro grabbed the console to stay on his feet, his awareness of the bridge and its occupants returning. He rubbed at his temples with his left hand, trying to ground himself in reality once more.

“Shiro, how did you do that?” Coran shouted above the others’ reactions.

“Do what?”

“A wormhole...you took us through a wormhole, Shiro.” Allura spoke slowly, in shock.

The main viewscreen lit up, showing Kolivan and Krolia in two panels. Kolivan nodded, hiding any surprise he might be feeling. “Good, you’re early. Permission to dock our ships, captain?”

Shiro nodded, before remembering he had a voice. “Of course. Then we’ll get the Coalition ships and head for the Alvega system. That’s where they’re taking Keith.”

He closed his eyes and planted his hands on the control panel once more. Atlas, what are you doing?

You need him.

Yes, we need him. He’s the leader of Voltron. He’s a commander in the Blades.

YOU need him.

He...he’s my best friend.

More than need.

Image after image flooded past Shiro, showing him all the stages of his life that included Keith. The Garrison and Keith becoming his best friend there. The long nights as a prisoner, sustained by memories of Keith and the hope to escape and return to him. Reuniting, only to be dragged into the middle of an interstellar war and then killed. Brought back against impossible odds, with faint memories of what it had cost Keith to accomplish that.

He needs you. You need him.

Yes.

Then we get him back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued...

#voltron #sheith #sheith fic #avid writes #vld shiro #vld atlas #yes it's another save Keith situation #I do have a brand

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mildly-nerdy · 4 years

Text

Tag 9 people you’d like to get to know/catch up with

thank you so much for tagging me @meridianheroine!! Let’s have a chat sometime!

3 ships:

2020

Edwin — FMAB

Royai — FMAB

Zutara — AtLA (sorry, Aang lol)

OF ALL TIME — from my baby weeb years to now

InuKag — InuYasha

Edwin — FMAB

Royai - FMAB

HONORABLE MENTIONS

AlMei — FMAB

SessKagu — InuYasha

KatAang — AtLA

Last song: Confessional —Janet Devlin (she’s lovely, please visit her YouTube and TikTok)

Last movie: Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix (and it’s just as awful as the first time around. They left so much out it’s painful.)

Currently watching: Disney animated films in order of release. Today is Pocahontas!

Currently consuming: the love of my cat trying to sit on my lap since she doesn’t care that i’m TRYING TO WORK ON MY FICS SKJHFGSDKDGKS

Currently craving: the next chapters of Starlight Star Bright, Dead on Arrival, Blackwell Springs, Memento Amare, and Sirius

Currently [re-]reading: editing my fics, Of Serpents and Spirits and a parental Roy oneshot [that i’ll hopefully finish soon]

TAGGING: @x-rainflame-x @magmatickobaian @firewoodfigs @liathgray @later-slayer @ymir-me

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Robin’s Requirement’s Chapter 1 / 2

In which Bruce is not okay, Jason is dead and Robin #3 is magic, literally.

He woke up to pain. Ants crawled over his back, nails dug into his wounds, and the weight of the sky pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Bruce supposed it said a lot about himself that he didn’t even bother to look at the time or the bottle he picked up from the nightstand before a handful of pills disappeared down his throat. His bedroom was light already. By Bruce’s estimation, it was around eleven, maybe even twelve.

He’d been out late last night, hunting down what he thought might be Scarecrow’s new supply chain and he hadn’t been back in the Cave before six or so. He hadn’t been anywhere close conscious when the Batmobile had arrived home. Alfred must have gotten him out of the suit and into his bed.

Bruce couldn’t even recall the last time he hadn’t just fallen asleep in the Cave’s med bay. It was just more practical. Why bother going upstairs (going past that room) when Bruce could also just stay in the Cave. Alfred brought him food and everything else Batman needed was down there either way. He had no use for the life upstairs.

The painkillers kicked in.

It didn’t get easier to breathe.

Atlas’s burden didn’t lessen.

Bruce sat up and observed his surroundings. He was still in the manor, that much he could tell from the view out of the window, but he wasn’t in his bedroom.

Going by the clear view Bruce had of the pool, he was in a room on the west side, the other side of the manor. Getting him here while he was unconscious must have been a lot of work, it was a much longer walk from the Cave to the west side.

Alfred should have just left him downstairs.

Bruce pushed the soft blanket off himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to hand it to Alfred, he’d prepared the good stuff for him. Last night’s beating had been harsh and Alfred usually disapproved of Bruce taking their experimental pain killers with his other meds, but there was no other way Bruce could keep going. He had to move forward for as long as he could until his body finally gave out and Bruce was allowed to go.

Bruce stood up and used the bedpost to catch his balance. He remained like that for a couple minutes, or so it felt, then headed for the chair standing next to his bed and picked up the red bathrobe hanging from the back of the chair. Slowly he put it on, keen on not aggravating his wounds any further. He might not be able to feel the pain anymore, but that didn’t mean his injuries wouldn’t let him bleed out.

His bandages were still a pristine white at least, no blood sickering through. Bruce walked over to the door. If he remembered last night’s investigation completely, Scarecrow would meet his new benefactors tonight at the docks. Bruce should check the place out beforehand, bug it too maybe. He used to be faster than this. Tracking down a villain, especially Scarecrow, had never taken as long as it did this time. Perhaps he should force the Arkham staff to chip their inmates, it would undoubtedly make life easier for everyone involved.

Bruce reached for the door handle, only to pull back his hand in the last moment as the door opened and he came face to face with Alfred, who was carrying a tray with a breakfast in one hand and a suit with the other.

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted, pushing past Bruce into the room, acting completely oblivious to the fact that Bruce had been attempting to leave.

It would be one of those days then.

Scowling, Bruce stood at the entrance, refusing to move. He had crucial matters to tend to, he couldn’t indulge Alfred now, but he wasn’t about to storm out of the room like an upset teenager throwing a tantrum.

“I’ve prepared a light breakfast for you. Peppermint tea and vegetable soup. You will finish this bowl and then get dressed.”

Alfred set the tray on the small table and put the suit - the Brioni. Bruce didn’t know what for. He hadn’t worn a suit in half a year, maybe longer.

“I’m not going out today, Alfred,” Bruce said. “I have a case.”

“You always have a case,” Alfred replied, a sharp edge to his voice.

Bruce narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “So? They’re important.”

“Beating a group of men so badly they could die on the way to the hospital is important? The morning papers sure had some interesting things to say about that.”

Bruce could feel the fires simmering beneath his skin. Alfred didn’t know, he hadn’t been there, hadn’t had to witness-

“They didn’t die. And you didn’t hear what they were planning to do to that kid,” Bruce replied.

“No, I did not, but I believe I know you and you are not doing yourself a favor spending twenty-four hours a day dressed as a bat.”

“You don’t understand, I-”

“Nearly flatlined thrice beneath my hands yesterday. Had you arrived at the Cave even just a second later, you would have been dead. I made a promise to your parents. You wouldn’t die on my watch and I refuse to support any matter that gets you killed any longer.”

At the end of his speech, Alfred was breathing heavily. His words echoed in Bruce’s mind.

Flatlined.

You would have been dead.

All of it would have been over. Just like that. No more fighting, no more struggles, no more nightmares, he’d just-

“The board of Wayne Enterprises is holding a meeting concerning the plans to begin rebuilding the Narrows,” Alfred continued. His breathing evened. “Many of your board members oppose it, and as the acting head of the company, you should attend if you want a say in how the project goes. Lucius is already busy discussing the Kane Chemical deal in Metropolis.”

With those words, Alfred turned around, marching out of the room and leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts.

Bruce hadn’t been to WE in a while. Lucius had it handled. He did well, negotiating contracts and deals and kicking out a whole lot of ignorant people and hiring some of the recent college graduates. Bruce had kept an eye on things, somewhat. He trusted Lucius, and besides, if he didn’t have to look after WE, he had more time to spend on the streets.

But the Narrows… That project had been going on ever since Bruce had taken over the company. It never moved forward because so many who could afford to live well protested against it.

Bruce sighed and sat down at the table. It was just one meeting, he could do it. Use the time to re-energize at the office so he’d be prepared for tonight. Bruce reached for the spoon and began to eat the soup.

It tasted like cardboard.

His plan had been to get in and out of the building as fast as possible using the back entrance and private elevator, but that didn’t work out. Someone spotted him in the garage and within minutes the whole office knew that Bruce Wayne had shown his face in public for the first time since the-

In a while.

The elevator had been full of over-eager people, all trying to subtly catch a glance of Bruce Wayne, hoping to discover which online article had managed to grasp Bruce’s character the best.

They’d see a non-interested man typing away on his phone, dressed in an elegant suit wearing shoes worth more than their salary, a Rolex watch, and a high color hiding away anything scandalous or exciting.

A secret affair, the newspaper would scream in the morning. Out all night partying again!

And if someone in heels managed to spot the make-up he had put on, they’d expect a hickey.

Nobody would think of bruises and stab wounds, ribs showing through.

Bruce Wayne, the ideal man.

Batman wanted to kill him.

He was glad when the elevator pinged and Bruce could finally escape the awkward space. The meeting had started ten minutes ago, so he was late, but not outlandishly so. It wasn’t like the board wasn’t already used to Bruce never being on time. The past decade had been filled with hasty emails, changing schedules, running into meetings late or having to leave early because he had to go to school for-

His office was on the same floor as the conference room. He passed it, and his secretary Caroline’s desk. The red-haired woman looked up in surprise when she saw him, but didn’t move from her spot.

He’d gotten plenty of cards in the past, but Caroline’s was one of the few he had actually bothered to read and reply to. Usually, her daughter would be sitting beside her right now, coloring in her art book, but Monica had started school in September.

Bruce nodded at Caroline, then moved towards the conference room. He opened the glass door and was greeted by the sight of Lucius looking one more sentence away from jumping straight out of the window.

“-and it’s not like anything worthwhile ever gets out of the Narrows!”

Sharp nails dug into the palm of his hands. Bruce wanted to throw a punch, make something, maybe even himself, bleed. He shouldn’t have come.

“Nothing worthwhile.”

The words were out of Bruce’s mouth faster than he could think. The noise made all heads turn to him, surprised faces stared at the man caught in-between the entrance.

“Mr. Wayne!” Gerry Thipson startled and immediately began to sweat.

Good.

He must be aware of how out of line his comment had been.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Thipson continued, glancing at his fellow board members.

“The funding of this project is very dear to me,” Bruce said and closed the door behind himself.

The seat at the end of the table was left vacant, Bruce’s usual absence even more present. Bruce purposefully took his time getting there, enjoying how Thipson started to shrink in his own seat.

“Never mind its importance for our city. Wayne Enterprises has always worked to improve every part of Gotham - and the Narrows need it more than every other part.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and folded his fingers together.

“The district is criminally underfunded, the schools hardly have enough money to pay the teachers, never mind buy equipment for the students. If we’re not going to change anything, nobody will, and we’ll lose even more bright lights in those streets. Or do you think differently, Mr. Thipson?”

Thipson sat up straight as if he had heard his name at roll call.

“Of course not, Mr. Wayne. But the numbers-”

Bruce stared at Thipson. Numbers. Really.

Did he know how many homeless lived on those streets? How many children had to skip school. How many had died-

“Wayne Enterprises is a transnational cooperation that can afford to pay us quite handsomely and I certainly don’t need another yacht this year if it means getting a handful of kids through High School, or do you?”

There existed no word capable of grasping how much Bruce wanted Thipson to say another word disagreeing with Bruce. He itched for a confrontation, for a fight. But Thipson and all the other board members stayed silent, some of them smiling while the majority was carrying their rage on the tip of their tongues.

Trash.

Maybe Bruce should show up at WE more often again. Just often enough that he could chase these people out of his company, out of Gotham.

“I thought so. Well, then, Lucius, how far are we actually with the Narrows Project?”

Lucius being looking through his papers, handing a couple of them to Bruce. The man’s brown eyes lingered on Bruce’s frame and for all his exhaustion, he looked relieved.

“We started with purchasing all the abandoned buildings down Napier street, but we haven’t started tearing them down yet.”

Lucius kept going, and every disgruntled sigh was met with a glare. Bruce would pay closer attention now to the people he had hired. He was well aware of what a mighty opponent greed and hubris were (and how much you pay for it) and he wouldn’t let it continue where he could and should prevent it.

By the time Bruce returned home, the afternoon had already come and gone, as, despite summer’s long-lasting heat and days, autumn quickly made itself known with its early evenings and cold. He had loosened his tie in the car and thrown his jacket on the passenger seat. The pain killers had worn off halfway through the meeting and Bruce was fairly sure he was bleeding through his bandages.

He parked the car in the garage and made his way up to the Cave entrance. He could redo his stitches and bandages by himself and he really didn’t feel like entering the manor again. Today’s trip to the office had been more than enough. Alfred was undoubtedly preparing dinner already. He’d have to eat it by himself, Bruce didn’t think he could stomach it. Nausea had been flaring up every once in a while and only water and herbal tea had actually stayed down.

At the touch of a button, a strategically placed bookcase opened to reveal a hidden passage. The manor had many of these secret paths built into it. His father used to tell him that they had been constructed for emergency evacuations or swift servants that shouldn’t be seen. It had been easy enough to add another entrance to the Cave to these passages.

Bruce rarely took the main entrance to the Cave nowadays. It was ridiculous anyway, sliding down a pole like a child.

As usual, the Cave lit up as soon as Bruce stepped inside and all electronics powered up. It didn’t take them longer than one uniform change to be up and running. Time, Bruce knew, was essential. One second too slow and you watch your life-

Bruce headed for the med bay. He took off his shirt and while the bandages were still a neat white at the outermost layer, taking that off revealed red fabric. With iron discipline, Bruce unwrapped his whole torso and then used the bandages to put pressure on the bleeding wound as he fetched himself needle and thread. Combined with another dose of painkillers, sewing the wound shut was much easier than going to WE today. Bruce examined the wound below his ribs and scowled. It would most likely scar and he wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with Alfred’s disapproval once he noticed.

Once he was finished treating himself, Bruce took his seat in front of the computer, reviewing the information he had gathered in the past weeks. He already knew the deal would go down at the docks tonight, but he’d been unable to pin down which one of Scarecrow’s minions would be there for the exchange. They were all probably on the other end of seriously dangerous. Scarecrow hadn’t been out of Arkham for long, which meant he hadn’t had the time to train his minions properly or earn enough cash selling his Fear Toxin to Gotham’s underground. All his hired goons were going to be too scared of Scarecrow turning on him to actually risk their lives for the job.

Bruce continued researching the meeting place, relistening to the audio files he had acquired while getting stabbed in the ribs. He replayed them once, twice, and nearly a third time, but his common sense stopped him. There was only so much you could gather from such a short exchange as he had listened to.

Satisfied with his gathered intel, though it would have been significantly better if he had gone out this morning too, Bruce headed for his suits. He walked past the Case and for the first time since he had put it up, he didn’t freeze up but could continue his path.

It felt like progress, or something similar enough to it.

He did a quick inventory for his utility belt, restocking batarangs and knock out gas, then changed into his suit and got into the Batmobile. Out of his rear window, he could see Alfred entering the Cave.

Bruce didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of expression the butler made.

Batman left the Batmobile parked down at the shores of one of the rivers running through the city. It was hard to spot it there, but the car could still reach him fast enough if needed. He had another two hours left before the deal went down, which gave him enough time for another small patrol.

The City Hall district was known for its white-collar crimes, nothing Batman could really reach with his fists. Nevertheless, it was never as silent as tonight. It made Batman frown, discontent settled deeply in his chest. Gotham was never silent or calm or peaceful. This ugly city couldn’t rest, not even for a night and yet…

There was something in the air Batman couldn’t pinpoint and it put him on edge.

As the time of the deal drew closer, Batman crossed the rooftops over to the docks, checking out the area. After checking that nobody interesting was lingering outside of the warehouses, Batman began heading for the right one.

The hired goons he had spied on had said they’d meet up at the very end of the long strip, in one of the warehouses the big families used to cover up their drugs. Scarecrow didn’t usually deal with the crime families, choosing to pick less dangerous targets. He must have been desperate for money. Finding a way into the building was easier than Batman had expected, so he searched for a strategically smart place to sit and wait.

It took roughly an hour before anyone showed up. Expensive suit, cheap cigarettes, and slicked back black hair - Maroni’s youngest, his friends carrying two bags. Money, it had to be.

Maroni didn’t work with any of Gotham’s proper villains. He regarded them as rude annoyances with no honor to speak of. This must be a solo trip of the youngest then - was he trying to steal his older brother’s spot as the heir or establish his own leverage?

Batman didn’t have to wait for long for the next group to arrive. As expected, Scarecrow didn’t show up with many people, merely two guards wearing gas masks.

“Scarecrow,” Maroni began to speak. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“We did,” Jonathan Crane replied. “I’m just not going to stick to it. Now!”

Far quicker than Maroni’s boys could raise their guns, Scarecrow’s men threw modified smoke bombs their way, releasing the fear gas.

Batman put on his rebreather, covering his mouth, and jumped down from his hiding spot. Maroni began to scream once they spotted him. They still had their guns and it was too late to neutralize the effects of the gas, he had to work quickly.

Batman rushed in, grabbing the first one and breaking his arm. His gun dropped to the ground. Then he reached for the next one, shattered hand. Number three he knocked out with a punch to his right temple. Maroni himself he pushed to the ground face first, kicking away his gun in one swift move.

“Batman! Get him!”

Scarecrow’s men both jumped Batman at the same time, far too skilled for random street thugs. Maybe Scarecrow had had more cash hidden than Batman had assumed.

The Rogue in question, meanwhile, was getting away with the cash.

Batman snarled, but he couldn’t shake the two attackers away quickly enough. He’d lose Scarecrow and there was no telling what he’d do with so much cash.

Then, red blurred at the corner of Bruce’s eyes and something threw itself at Scarecrow. The man crashed to the ground, money going flying.

He tried to get up again but was stopped by a kid, dressed like a traffic light, jumping on his back.

His rebreather must have stopped working, Bruce thought. He’d inhaled some of the gas, he must have.

“You- you’re- You’re dead!” Scarecrow screeched. “The Clown said so! Who are you?”

The kid shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way.

“The name’s Robin,” the kid said with Dick’s smirk and Jason’s accent. Bruce felt ice crawl up his veins. “Always has been, Straw man.”

He was going to throw up.

#dc #dc comics #lego batman #bruce wayne #tim drake #Alfred Pennyworth #fanfic #robin's requirements

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