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fordaryl · 8 months

Text

REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."

#daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #twd daryl #twd x reader #daryl dixon x reader #x reader #daryl imagines #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #mine: daryl dixon

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ghost-bxrd · 5 months

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What do you headcanon as AU careers for Dick?

I don't much like the idea of Dick as a cop (in Wayne Family Adventures I'm pretty sure they never explicitly mention his job, so I'm gonna pretend he's not a cop there)

Gymnastics instructor seems to be a popular choice in most of the Happy Dick and Nice Batfam AUs and it sounds in character... Except his night job related injuries would be difficult to hide.

Neither Fae nor Talon Dick are likely to have the kind of falling out with Bruce which led to Dick striking out on his own, so they will likely never have the worry about earning their own living. Bruce would no doubt be willing and eager to give them cushy jobs with the WE, or they can just treat Superhero-ing as their full time job. But still, I think they will want an independent, non-nepo baby job.

I like the idea of Dick as a CPS worker, or just with social services in general. He'll be great with traumatized kids, has so much experience both first and second hand to draw on.

And if Fae Dick is with CPS... Well. The lore about fae stealing children is well known, but less well known is the lore that fae steal neglected children.

Now, that can simply be the predator going after the vulnerable, but it can also be in some stories the fae see humans refusing to take care of the children properly and getting their adoption instincts triggered Bruce Wayne style, taking them away from the parents who don't deserve them to a better life.

CPS takes neglected and abused children away from the parents who don't deserve them, to a better life.

Love the idea of a fae as a CPS worker, getting official sanction and human cooperation to do his traditional job :)

It depends on the Au!

I’m very flexible with what I read as long as the author manages to fit it into the story in a plausible and believable way. Like with the Titans TV series where it establishes very early on that Dick is rather feral and not as opposed to murder as Bruce *cough*

But over all I do agree that him being a cop doesn’t check out most of the time since most comics (at least from what I’ve read, so take that with a grain of salt. My comic knowledge is like— 3% if we’re being generous lol.) depict him as being very opposed to using firearms, and to killing. And cops have to carry guns to protect themselves and others, and sometimes also shoot people. So yeah I don’t know.

And acrobatics instructor actually isn’t such a bad idea imo! Yeah there are some pretty revealing suits out there. But if we go with what Dick is wearing in Gotham Knights in between missions it could totally work out! He’d still have to be careful tho, obviously. But honestly I don’t think people will look too closely at someone who does potentially dangerous sports as a living and comes in with a black eye or a broken arm or something.

CPS sounds like a very fun idea tho! Espiecally in regards to Fae Dick! He’s got a soft spot for children and their wide eyed wonder. And kids aren’t nearly as frightened of him if they happen to catch a glimpse of other either. So yeah, perfect!

But now I’m also thinking of the Pied Piper of Hamelin tale, because I can totally see Dick leading a gaggle of kids through the streets and out of harms way if there’s ever a Gotham wide catastrophe going on… hmmmm

Other than that I could also see Dick as someone who takes a job leading and organizing multiple charities (sponsored by Wayne Enterprises) and rising through the Gotham Elite. It would help his vigilante cover (poor and dumb Richie Wayne, always drunk and being scandalous, just like his guardian) while also serving the ulterior motive of rooting out corruption.

Idk that last one’s just a thought (cuz I love good rich people playing other bad rich people and causing their downfall… eh.)

#fae dick grayson #fae au #ghost talks #dick grayson

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nayziiz · 6 months

Text

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 4

As the weeks wore on, Lando and Amelia found themselves navigating a precarious game of cat and mouse, their every move shadowed by the looming threat of exposure. Despite the setbacks, they managed to orchestrate several successful shipments to various parts of the world, each one a testament to their resilience and resourcefulness. From the bustling streets of Paris to the neon-lit alleys of Tokyo and the sun-drenched beaches of Rio de Janeiro, they navigated the intricate web of international logistics with skill and precision.

But as the shipments continued, so too did the speculations between Lando and Amelia, casting suspicion on everyone from trusted allies to low-level associates. With each passing day, the sense of paranoia grew, fueled by the nagging fear that someone within their ranks was working against them.

In the absence of concrete evidence, they could only wait and watch, their nerves stretched taut with anticipation for the inevitable confrontation with George and his father, Steve. They knew that it was only a matter of time before the Russells reappeared, armed with questions and demands for answers.

Steve was unrelenting in his pursuit for answers. George's conflicted loyalties became increasingly apparent as the tension escalated. He found himself caught between his father's ruthless demands and a lingering sense of compassion for Amelia, a girl he once cared deeply for. He pleaded with his father to spare her harm, emphasising the need for restraint, but his appeals fell on deaf ears. The elder Russell remained resolute, driven by a relentless pursuit of answers, regardless of the methods employed.

In the pursuit of those answers, the Steve saw instilling fear in the young Rossi as a perfect means to an end. The calculated decision to create a climate of intimidation was intended to extract the information they sought. In George's mind, this heavy-handed approach seemed unnecessary, but he had little influence over the methods his father deemed fit for the situation.

The tension reached a boiling point when an unexpected intrusion disrupted Amelia's ordinary night at the car dealership. As she diligently worked at her desk, finalising purchase paperwork, a mysterious figure slipped into the shadows, wielding a gun. He stalked her as he made his way up the staircase to her office. The sudden appearance of danger shattered the illusion of Amelia's once seemingly idyllic life. The threat materialised from the dangerous undercurrents of her business dealings, casting a dark shadow over her personal space.

In the harrowing moments that followed, Amelia faced a stark realisation – the vulnerabilities that came with her involvement in the less-than-clean aspects of business had breached the sanctity of her private world. The once distant dangers of the underworld had materialised at her doorstep, leaving her to confront the consequences of her choices and the menacing presence that now lurked in the shadows of her seemingly secure life.

Amelia swiftly recognized the orchestrator behind the menace—Russell, and by association, George. Driven by a toxic blend of jealousy and a warped sense of rivalry, they had crossed a line that Amelia could not dismiss or forgive.

The bitter irony lay in George's role, someone who had once pleaded for leniency and attempted to protect Amelia from the ominous reach of his family. However, his own history of betrayal and a pattern of undermining friendships, including those with Lando and Amelia, had now come full circle. The loyalty he had hoped to foster had eroded, replaced by a perilous alliance with his ruthless family.

For Amelia, this was more than an isolated incident; it was a pivotal moment that shattered the facade of normalcy. The underworld, a realm her father had sought to shield her from, now unfolded at her doorstep, and she found herself at the centre of the dangerous game by her own volition.

Amelia's heart raced like a drumbeat in her chest, each thud echoing the gravity of the chilling reality before her—an imposing gun pointed unwaveringly at her forehead. The tension in the air was palpable, and despite her training in various martial arts, the starkness of the situation eclipsed anything she had faced before.

The training that once instilled confidence now offered only a fragile shield against the looming threat. Her breaths, normally measured and controlled, came in quick, shallow bursts, as she grappled with the instinctive surge of fear. In the dimly lit confines of her dealership, the menacing presence of the intruder cast an ominous shadow, and the world seemed to contract to the immediate proximity of the weapon aimed at her.

Drawing upon every ounce of her strength, Amelia fought to steady herself, her mind racing as she attempted to approach the perilous scenario with a facade of calm reasoning. The pulsating seconds felt like an eternity, each one magnifying the weight of the gun and the precariousness of her position.

In the face of imminent danger, her training became a delicate dance between muscle memory and raw instinct. She focused on the intruder, attempting to decipher the intentions behind the cold, unyielding gaze. The air hung heavy with unspoken threats, and as the seconds stretched, she steeled herself for the unfolding confrontation.

The assailant's demand cut through the air like a sharp blade, his words resonating with ominous intent—he sought information about her business dealings with Norris. Amelia, despite the palpable fear coursing through her veins, summoned a steely resolve and met the demand with a measured composure.

With unwavering determination, she firmly denied any involvement in fraudulent activities, each word spoken with deliberate clarity. In the face of the menacing weapon trained on her, Amelia asserted her autonomy, emphasising that her business operated within the bounds of legality. The echoes of her denial reverberated in the dimly lit room, a defiant stand against the threat that loomed before her.

The air became charged with an unspoken intensity, the intruder's gaze a piercing scrutiny that sought to unravel the truth hidden beneath her words. As the minutes stretched into an agonising crawl, Amelia's strategic mind worked swiftly, seizing upon a fleeting opportunity to lower the gunman's guard. In a moment of calculated precision, she initiated a series of manoeuvres, skillfully disarming him with a deftness that belied the urgency of the situation.

The sudden, unexpected struggle erupted through the quiet dealership, the scuffling sounds echoing in the otherwise silent space. Amelia's training in martial arts became a decisive advantage as she defied the odds, turning the tables against the assailant. The struggle played out in a dance of survival, the stakes heightened by the threat that had initially loomed over her.

Amidst the chaos, the sudden commotion escalated, the tension reaching a fever pitch. In the frenzied struggle, a gunshot shattered the silence, its reverberations ricocheting off the walls and distorting the perception of time. The deafening sound momentarily drowned out all other noise, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake.

Amelia's heart raced in the aftermath of the gunshot, her senses heightened as she assessed the situation. The abrupt eruption of violence had shifted the delicate balance within the dealership, leaving a lingering tension in the air.

Amelia's body tensed in the aftermath of the gunshot, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins as time seemed to freeze. The once frantic struggle now hung in suspended animation, and the dimly lit dealership became a stage for the unknown. The surreal silence that followed the deafening sound of the gunshot enveloped her, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

In the oppressive stillness, Amelia waited with bated breath, her senses heightened, and her perception attuned to the slightest shift in the air. The harsh echoes of her own laboured breaths reverberated in the quietude, underscoring the gravity of the situation. Panic gripped her, the uncertainty of the unfolding events amplifying the fear that coiled within her.

The profound sense of relief that washed over her was palpable, a wave that momentarily eclipsed the lingering fear. The realisation slowly dawned—she had not been the target of the gunshot. The threat had been redirected, and it was the assailant who now bore the wounds inflicted in the struggle.

Amelia's gaze fixated on the fallen gunman, his laboured breaths a haunting symphony in the aftermath of the struggle. The reality of the situation seeped into her consciousness, and a heavy silence enveloped the dealership. Time, momentarily suspended, resumed its relentless march, yet Amelia remained frozen in place, a silent witness to the unfolding consequences of the violent encounter.

The man, now a mere shadow of the menacing threat he had posed, struggled with the injuries inflicted during the tumultuous struggle. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, a visceral reminder of the brutal clash that had transpired within the once-quiet confines of the showroom. Amelia, caught in the aftermath, grappled with the weight of the encounter settling heavily on her shoulders.

As the wounded assailant choked on his own blood, the air became charged with an eerie tension, the sounds of his suffering echoing through the space. The dealership, once a sanctuary for luxury vehicles, now bore witness to the stark realities of the dangerous game Amelia had willingly entered. The poignant contrast between the opulence of the surroundings and the brutality of the confrontation lingered, casting a sombre pall over the scene.

As the dealership gradually settled into an eerie calm, the remnants of the recent struggle lingering like ghostly echoes, Amelia took a moment to collect herself. The adrenaline, which had surged through her veins like a tumultuous tide, began to ebb away, leaving in its wake a mix of shock and a subtle undercurrent of accomplishment.

Surveying the aftermath of the violent encounter, she found herself amidst overturned furniture and the tangible residue of the struggle that had unfolded within the walls of her once-secure sanctuary. The normally pristine office space now bore the scars of the confrontation, a stark reminder of the perilous world she had been abruptly thrust into.

“Shit.” She mumbled as she stumbled to switch off all the lights on in her office.

With her heart still pounding and her once-white satin blouse now stained in scarlet, Amelia made her way to her desk, a silent witness to the turmoil that had unfolded in her sanctuary. The stark reminder of the recent struggle clung to her, an indelible mark on the fabric of her existence.

As she reached for her phone, uncertainty gripped her. The weight of the decision loomed over her—should she call her father, the protector who had shielded her from the dangerous undercurrents, or should she call Lando, the ally who understood the shadows of their shared past? In a moment of visceral instinct, she chose the latter, trusting in Lando's unwavering support and the absence of judgement that their history promised.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she waited in breathless anticipation for Lando's voice to resonate through the device. The seconds seemed to stretch, each one echoing with the aftermath of the struggle. In the silence that enveloped her, the phone call became a lifeline, a connection to the one person who could comprehend the complexities of the perilous world she had been thrust into.

The pulsating beat of music and the lively atmosphere of one of Lando's clubs enveloped his surroundings as he answered the call. Amidst the rhythmic sounds and vibrant energy, a voice, laden with urgency, cut through the noise.

“Amelia?” Lando's voice crackled through the phone, momentarily competing with the lively ambiance of the club.

“Lando. I need your help.” She replied, the weight of the recent events evident in her breathless tonemanages to breathe.

“Now’s not the best time.” He informed her, his words navigating the delicate balance between the two worlds—one of immediate revelry and the other, a world in which Amelia grappled with the aftermath of a dangerous encounter.

In the background, the ambient noise of the club continued, underscored by the playful distraction of Zara kissing down his neck—a glimpse into the lavish and carefree surroundings that defined Lando's realm.

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.” She emphasised, her voice a stark contrast to the surrounding revelry.

The weight of her statement penetrated through the distractions of the club, prompting Lando to take decisive action. In a swift motion, he pushed Zaral off him, leaving behind the allure of the night's festivities. Rising to his feet, he stepped away from the vibrant chaos, a silent acknowledgment of the urgency embedded in Amelia's call.

“Where are you?” Lando's voice held a sense of urgency as he sought to understand the specifics of Amelia's situation.

“I’m in the dealership. Just make sure you come alone and come around the back.” She informed him, her words laden with a discreet plea for discretion and swift action.

Amelia, far from being a passive victim, emerged from the ordeal with a silent vow etched in her heart. The betrayal she had endured fueled a fierce determination to retaliate. The past bonds that once tethered her to George were now severed, and she understood the gravity of the situation. It was no longer just about self-preservation; it was a commitment to safeguarding those she held dear, a pledge to shield not only herself but also the loyal allies who had stood by her side.

The passage of twenty minutes left the dealership in an eerie stillness, the back door creaking open to admit Lando into the shadowy expanse. The showroom, once a realm of gleaming luxury, now lay shrouded in darkness, the ambient glow of the city's night seeping through the windows.

Lando, attuned to the urgency of the situation, cast a glance upward at Amelia's office on the first floor. The dim light emitted from her phone served as a lone beacon in the otherwise darkened space, guiding him towards the heart of the unfolding drama.

Making his way up the spiral staircase with cautious steps, Lando's senses heightened. The air hung heavy with the aftermath of the struggle, and a palpable tension gripped the surroundings. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a hushed realisation settled in—there, in the semi-darkness of the office, lay the assailant's feet.

“What the fuck?” The immediate shock and disbelief coloured Lando's voice, echoing through the silent expanse of the building.

“Shut up!” Amelia hissed, her urgency cutting through the tension that hung in the air.Amelia hissed.

“What did you do?” Lando's voice, now lowered but no less intense, sought answers in the darkness.

“I will answer all of your questions, but you need to help me get rid of his body.” Amelia's words carried a weight, a confession that reverberated through the shadows.

“Amelia.” Lando's tone held a mix of concern and incredulity.

“It was either be killed or kill. I had to choose.” She explained, the gravity of her words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

Lando, confronted with the grim reality of the situation, snapped into action. The urgency of the moment prompted him to shed his jacket, rolling up his sleeves with a focused determination. In the silence that hung over the showroom, his mind raced with logistical considerations.

His thoughts turned to the practicalities—they needed a different vehicle. The trunk of his car, by his quick assessment, wouldn't accommodate the task at hand. A calculated and strategic mind, Lando contemplated the intricacies of the situation, considering the weight and gravity of each decision.

“Alright.” He said, his voice steady despite the unfolding chaos. “We'll use another vehicle. We need to act fast, and we need to be discreet.”

Lando dragged the unconscious man by his feet, the chilling reality of the situation sinking in. The dealership, once a pristine display of luxury, now bore witness to the aftermath of a violent struggle, leaving behind a trail of stark evidence.

“Fuck, the blood is everywhere.” Lando muttered under his breath.

As Lando manoeuvred the body onto a rug, his gaze shifted upward, and he found Amelia, the once-composed orchestrator of her business, now completely spaced out. Disgust etched across her face, her eyes fixated on the volume of blood that stained her office floor—a visceral reminder of the choices made in the throes of danger.

“Are you hurt?” Lando's concern cut through the tense air, a reflection of the gravity of the situation.

“No.” Amelia replied, her voice holding a trace of weariness.

“You have blood on your shirt.” Lando observed, his gaze fixated on the stained garment.

“It’s not mine.” She clarified as the weight of her words underscoring the gravity of the struggle she had endured.

“You need to get bleach and a ton of paper towels.” Lando suggested, his mind already racing with plans to address the aftermath.

“I’ll get it.” Amelia responded, her resolve unwavering even in the face of the disconcerting scene in her office.

The logistics of the cleanup became a practical focus, a way to navigate the aftermath of their choices and restore a semblance of order to the chaos that had unfolded within the once-tranquil dealership.

In a matter of moments, Amelia descended the staircase and reappeared, carrying the cleaning supplies needed to address the aftermath of the struggle. The cleansing scent of bleach filled the air as she sprayed it onto the blood-stained tiles, the pungent odour mingling with the lingering tension in the showroom.

Amelia's movements were deliberate and focused, the rhythmic sound of the paper towel wiping away the evidence of the violent encounter. The dim light cast shadows on her determined expression as she worked to erase the physical remnants of the struggle that had disrupted the tranquillity of her office.

“I’ll have my security guys wipe the footage from the CCTV database.” Lando informed her, his tone authoritative and decisive. The practicality of his suggestion was evident—a strategic move to eliminate any traces of the recent events. “And, I’ll have them send some guys down to be here when you’re in the office.”

“That’s not necessary. My father-”

“Your father cannot know a thing. He’ll know that you're busy with shady business. Just say you had a security breach and I offered.” Lando interjected, his voice firm and insistent.

The weight of his words conveyed an understanding of the delicate balance they needed to maintain in the face of a situation that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facades of their lives.

In the strategic dance of shadows and secrets, Lando's offer became a lifeline—a shield against the prying eyes of those who couldn't be trusted.

“He always liked you.” Amelia acknowledged, a subtle nod to the complexities of her father's affections.

“Precisely.” Lando responded, recognizing the leverage that goodwill might afford them in navigating the intricacies of their clandestine actions. “I’m going to need someone to help us. We can’t do this alone.”

“Just not Max. Or Alex.” Amelia stipulated, expressing a cautious reluctance regarding the choice of allies.

“Don’t worry about it. Just pretend like nothing happened.” He directed with a pragmatic approach to maintaining the illusion of normalcy in the wake of the violent encounter.

“I can’t go home looking like this.” Amelia confessed, her voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and concern.

“You’ll come home with me. We’ll get you cleaned up, get rid of your clothes and get you back home. No one needs to know a thing.” Lando assured her, his tone a blend of reassurance and determination.

“Thank you.” Amelia responded, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the support she found in their shared alliance.

“This is technically my fault.” Lando admitted with a sense of responsibility underlying his words.

“No, it isn't.” Amelia countered, her conviction unwavering.

“This has to be George, no?” Lando pondered, drawing connections between the recent events and their shared history.

‘It can only be him. He was the only one asking questions.” Amelia affirmed, a trace of frustration in her voice.

"You know George, he's only ever happy when he's included in something." Lando observed, a rueful acknowledgment of their former schoolmate's tendencies.

In the dimly lit showroom, Lando wasted no time. With determined efficiency, he rolled the unconscious assailant into the rug, the fabric concealing the evidence of the violent struggle. As he straightened up, he wiped his hands on his jeans, a pragmatic gesture to rid himself of the residual traces of the grim task at hand.

Pulling out his phone, Lando dialled the number of his right-hand man, Jon. The urgency of the situation echoed in the hushed tones of their conversation as Lando briefed him on the need for assistance.

“Jon, I need you to come to the dealership. We've got a situation. We’ll leave everything open at the back for you. Just a clean up and disposal.” Lando spoke, the weight of the words underscoring the gravity of the clandestine operation unfolding within the confines of the dealership.

As Jon's acknowledgement reached Lando's ears, the stage was set for the arrival of assistance—a strategic move to navigate the aftermath and ensure that the shadows of the night kept their secrets hidden from prying eyes.

“Jon will sort out the body and his car. He'll get some people in to give the room a proper clean. You and I need to get out of here. I'll be your alibi if shit hits the fan.” Lando asserted, his words carrying a sense of urgency and commitment.

“Feels like we're back in high school.” Amelia remarked, a wistful note in her voice as she drew parallels between their current predicament and the challenges they faced in their youth.

“Neither of us killed someone in high school.” Lando responded, his tone a mix of pragmatism and reassurance.

"We saw someone get shot and we kept quiet, Lan. That makes us look fucking guilty." Amelia countered, her words laden with the weight of their shared past.

“We weren't out there that night looking for a murder scene.” Lando asserted, drawing a distinction between the events that unfolded in their teenage years and the unforeseen circumstances that now required their discretion.

Flashback

They were just 17 that night. Lando, bold and adventurous, had snuck out with one of his father's Audis to pick up Amelia for a house party. The night took an unexpected turn when they got lost, the dimly lit roads leading them to an abandoned stretch. Eager to regain phone signal, they pulled over, the night air thick with anticipation.

As they sought connectivity, the tranquillity of the night was shattered by screams and yelling, the ominous sounds drawing them in. Their curiosity propelled them forward, and seconds later, they found themselves witnesses to a harrowing scene—a man being shot several times, the violent act searing into their young minds.

The shooter's face remained hidden in the shadows, a faceless perpetrator of a crime witnessed in the dead of night. Lando, quick on his feet even in the face of danger, grabbed Amelia before she could utter a scream, and they sped away from the scene.

In the aftermath of that fateful night, a silent pact emerged. Lando and Amelia, bound by the shared trauma of witnessing a crime, made a promise—an unspoken agreement never to speak about it with each other or anyone else. The weight of that secret forged an unbreakable bond, a shared understanding that transcended the boundaries of adolescence and lingered as a shadowy thread woven into the fabric of their friendship.

“This is different.” Lando voiced with a discernible tension in his words as the echoes of their past mingled with the challenges of the present.

“Lando.” She implored, her gaze seeking reassurance from the one person she had turned to in times of both peril and secrecy.

“Remember you called me, Amelia, not the police, not your dad, me. You called me because you know I won’t tell a soul about any of this.” Lando reminded her, his tone carrying the weight of their shared history. The unspoken bond that had endured the trials of teenage secrecy and witnessed the violence of that night now became the anchor in the tumultuous sea of their present predicament.

As Lando and Amelia made their way down the staircase, each step echoing in the quiet showroom, a pregnant pause settled between them. Amelia stopped halfway down the staircase causing Lando to turn back to see where she was.

“If this is your way of reminding me that I make shit decisions, it is not the time.” Amelia retorted, a note of defiance in her voice as the weight of the night pressed upon her.

“You forget that when you agreed to do this, you agreed to get your hands dirty. And, I know you didn't mean to kill that guy. It was an accident and you were defending yourself. So, when I offer to help, just take it and trust me.” Lando explained, his words carrying a mix of understanding and urgency.

“Of course I trust you.” Amelia conceded, a hint of vulnerability in her admission.

“Then start acting like it.” Lando urged, his tone firm but laced with a genuine concern for her well-being.

In the wake of their tense conversation, Amelia followed Lando in the dimly lit showroom and out to the back parking lot to where his sleek McLaren awaited. The low hum of the high-performance engine punctuated the stillness, and as they settled into the car, the interior became a cocoon of shadows and shared secrets.

The engine roared to life, and the McLaren glided out of the parking lot, merging seamlessly into the city's nocturnal symphony. The darkened streets unfolded before them as they embarked on a journey to the Norris family home, a sanctuary where they hoped the shadows of the night could be momentarily left behind.

As the city lights streaked past, the McLaren became a vessel hurtling through the spaces where choices and consequences collided.

“We might need to keep a low profile on exports the next few weeks and wait for the Russells to sink their teeth into someone else's business.” Lando suggested, his voice carrying the weight of strategic thinking in the face of external threats.

“Fucking George and his incessent need to make everyone's lives difficult.” Amelia muttered, frustration evident in her words.

Flashback

In the hazy atmosphere of the party, Amelia and Lando, still reeling from the shock of what they had witnessed that night, arrived seeking refuge in the noise and distraction. However, George, always on the lookout for drama and mischief, was quick to spot their anxious and flustered demeanour.

Seizing the opportunity, George, with a mischievous glint in his eye, began to weave a narrative of his own. He subtly suggested that the two had hooked up during their absence, letting the whispers of the partygoers carry the story further into the crowd. The rumour spread like wildfire, growing more exaggerated with each passing moment.

The consequences of George's manipulation reached unforeseen heights when the school, influenced by the escalating gossip, decided to intervene. Concerned about the well-being of the students, they went so far as to phone Amelia's mother, urging her to discuss family planning with her daughter. The supposed affair between Amelia and Lando had transformed into a spectacle, a testament to the power of whispers and the lengths people would go to spin a tale in the shadows of high school drama.

In the quietude outside the Norris family house, Lando parked the McLaren, the engine's hum subsiding into a gentle purr. Anticipating the need for discretion, he reached back to grab a hoodie, a makeshift cover for Amelia's stained shirt.

As they entered the Norris residence, Flo, one of Lando's younger sisters, zipped past with the carefree energy of youth, barely offering a greeting to Amelia. Lando, recognizing the need for privacy, ushered Amelia upstairs to his bedroom. With a deliberate gesture, he shut the door and locked it, creating a temporary sanctuary where they could navigate the aftermath of the night undisturbed.

“We'll have to burn everything.” Lando stated matter-of-factly, the weight of the recent events hanging in the air.

“Everything?” Amelia queried, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah. Panties too, I'm afraid." Lando confirmed, a touch of humour attempting to lighten the gravity of the situation. The necessity to dispose of all evidence, even the most personal items, underscored the severity of their predicament.

As the gravity of their situation hung in the air, Lando took charge, crossing the room to the fireplace. He skillfully arranged the wood, the flames flickering to life under his deft touch. The warmth emanating from the growing fire cast a gentle glow across the room, creating a play of shadows on the walls.

The crackling flames seemed to dance in rhythm with the uncertainty of the night, their flickering light casting a comforting yet eerie ambiance. As the fire gained strength, its radiant warmth began to fill the room, creating an intimate haven where Lando and Amelia could confront the shadows of the night and embark on the delicate process of erasing the traces of their clandestine actions.

“You're disgusting.” Amelia remarked, her tone a mixture of reproach and weariness.

“Well, you're not exactly the girl I thought I was bringing back home tonight.” Lando retorted, his words carrying a note of frustration and perhaps a tinge of regret.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Amelia responded, a touch of sarcasm underscoring her words.

The room, bathed in the warm glow of the firelight, became a stage for the raw honesty and tension between them—a moment where the repercussions of their choices unfolded

In a silent acknowledgment of the need to erase any trace of the night, Amelia retreated to the bathroom. There, she methodically stripped away the stained clothes, leaving behind the remnants of a tumultuous evening. Wrapping a towel around her body, she returned to the room, a vulnerable silhouette against the warm glow of the fire.

Lando, understanding the gravity of the situation, took her discarded clothes and tossed them into the crackling flames. The fire eagerly consumed the fabric, its hungry tongues licking at the evidence of the night, reducing it to ashes. The room bore witness to this ritual of cleansing, the dance of shadows on the walls telling a silent tale of discretion and consequence.

“Now a shower.” Lando suggested a practical continuation of their efforts to cleanse themselves of the night's events.

Leading Amelia back to the bathroom, Lando started running the shower. A moment of vulnerability hung in the air as Amelia expected him to leave her to her privacy. However, to her surprise, Lando began undressing, leaving him stark naked in front of her.

Amelia, caught off guard, quickly averted her gaze, her breath catching in her throat. The unexpected intimacy in that vulnerable moment accentuated the complexities of their relationship, adding another layer to the shadows that seemed to linger in the spaces between them.

“You have blood in places you can't see so I might as well help you with that.” Lando remarked, his practicality cutting through the awkwardness of the moment.

“If you wanted to shower with me, you could have just asked.” Amelia grumbled, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Memories of a similar situation resurfaced, adding a layer of familiarity to the present. “I vaguely remember you doing this one night after we went out. I was so drunk and covered in alcohol. You showered me that night, dressed me and tucked me in.”

The echoes of the past mingled with the present, creating a sense of déjà vu in the bathroom.

A small smile crept onto Lando's face as the memory of that past night played in his mind.

Flashback

Amelia sat at her desk, buried under a mountain of textbooks and lecture notes, her mind buzzing with the weight of her upcoming university exams. She had been studying for hours, pouring over endless pages of information, but the words seemed to blur together in a haze of exhaustion and frustration.

With a sigh, she pushed her books aside and rubbed her tired eyes, feeling the stress of her studies weighing heavily on her shoulders. She needed a break, a moment of respite from the relentless pressure of academia.

Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, searching for a familiar name amidst the sea of numbers. And then she found it: Lando.

With a sense of relief washing over her, Amelia dialled his number and waited anxiously as the phone rang. And when he answered, his voice was like a lifeline, grounding her in the midst of chaos.

“Lando.” She said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I need you.”

His protective instinct kicked in immediately, his concern evident in his voice as he asked her where she was. And when she told him, he didn't hesitate for a moment.

“I'm on my way.” He said, his tone firm and reassuring. “Just hold tight.”

And true to his word, Lando arrived moments later, his car pulling up to the curb outside the club where Amelia had sought refuge from her studies. With a sense of relief flooding through her, she hurried outside to meet him, grateful for the familiar sight of his reassuring presence.

When she climbed into the car beside him, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, knowing that no matter what challenges she faced, Lando would always be there to protect her, to guide her through the darkest of times.

As they drove away from the chaos of the club, the weight of her worries lifting with each passing moment, Amelia couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of her friend.

Stepping into the shower, he extended a helping hand to Amelia, the towel dropping to the floor.

In the intimate space of the shower, the warm water cascaded around them, washing away the physical remnants of the night. The small smile on Lando's face carried with it a mix of nostalgia and genuine care, a reflection of the bond they had forged through the years.

The spacious shower, though offering room to breathe, found Lando and Amelia pressed against each other beneath the hot water. In the closeness of the moment, Lando took a loofah and squirted shower gel onto it, gently scrubbing away the dried blood from Amelia's arms and hands.

“You OK?” Lando inquired, his voice carrying a note of concern.

“I'm still processing.” Amelia admitted, the vulnerability in her words echoing the weight of the night.

“Scared?” Lando asked, his touch and presence offering a sense of reassurance.

“Terrified.” Amelia confessed, her honesty underscoring the gravity of their situation.

“Understandable.” Lando acknowledged; his understanding becoming a silent promise that they would navigate the aftermath of the night together.

As Amelia took over the loofah, the roles reversed in the warm embrace of the shower. The steam-filled air carried a sense of familiarity, a tangible connection that transcended the immediate circumstances. The loofah glided over Lando's tanned skin, the intimate act of washing away the remnants of the night weaving a tapestry of shared history.

It had been a while since they'd been this close, the memory of past intimacy echoing in the quiet moments between them. Recollections of nights filled with solace, where Lando sought refuge after heartbreak, resurfaced. Amelia had offered him comfort and affection, creating a bond that endured beyond the ebb and flow of relationships. Their connection, built on shared vulnerabilities and unspoken support, had weathered the storms of life.

They were never strangers, and the shower became a canvas where the past and the present merged. In the dance of shadows and steam, Lando and Amelia continued to navigate the complexities of their intertwined lives, finding solace in the comfort that only the truest of companions could provide.

“Everything will be fine.” Lando reassured, his words carrying a comforting certainty.

“I know.” Amelia responded, the weight of the night and the shadows they faced momentarily lightened by the shared understanding between them.

Lando, in a tender gesture, pressed a finger to Amelia's chin, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. In the closeness of the shower, their eyes locked, becoming mirrors reflecting the intimacy they both crave.

“We can't, Lan.” Amelia asserted, a note of restraint in her voice.

“Why not?” Lando questioned, his gaze searching hers for an answer.

“Because you have a girlfriend and I'm seeing someone.” Amelia explained with the weight of their entangled personal lives adding complexity to the moment.

“I don't have a girlfriend.” Lando clarified, challenging the assumption.

“Then what is Zara?” Amelia pressed, her gaze holding firm.

“I didn't realise you and Charles are together now.” Lando countered, revealing another layer of their tangled connections.

“It's just casual for now. No pressure.” Amelia admitted, her tone suggesting a nonchalant approach to her current situation.

“Yeah, that's because he's got another girl in Monaco waiting for him.” Lando remarked, a touch of frustration in his voice.

“Stop it.” Amelia implored, the tensions of their conversation escalating.

“Amelia, seriously, why do you waste your time with these men who offer you nothing? First it was Daniel, now it’s Charles.” Lando questioned, a hint of concern in his words.

“The sex is great. What more could a girl want?” Amelia retorted, her response laced with a mix of defiance and humour, attempting to diffuse the underlying tension.

The exchange revealed the intricacies of their personal lives, the complexities that had always lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. Feeling flustered by the intense conversation in the shower, Amelia stepped out into the cool air, the droplets from the shower clinging to her skin. The exchange had laid bare the complexities and unspoken tensions that existed between her and Lando, their words echoing in the silence of the bathroom. As she wrapped a towel around herself, the lingering steam seemed to magnify the uncertainties that hovered between them.

“What about love?” Lando questioned, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“Lando, I appreciate the concern, but I don't question who you date.” Amelia responded, her tone attempting to maintain a sense of detachment.

“Well, for your information, Zara isn't my girlfriend.” Lando clarified, seeking to dispel any misconceptions.

“So, she's just met your family for fun then.” Amelia retorted, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“Amelia Rossi, are you jealous?” Lando teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Fuck off, Norris.” Amelia snapped, her response revealing a mix of frustration and defensiveness.

Quickly drying herself off, Amelia made her way into Lando's room, searching for a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Lando followed behind her, the atmosphere carrying the lingering tension from their earlier conversation in the shower.

“Do you remember what happened that night?” Lando inquired, the memories of a pivotal evening resurfacing in the quiet space of his room. “When the shooting happened.”

“We went to the party like we planned and George told everyone we hooked up.” Amelia recounted, the events of that night etched in her memory.

“What happened after that?’ Lando prompted, seeking to revisit the moments that had shaped their relationship.

“We drove home early from the party and I stayed over.” Amelia replied, the details unfolding.

“You're forgetting the part where you could barely speak for hours after and refused to leave my side.” Lando added with a touch of sincerity in his voice.

“Do you blame me?” Amelia questioned, the vulnerability in her words hinting at the impact of that night on her.

“Just don't go all silent on me again. Tell me if something is bothering you or if you want to end the deal before things get worse.” Lando implored, the weight of unspoken concerns lingering in the air.

“The deal sticks. Now, are you driving me home or should I call for a driver?” Amelia shifted the focus, steering the conversation toward the practicalities of the present.

“I'll drive you back.” Lando agreed, a silent understanding passing between them.

As Amelia locked herself in her room, the weight of the night's events bore down on her. Alone in the quiet confines, she spent the whole night reliving the harrowing moments of the shooting in her office. The memories, vivid and haunting, replayed like a relentless film, each frame etching the fear and uncertainty of that critical juncture.

This ritual, revisiting the scenes in her mind, was not unfamiliar to her. Years ago, she had engaged in a similar process, attempting to etch faces and features into her memory. It was a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos, to understand the shadows that lurked within the corridors of her own life.

In the solitary hours of the night, as she grappled with the echoes of gunshots and the weight of her choices, Amelia navigated the complex tapestry of her past. The walls of her room became a sanctuary for introspection, a space where the shadows of her memories danced in the darkness, revealing the intricate threads that wove together the fabric of her existence.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc #mafia!au #mafia!f1 #f1 drivers #f1 driver x oc #lando norris x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 x reader

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boinkingbattlemechs · 17 days

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Marauder IIC

One of the most notable IIC BattleMechs, the Marauder IIC is based upon one of the most iconic 'Mechs in existence, the Marauder.

Touted as one of the most effective 'Mechs of all time, the Marauder saw wide usage during the Star League era by all the Great Houses. The design was also much favored by both the Star League Defense Force's Regular and Royal units as well as its famed Gunslingers, with many examples taken on Operation EXODUS. The belief that the Marauder was a precursor to a new 'Mech design paradigm disappeared in the Inner Sphere as the Succession Wars dragged on; however, in the same year as the Second Succession War broke out the Clans developed a followup to the venerable design, later dubbed the Marauder IIC, representing the pinnacle of Clan weapons technology prior to the advent of the OmniMech. Like other IIC designs, visual similarities between it and its predecessor initially led ComStar to incorrectly label the design as a mere refit of the original.

It is to the credit of its original engineers that no new production variants of the Marauder IIC appeared until a wellspring of new technology emerged in the 3050s and '60s, with Clan Star Adder introducing a visually refreshed model carrying the then-newly developed Heavy Lasers that quickly spread to the Cloud Cobras, Goliath Scorpions, Snow Ravens, Blood Spirits and Diamond Sharks. The efforts of the mercantile Sharks would result in the further spread of the design to the Inner Sphere-based Invading Clans, followed by Clans Jade Falcon and Ghost Bear introducing new Marauder IIC variants and constructing new production lines for them on Sudeten and Satalice respectively during the Word of Blake Jihad.

As with the Warhammer IIC, the Marauder IIC is ten-tons heavier than its Inner Sphere progenitor, pushing it into the assault weight class, but otherwise the design matches the original's ground speed through the use of a 340-rated standard fusion engine. Though both designs carry eleven and half tons of armor, the Marauder IIC's use of more advanced ferro-fibrous plating gives it superior protection, with an endo steel frame freeing up weight. While structurally the Marauder IIC appears to offer little advantage over the LosTech refitted Marauders introduced by the Successor States, the blatant superiority of Clan weaponry allows the design to pound its opponents to pieces in short order.

Built around the Extended-Range Particle Projector Cannon, one of the most powerful weapons in the Clan arsenal, the Marauder IIC's weapon layout is typical of the standard Marauder, each pod-like forearm carrying an ER PPC paired with Medium Pulse Lasers. Where the Marauder IIC differs is with its torso weaponry, replacing the top-mounted autocannon and its vulnerable ammunition-feed linkage with another ER PPC, and adding a set of four ER Small Lasers. Twenty-one double heat sinks keep heat levels manageable, with an enterprising MechWarrior able to use volley fire to keep up a steady barrage of fire.

#battletech #mechwarrior #battletech smash or pass #mecha #tumblr polls

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cactusspatz · 4 months

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April recs

About half and half Batman and Guardian recs from last month (yeah, I don't know what my brain's up to lately either. They both...investigate crimes in weird fictional cities? I guess??). The Batfam fics are all gen, the Guardian fics are all Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan. Enjoy!

BATMAN

cards on the table by @wesslan

Tim's parents faked their deaths and fled the country years ago, but neglected to take him with them. He spent some time on the streets, and now at 16, he makes a living as a fortune teller, stalking and hustling the shit out of Gotham's elite by telling them eerily accurate fortunes based on the information he gathers about them. His life is peculiar but he wouldn't change a thing. When he gets booked for the big Wayne Halloween party, however, he finds himself getting all tangled up with the Waynes, and the more fortunes he tells, the tighter the snare becomes. or: Tim just wanted to scam Gotham's elite, not end up on the Batfamily's watchlist. But it seems they just won't leave him alone…

Completely delightful, except where it's heartbreaking. Oh, Tim.

when the man comes around by julodinae_sunsets / @pyrras

Alfred’s love is pressed shirts and warm food. And his love is a gleaming knife, too. He would bleed for his boys. He would make others bleed for them. And so he does. (Or: the Joker must die, and Alfred Pennyworth is not a man who waits on others to do his work.)

Sometimes a girl just wants to read about the Joker getting killed, you know? And Alfred's POV is so sharp and well-written in this.

nightcall by TheResurrectionist / @frownyalfred

Carter played the recording for a third time. Red Hood’s lips pursed. “I don’t know what the fuck Nightwing was talking about,” he said. “That’s not a Thai dialect. He’s always had the worst ear for Kra-Dai languages.” (or, the one where an enterprising GCPD member uses the batsignal to ask the local vigilantes for translation help, and the Batfamily knows WAY too many languages)

Ah, my darling weirdo nerds. ❤

GUARDIAN

Following the rhythm of indulgence and delight by naye

"Your messages were terribly inappropriate," Shen Wei tells him. "Oh?" Zhao Yunlan asks on a rapid breath. "Yes. You didn't say 'please'," Shen Wei admonishes. In his arms, Zhao Yunlan gives a full-body shudder of excitement.

Sweet, hot (with side of established kink play that I loved), and domestic.

Won't be waiting alone by velithya

"That was DCPD," Wang Zheng says. "A missing person matching our last ID has just been reported – from Dragon City University, a Professor Shen Wei."

I do love Shen Wei being vulnerable and hurt - which is hard to manage because he's such a OP badass - but this different-first-meeting AU nails it.

Support Network by Prosto_Dasha

Most Dixingren living in Dragon City know him as Lan-gege, the guy who one of the first welcomed them in this unfamiliar realm and helped them get their bearings. Zhao Yunlan is very careful about keeping his identities separate, but it's all useless when the Black Cloak Envoy appears just as he is trying to evacuate a newly-manifested Dixingren from under the SID's nose.

Charming AU with solid worldbuilding where Zhao Yunlun rebels against his father in an entirely different way - and runs smack into Shen Wei while he's at it.

#batman #batfam #dcu #gen #guardian #shen wei/zhao yunlan #fic rec #monthly recs

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twinkboimler · 1 year

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August Fic Recs

people seemed interested, so here are some recs from the trek fics I read in August! I reread a few old favorites this month but I figured I'd still recommend them even though they're already incredibly popular.

MCKIRK

jim kirk's guide to starship management: how to work with people you don't like by espressohno. AOS mckirk. Explicit, 23,352 words. An anonymous hookup while on shore leave turns complicated when the Enterprise picks up their new CMO the morning after. Enemies to friends to lovers. So, so good.

Instinctive by laughter_now. AOS mckirk. Explicit, 9,066 words. Classic case of miscommunication - Leonard and Jim have sex for the first time, but they probably should have talked some things over beforehand. I was losing it the entire time, kicking my feet and shrieking. Very, very sweet.

SPONES

Eyeshadow by Lokak. TOS spones. General Audiences, 1,222 words. Fluff with some classic spones arguing and insulting each other. They do each other's eye makeup. Exactly what I want in a TOS spones fic.

MCSPIRK

My World is No Longer Hollow by existentialcrisistime. TOS mcspirk. Teen and Up Audiences, 2,097 words. Fluff, first kiss, and bedsharing. Post-episode "For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky" - Leonard is feeling exhausted and lonely. Established spirk to mcspirk, so sweet.

SPIRK

Beautiful James by spirkme. AOS spirk. Explicit, 8,742 words. Post-Star Trek Beyond. Yearning and accidental bonding. This fic re-contextualizes all three movies. Jim and Spock were so vulnerable with each other in this and it gave me so many feelings. The smut at the end was romantic and sweet, I really enjoyed this one.

Send Me the Moon by lily_winterwood. Tagged as both TOS and AOS Spirk. Teen and Up Audiences, 5,911 words. AU - 21st Century, Canon Divergence. Major Character Death. Vulcan is sixteen light years from Earth. Jim becomes pen pals with Spock, with a 32-year wait between each letter he receives back. Once I started crying, I didn't stop. Very good if you need a cry.

out of obscurity into the dream by spectralPhobia. AOS spirk. General Audiences, 87,794 words. A Tangled AU that did a really good job of building off of the plot of the movie but doing something new with it. I liked the world-building and how this fic used Nero.

Bitter Dregs by kinklock. TOS spirk. Explicit, 9,707 words. Spock's POV. This fic is for the episode "Plato's Stepchildren" - very poetic and just SO good at getting inside of Spock's head. Really nails the character voices for TOS Spock and Jim.

Sha Ka Ree by ThereBeWhalesHere. TOS spirk. Explicit, 180,505 words. Survival + time travel. Jim is a lieutenant on the Farragut and Spock is a science officer on the Enterprise, captained by Pike. After coming together for a landing party, Jim and Spock have to fight to survive on an alien world. Had to give this one another reread - there's a reason it's such a popular fic in the fandom, and it's because this fic is SO good. The plot is fantastic, and the slow build of their relationship hits every time.

Heated Consummation (AOS) by Gimmemore. AOS spirk. Explicit, 2,326 words. Porn Without Plot, established relationship, shore leave. Sex in front of a fireplace. This fic is a part of a series where each fic has the same set up, just for AOS, TOS, and TOS Movies. All are good, but this one was my favorite.

Halloween by BisforBread. TOS spirk. General Audiences, 2,300 words. Mutual pining, first kiss, fluff. Spock goes to the Enterprise Halloween party dressed as Jim. Fun and cute.

love is a drunk man's tale by BisforBread. AOS spirk, past Jim/Carol Marcus. General Audiences, 6,962 words. AU - Jim is a country singer and Spock is his manager. Mutual pining, angst, drunken love confessions. I enjoyed this, it's always fun to read an AU for something you don't see very often.

One on a Side, Two Together by JackHawksmoor. TOS spirk. Explicit, 17,108 words. Must be logged in to read. The accidental bonding in this is SO good. This was a reread - I really love this fic, especially how Spock really, really doesn't want to explain what the hell is up with the bond.

#star trek #star trek fic recs #spirk #mckirk #spones #mcspirk #phebs speaks #fanfic #phebs writes fic #fic recs

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vermillioncrown · 7 months

Text

my heart might give out from stress

i don't want my drafts to remain in purgatory if that happens

here's a snippet from the blowjob brothers

happy vday or whatever

hlwi snippet: timkorv ceo and pa roleplay

tldr what you get when you have two overthinking maskers that are dating

(mature, allusions to exhibitionism)

Korvin is supposed to shadow Tim today as his PA. At the same time, he can stealthily join in discussions on some Wayne Enterprises & Subsidiaries’ projects for the next fiscal year. It’s dubious as hell, managerially incestuous, and not at all billable to any of the workbooks. Technically, Korvin is “Out of Office.”

Tam gives them a Look, Lucius gives them a bigger Look, and they both separately say, “Keep it out of Meeting Room 5B.”

“Pardon?” Korvin plays the wide-eyed mangénue well—first PA job fresh out of his management degree, definitely-of-course-not hired for his credentials nor family connections.

“Director Kwan-Wayne.” Lucius removes his glasses to polish them and says in a mild tone, “That 3 AM with M-Systems could have your name on it for the rest of your tenure. Clear?”

Korvin drops character for a brief moment of honesty. “Crystal, Chief Fox; keeping it contained.”

They get left alone late morning in Tim's office. Tam pointedly does not look in their direction and pushes the controls to shut the blinds.

That’s not Tim’s concern right now.

Right now, his only concern is coaxing the young and nervous PA to come play with him. Cute face, DSL, firm ass, and positively stacked—Tim has to have him under his hands as soon as possible. “I don’t have super hearing, Mr. Kwan. You’re going to have to come closer to my desk.”

His PA walks to the front of the desk, posture stiff and straight like he’s about to crumple with nerves given any leeway. He doesn’t look Tim in the eye; instead, he leans over the desk and clumsily holds the tablet out to show the agenda for the day.

“Mr. Drake, I have the brief for 11 AM printed—if I could go retrieve—”

“Mr. Kwan, no need for that; just brief me like this.”

“L-Like this?” Poor thing is flustered and baffled. Tim supposes he needs a bit of clear direction to help him along.

“Oral report,” he clarifies. And Tim can’t help it when the back of his pen traces against the younger man’s jaw. The metal tip goes up to the corner of his lips, tapping that tempting beauty mark right at the edge. All of it would look amazing wrapped around his cock. The heat would fog up those cute glasses, and if Tim gets careless with his aim? A little mess on those unruly curls wouldn’t be out of place. “Nervous when you speak, Mr. Kwan?”

“I-I,” his PA swallows, the motion framed by the turtleneck under his suit. The suit itself is nicely fitted, if a little juvenile in the fabric weight and cut; obviously a gift from someone with more means. The turtleneck pairing is tasteful, but a choice—hiding love bites? With the gift suit and his looks, maybe this type of “PA work” isn’t outside of the younger man’s experience. “I’m trying to work on. Uh. That, M-Mr. Drake.”

“Luckily for you, I have plenty of advice to offer,” Tim offers with a smile. “We have half an hour—why don’t you come around and I do that while we discuss the brief?”

His PA gives a bashful glance at the wall clock, though still frozen in his vulnerable pose and in Tim's hand.

“Don’t be shy,” Tim whispers, letting the back of his fingernails graze along the younger man’s cheek. Dark eyes follow the path his hand takes, trace it back to Tim himself. When it’s obvious that the other is fighting back a timid but interested bite on his bottom lip, Tim lets his gaze fall to “bedroom eyes” and cocks his head to beckon his new playmate over.

Their roleplay quickly falls apart after that, though because neither Tim nor Korvin can stand being Not Correct. The derailment happens at the intended coy exchange of, “‘Oh, what if we get caught?’ ‘Guess you’ll have to be quiet, sweetheart,’” and then—

“What? No, now I’m actually concerned. You’re the loud one,” is refuted with, “no, that’s you with the actual anechoic sex room.”

“It’s not a—whatever! I literally had to install a trained bypass filter on the hall cams because of you!”

Never mind the unhinged meticulousness in finding the right sounds to train said filter on— “And you got caught, so fine, we’re both loud but I’m stealthier! ...and you’re louder.”

“We have the technology to be, y’know, objective. You just don’t want to be wrong.”

“I don’t want to dignify this argument with actual data.”

“Yeah, that’s how I know you’re actually louder,” Korvin rolls his eyes, even as he continues to contort himself under Tim’s desk. “This front drawer’s in the way.”

Tim pushes his chair back and bends to look at the bottom of the drawer. “I think if you kneel further back, but then—”

“—yeah, I'd have to lean forward.”

“Oh…but that's a better angle for your throat, though.”

Korvin nods thoughtfully. “You'd have to keep me from falling too forward or chance someone seeing my hands stick out,” he muses.

“I'll keep my ankles crossed back in. Brace against that,” Tim suggests, and at Korvin's nonchalant thumbs up, he rolls back in front of his desk.

#on hlwi #phd-verse #verm bits #christ alive yesterday it was ''we're so back''#today ''it's so over''#*made it pink bc i'm losing control and need to exert it wherever idk #fun note: this is either the first or second hlwi scene written #bc it's one thing to say ''haha wouldn't it be funny if a and b got together?''#but they can't actually have fun or don't have chemistry #so the snippet was a proving ground that the development of tpac wasn't crazy #it may or may not make it into the final cut so here we go #extra extra 2024 roz and i agreed to do whatever we want and not shy from sharing stuff out of some ~artistic vision~ or whatever #like there are things to withhold if mystery and suspense are key #but otherwise don't care #hm i say it's a proving ground a lot #but each snippet is dealing with a different brain worm

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tickletastic · 7 months

Text

On the Dotted Line

Fandom: Star Trek

Ship: N/A

Summary: Bones thinks Jim needs a lesson on the importance of actually reading his medical consent forms before signing them.

When Jim had gone for his last bi-monthly physical, he had a long, itemized list of hypos and vaccines awaiting him, Bones lining them up on the examination table with a sheepish, apologetic smile on his face. Bones reminded him that it had been five years since his last round of immunizations, save for a few vaccines here and there based on some of his newly developed allergies. Jim was annoyed and impatient, though he had noticed, subconsciously, that his body had been behaving a little differently for a few weeks. He found himself in uncontrollable sneezing fits when the Enterprise flew past a gas giant, and felt his entire body itch after visiting the science team in the middle of their specimen examinations. He knew the vaccines weren’t optional, but it didn’t make the surprise of them any less annoying.

The thing is, Bones couldn’t even count on two hands how many times he had reminded Jim about his vaccines over the past two weeks, repeatedly bringing it up in hopes that it would soften the blow when the appointment finally did roll around. Somehow, Jim still seemed oblivious about the appointment, despite Bones’ many reminders, and the signed consent forms that had arrived in Bones’ email minutes after he had sent them to Jim a week earlier.

“Kid, you know those emails I send you about your appointments aren’t just to sit and look pretty in yer inbox, right?” Bones had teased, wincing when Jim flinched away from the fifth hypo, “they could’ve given you the rundown about this appointment, had you bothered to read ‘em.”

Jim was testy, and he sent Bones a warning glare, “I signed them, didn’t I?”

Bones had just rolled his eyes, deciding it might be best to engage in the conversation when Jim was a little less irritable, a little less vulnerable.

It is protocol, on the Enterprise, for physicals to be done on a bi-annual basis, most of the crew not changing very much over the span of six months. Of course, the medbay is always open in the case of an emergency, but, for the sake of documentation, complete physicals happen twice a year.

While most of the Enterprise gets along just fine with two physicals a year, their loyal captain has a long, non-exhaustive list of allergies, a new one springing up practically once a week, and a penchant for lying about injuries. As a result of their own stubborn captain, and other stubborn captains in the fleet, Bones managed to have a new protocol introduced into Starfleet regulations that required ship captains to have brief physicals bi-monthly.

Bones, sick and tired of his best friend’s irritability and surprise when a new appointment would arise, despite his constant reminders and emails filled up with consent forms, decided that a lesson of sorts would be in order. Bones is Jim’s primary physician, of course, per request of the captain himself, but there might come a day when Bones’ schedule is filled, or he’s attending an off-ship medical conference, when Jim might have to see a different doctor. For the sake of himself, and any other doctor that might have the displeasure of seeing to Jim Kirk’s temperaments, Bones wanted to solidify to Jim how important it was to read his consent forms prior to signing. It’s not like they have to do with Jim’s immediate physical health or anything, right?

Two months later, when Jim’s next physical rolls around, he is begrudgingly dragged to the medbay, upset that he has to attend another appointment when he, “literally had one like a week ago.”

This time, Bones has gone in a more old-fashioned direction. Bones has, waiting for him and Jim at his desk, a printed copy of Jim’s signed consent forms, his sloppy signature adorning the bottom of every last one.

“Alright, Jimmy,” Bones says, motioning for Jim to hop up on the examination table, “I take it you read through the consent forms?”

Jim raises an annoyed eyebrow, physically fighting back the eyeroll, “I signed them, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Bones responds with a nod, “so you would know that today we are doing some sensitivity cataloging to use for reference in case of later injuries?”

Jim narrows his eyes, a light pink dusting his cheeks, “sensitivity training?”

“Yup,” Bones replies, popping the ‘p’, he shakes the forms in his hand, waving them in front of Jim, “every last detail written down on these forms.”

“Yeah,” Jim responds, nodding in an attempt to hide his surprise, “yeah, of course.”

“Okay, in that case, let’s get started.” Bones opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out a feather, placing it on the top of the desk, in plain sight of Jim. “So, would you like to start with rough touch or light touch? We’ve got to catalogue both,” Bones pauses to smile deviously at Jim, “you know, for the sake of thoroughness.”

Jim’s cheeks are rapidly turning more and more pink as he squirms on the examination table, his eyes avoiding the feather at all cost. “I think I might actually have some business to tend to on the bridge, Bones. Isn’t my last physical enough for now?”

Bones grins, “don’t worry, Jim, it won’t hurt at all. Spock’s got the whole ‘captain act’ handled for a bit.”

Now, Jim openly glares at Bones, and Bones just feigns innocence, “you’re evil. I’m firing you, I’m having you sent to a patrol ship, or one of those garbage ships that collects space debris.”

“Sure you are, Jimmy, sure you are,” Bones chuckles, “so I guess rough it is?”

“Wait- no- I- Bohohones! Shihihit, dohohon’t!” Jim giggles, pushing back against Bone’s fingers digging into his sides, “stahahap!”

“No can do, doctor’s orders,” Bones replies, fighting against Jim’s struggling, “and you signed the forms, you should have known this was coming. I warned you, after all.”

Jim shakes his head, squirming every which way until he eventually falls back, legs dangling off the side of the examination table as he shrieks in response to Bones’ fingers.

“Alright, rough on your sides is a 5/10, I’d say,” Bones says out loud, as if truly recording Jim’s sensitivities for anything beyond his own lesson.

“Shuhuhut uhhuhup!” Jim screeches, body jolting when Bones’ fingers move to his tummy, “nohoho! Thihihis ihihis soho duhuhumb!”

“Wow,” Bones feigns offense, “this is for your own sake, kid, and you should’ve known all about it given that I sent you all the information.”

Jim’s laughter is loud and full by this point, chuckling hysterically as Bones pokes and prods all over his tummy. When Bones’ finger grazes the top of Jim’s belly button, he shrieks, unable to stop his own body from arching, inadvertently moving into the touch.

“I think we might have found an outlier, should I catalogue your belly and belly button separately? Bones asks, spidering his fingers around the sensitive spot, “whadya think, kid? Or should we average the ticklishness of both spots and consider it one?”

“Bohones plehehease!” Jim squeals, desperately trying to push at Bones’ hands, “ihihim sorry!”

“I don’t think you are just yet, but I know you will be soon.”

Bones’ hands move up to Jim’s ribs and Jim screams, squirming so hard that Bones has to save him from falling right off the table. Jim’s fists weakly hit against Bones’ chest as he hiccups and snorts through his laughter, throwing his head back.

“Ihihim sorry! Ihihim sohohorehehe! BOHONES!”

“Alright, alright, I’m almost done, Jimmy, just one more spot and I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Bones relays, his fingers slowing on Jim’s ribs, “if I were less knowledgeable, I’d say that your ribs were a 10/10, but I’d say that was a solid 9.”

Jim pants, his entire face red up to his ears, too tired to fight back anymore. When Bones’ fingers scratch roughly into his shoulder blades, he feels as though he’s been electrified, ticklish energy flowing everywhere in his body, his laughter quickly goes silent, and he struggles against the half-hug thing that he and Bones are in, trying to break out of Bones’ hold.

Bones smiles, incredibly endeared, and lets Jim go, his body slumping onto the table. “Now that, was the 10/10. So are we going to read our forms before signing them now?”

Jim is still giggling, twitching on the table and nodding eagerly, “yehehes, yehes, I wohohon’t doho it ahagain.”

Bones takes a playful step towards Jim, as if he’s going to strike again, and Jim shrieks, curling against the wall the examination table is pressed up against.

“Alright, alright,” Bones reaches out and ruffles Jim’s hair, “you’re good to go, kid.” Bones eyes Jim, whose face is bright red, clothes ruffled, hair a mess, “but maybe wait until you’re less red to join your crew.”

“Shut uhup,” Jim groans, standing up and making an attempt to straighten out his clothes, “you’re so gonna pay for this.”Bones turns to his desk, not bothering to watch Jim as he leaves, still red and grinning, “sure I will, kid, sure I will.”

#lee!jim #ticklish!jim #ler!bones #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #bones mccoy #star trek #james kirk

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stldigital · 10 months

Text

The Power of Generative AI

Generative AI refers to the use of algorithms and machine learning models to create new content, such as text, images, or music. It examines patterns and data inputs to produce original outputs that emulate human creativity. One of the key advantages of Generative AI is its ability to generate creative content. Free Generative AI apps now enable users to craft unique artworks, music compositions, or even write stories with minimal effort. These tools can analyze existing works and generate original pieces that mirror the characteristics and patterns of those examples.

#Enterprise SaaS Services #Cloud Solution #Data Analytics & AI Solution #Cybersecurity Solution #Digital Experience Services #Enterprise Vulnerability Management #Cloud First Business Strategy

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southeastasianists · 6 months

Text

Tan Ming Li is a certified death doula. Just as there are those who facilitate bringing new life into the world, there should be people facilitating more and better ways to talk about death and dying, she reasons.

In 2023, she started The Life Review, a social venture with the mission to normalise conversations about death, dying and bereavement. Events open to the public include Life Stories, a series of chat sessions with topics such as “Motherless daughters”, “Real men don’t cry” and “Pet loss and our enduring bonds”; as well as Death Over Dinner, in which people come together to have conversations guided by Tan about their personal experiences with loss while sharing a meal.

The last Death Over Dinner took place at South Indian restaurant Podi & Poriyal, where participants were served dishes containing ingredients with special life and death significance in South Indian culture such as black sesame seeds, which signify purification; and jackfruit, the wood of which is often used as funeral pyre logs during cremation.

“What better way for Asians to connect than through food?” said Tan, explaining that Death Over Dinner is actually a global movement that originated in the US, “but we tweaked it so that food was a much bigger component, building the conversations around the ingredients and dishes. In other countries, the concept is just for people to talk about death over the dinner table.”

Tan, who is in her 40s, believes that getting comfortable with talking openly and honestly about such topics is vitally important.

“A nationwide survey conducted last year (by the Singapore Management University) revealed that ‘only 53 per cent of Singaporeans are comfortable discussing their own death while barely a third (33.4 per cent) would do so with someone who is dying’,” she shared.

She feels there is also a tendency to over-medicalise conversations about death, focusing on treatments and doctors.

“As a society, death is not something that is commonly discussed and we tend to be ‘death-denying’. Healthcare and wellness are all about ‘preventing’ death. In fighting against death, we are unaccepting of this natural part of life. This makes it hard to be vulnerable about our emotions around it,” she said.

Even if you haven’t lost a loved one yourself, “When someone else experiences a loss, many of us don’t know how to address the topic and end up using platitudes like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or worse, ‘Everything happens for a reason’,” she pointed out.

Ironically, avoiding the subject of death inadvertently gives it more power. “This power can then suppress our thoughts, beliefs and behaviour,” she opined.

NO STRANGER TO DEATH AND DENIAL

Tan speaks from personal experience. When she was 17, her mum died of cancer. “Dad said, ‘Don’t worry, she will recover.’ Her sudden passing left us in shock. I remember my dad brought me to the hospital canteen, broke the news to me and simply said, ‘We just have to accept it and move on’. I don’t think he ever recovered. As far as I recall, there were no conversations about it within the family.

“In the years that followed, I lost my dad, grandma, uncles and aunts… I was frozen in my grief response and it took a mental health crisis for me to start addressing these issues.”

Concurrently, Tan had always been interested in social work, from her university years when she volunteered to support children with special needs, to volunteering to teach yoga and breathing at various institutions including the Society for the Physically Disabled (SPD) and the Institute of Mental Health (IMH). She also lived in Thailand for several years, where she gave her time to a social enterprise helping indigenous craftsmen sell their goods.

Her career was in Advertising Research until she took a sabbatical and travelled to India in 2013. Following that period of time in which to think and reflect, she embarked on a new path, offering services such as mindfulness and movement.

“In the course of my work, I encountered clients who are terminally ill or grieving the loss of a loved one. Curious about how to better support them, I started researching the topic,” she recalled. “One day, I received an email from students working on a grief literacy event, inviting me to facilitate a somatic movement session for parents who had lost their child. Somatic movement involves exploring the body's sensations and movements to promote healing. During this session, many participants were able to release long held emotions within their bodies, even years after their loved one had passed.”

Motivated by the experience, she enrolled in the death doula course offered by the International End of Life Doula Association, an organisation in the US. Participants acquire skills revolving around how to support and comfort the dying and their loved ones.

“As I delved deeper into the subject, I realised that this was something that needed to go beyond supporting my clients one-to-one. The societal reluctance to discuss death openly leads to a lot of discomfort and unresolved emotions surrounding the topic, and I realised the need to scale and bring this out to the public,” she said.

So, “I decided to pursue a Masters of Science degree in Thanotology – even doctors go, ‘What’s that?’ – and start The Life Review as a platform for people to get comfortable discussing end-of-life matters through education and engagement.”

As far as she knows, she’s the only one in Singapore taking a Masters in Thanatology (“When the course started, the Programme Director said, ‘Now we are an international programme, thanks to Ming Li!’”) and one of just four people in Singapore who have completed death doula training.

“While trying to help people going through bereavement and grief, it struck me that I also had to look at my own experiences and work through all the emotions and experiences that I hadn’t known how to deal with – or even realised was necessary to,” she divulged.

“The way society operates, if we experience a loss, we are given three days of compassionate leave – and only for immediate family – and then we are expected to get back to ‘normal’ as productive members of society. But what about losing a friend? A partner? A pet? Do you get over it in three days? Since the norm was to get on with life, that’s what I did. It was only later in life that I realised that it was affecting me in ways that I did not immediately connect back to my earlier experiences, such as in the way I interacted with people in relationships and friendships. I would not get too close in case they would disappear,” she shared.

And so, “The main reason I’m doing this now is because of what I have gone through in my own life. The programmes I’m planning are skewed towards caregivers for now, as I don’t want anyone to be in a situation that I was in.” She added, “It was a turning point for me to adopt cats, knowing that they will die before me, yet to accept this and love them.”

Her work has also turned into “my legacy project for my parents”.

“I have a purpose to fulfil now, to bring The Life Review into fruition, in the remaining years left of my life. And in a way, I’m already planning for my end, making sure that I don’t regret things that I could or should have done,” she said.

DINNER WITH A PURPOSE

At Death Over Dinner events, “The framing of conversations is intentionally designed to be inclusive and non-confrontational. Participants are encouraged to share their thoughts and experiences without feeling pressured to delve into deeply personal reflections or imagine their own funerals,” Tan said.

The dinner serves as a casual starting point for discussions about a normally taboo topic to unfold naturally, fostering a sense of comfort and familiarity around the topic of death, she continued. “The intention is not to impose rigid guidelines or restrictions but rather to offer gentle guidance and prompts to steer the dialogue in a constructive direction” while embracing cultural elements within our specific society.

It is also about equipping people with the knowhow and language to either walk alongside a person who is dying, or to support a caregiver.

There are sessions taking place every quarter, which are open for individual sign-ups. The next Death Over Dinner event is planned for Apr 25 at Podi & Poriyal, with a group size of 12 to 16 people. Tan is also open to private group bookings, and hopes to possibly work with other restaurants as well.

The topic of death is rarely broached when everyone is healthy, she mused. But, in the face of loss, which comes sooner or later to all of us, “People may struggle to find the right words to express their feelings or fears, fearing that broaching the topic could cause further distress or discomfort to the person who is ill. As a result, conversations about end-of-life wishes, funeral arrangements, or even acknowledging the possibility of death may be avoided altogether, creating a palpable tension and unease.

"Dealing with it openly and saying what needs to be said can help the ones left behind adjust to the loss after the person passes away.”

And, “In the case of someone who knows they are dying, people around them not wanting to talk about it can leave them feeling unheard. They may not be able to express their desires; there may be things left unsaid; there may be people tiptoeing around them and telling them, ‘You’re going to be fine’ when they know full well they won’t be.”

The question of how we can begin to approach the topic of death in a meaningful way begs another: How talking about death openly and frankly can help us to live our lives more fully and intentionally.

“Accepting the finite nature of life and finding peace with it can change our outlook on life. When we acknowledge that life inevitably starts and ends, we are able to define what happens in between that holds significance,” Tan said.

“How do we make what happens in the middle matter? How do we leave a legacy for ourselves and future generations? Do we want to spend our time sweating the small stuff and harbouring grudges, or instead, use it to create memories and foster deep relationships? Living intentionally prompts us to confront these questions and align our actions with our values.

“Ultimately, embracing the impermanence of life compels us to live authentically, love fiercely and leave a legacy of compassion and connection.”

To sign up for Death Over Dinner, visit https://thelifereview.org/death-over-dinner.

#Southeast Asia #Singapore #Tan Ming Li #Death

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starwarsmum · 24 days

Text

I'm a lying liar who lies because I've added a bonus chapter onto Lost in Paris!

So here's chapter 7 y'all ❤️

Chapter 7: A Bruce-y Bonus

Bruce Wayne was having a bad day. Well, more like a bad week. Okay, to be completely honest, the past year hadn't been great. First, Jason had taken Bludhaven’s protector to Paris for a week, leaving it vulnerable to attack: it had been unbelievably lucky that nothing serious had happened.

Then, his worst nightmare had come true and an unknown magic user had managed to hoodwink Wonder Woman enough to gain access to the Watchtower. Ladybug and her team had been accepted by most everyone else without question, a sure sign that she had bewitched them.

And in the past eight months, Tim had begun scheduling increasingly regular meetings for him at Wayne Enterprises, meetings he had been unable to avoid. Every time he had tried to get out of them, Tim had sternly reminded him that he was a co-CEO and would need to start pulling his own weight. He had been embarrassed to be scolded by his son saying that he was putting too much on the young man's shoulders.

In fairness, not long after he had begun taking on a more active role in the company, Alfred had taken pity on him and started to help him more than he had been in the previous five years. Whilst Alfred had never mentioned Damian’s departure, past the first time he inquired after his absence, Bruce was sure that the man had, at least in part, blamed Bruce for him being gone.

But now, after a suspiciously quiet-from-villains Christmas season, Alfred was reminding Bruce that he would be leaving the mansion for a few days. Bruce was floored; Alfred rarely left the manor overnight, and never for multiple days. “Alfred, surely you aren't leaving now? Right before Valentine's Day, when the villains of Gotham have been quiet for the past few national holidays?”

“Master Bruce, I did warn you that I would need to leave on urgent business around this time,” Alfred said pointedly, closing his suitcase with a snap. Bruce made protests but they fell on deaf ears. When he questioned the timing, and what on earth he was going to be doing that couldn't be put off, Alfred gave an almost weary sigh. “I have already explained to you, Master Bruce, that a family member I believed long lost had actually made a family after I lost contact with them. The family reached out to me recently and has made me aware that they can accommodate an extended visit now, and I intend to go to them.”

“You're planning on traveling alone, to family that you've never visited before?” Bruce asked, incredulous. “Alfred, that sounds unwise, what if they turn out to be something more sinister?”

“They have already proven to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are who they say they are. But I do not plan to travel alone, Master Tim has graciously offered to go with me to ensure my safety. He was most apprehensive about this, presumably for the same reasons you are.”

“You're taking Tim?” It was worse than Bruce had thought - with Jason and Dick irritated with him, he couldn't trust them to watch over his city with him. Tim was the last of his sons behaving as he was trained, and now he was leaving for several days? “Tim can't leave, he has work! Not to mention I need him to help cover the various parts of Gotham.”

“That is not something that I can help you with, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, sounding thoroughly exasperated at this point. Bruce conceded, wishing Alfred a safe trip, and to call him if he needed him. Regardless of the apparent abandonment, he would not allow harm to come to Alfred should it transpire that this ‘family visit’ was more sinister than it appeared.

Once he left Alfred's chambers, he strode swiftly to Tim's. Upon finding them empty, he paused before deciding to check the Batcave. He was proven correct when he heard his son's voice and allowed his feet to make noise as he entered, wanting Tim's full attention.

“Bruce, what can I help you with?” Tim said, after asking whoever was on the other end of the phone to hold for a moment. When Bruce remained silent, Tim sighed and turned to face him. Whilst Bruce did not agree that he was needed at Wayne Enterprises, he could not deny that Tim looked better rested these days. “Well? I'm sure you didn't come down here just to watch me work.”

“You're leaving Gotham? For several days, without informing me beforehand?” Bruce's voice came out in a growl, slightly more aggressive than he intended, but he decided it wasn't unwarranted. “One of our quietest Christmases on record, followed by an almost peaceful new year, and you leave right before the next holiday? I know you're smarter than that, we need to be prepared in case something happens.”

“I'm aware, B, that's why I'm coordinating with other Justice League members to cover my absence. Both Supermen have already confirmed they can be called upon to help, although Super-senior will be closer and more on hand. Flash has promised to come in if Supes is busy, and Ivy and Harley are keeping their own sectors under control. You'll be fine for the few days we'll be gone, I promise.”

After that, Tim resolutely ignored any of Bruce's protests, culminating in the older man stalking away. His anxiety only mounted when he heard Jason's laugh echoing from the kitchen. Jason had refused to visit for years, only coming when he was sure Bruce would be absent, and only to visit Alfred.

“Jason, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Bruce said, his heart warming until he saw a sour expression cross his son's face. “What brings you by?”

“Just here to pick up Alfie and Timmy,” Jason said begrudgingly. “I'm their ride, and we need to get moving.”

“I shall fetch Master Tim, he does seem to be blind to the time on occasions,” Alfred said, amusement and affection plain in his tone. Once he was out of the room, Jason scowled at Bruce, pointedly not picking up the conversation. So Bruce attempted to restart it, clearing his throat.

“I'm surprised you're offering them a ride, Jason, I didn't think you owned anything other than a motorbike,” Bruce said, curious. When that didn't get him an answer, he tried again. “When did you get a car?”

“I've had a car for years, I just don't use it much. And since Alfie is getting a well-earned vacation, I refuse to let him drive. Are we done now?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Tim burst into the room, carrying his own suitcase. Alfred followed at a more sedate pace, smiling and carrying his luggage. Jason immediately took it from the elderly gentleman, refusing to accept his protests. “I was just talking to Kon and making sure he had everything covered. Seeya later, Bruce!”

“I have left several meals in the freezer, Master Bruce, with labels and instructions of how to prepare them. I shall be back in one week at the latest, do try not to burn the manor to the ground.”

And Bruce was left suddenly alone, the voices of his family fading as they climbed into Jason's car and then an engine starting, followed by silence. He was flabbergasted, not only had Jason shown up to accompany Tim and Alfred, his sons seemed to be on much better terms again. He felt out of place, as if he had woken in the wrong house, and wrongfooted.

After several minutes of staring at the door, he decided he needed to know more about Alfred's supposed family. He placed a call to Oracle, stating what he needed firmly and ending the call as soon as she confirmed it back to him. Then he headed back down to the Batcave to do his own research.

_ _ _

Several hours later, the only information Barbara gave him was what he had found for himself. He was too preoccupied to notice the exasperation in her tone when he said that he had found the information himself already, but he didn't miss the snarl he got when he had asked her if that was all she had found. Nor did he miss the dial tone when she disconnected the call.

He reviewed the data, resolving to deal with her attitude at a later date. He sometimes wondered if he was the only one capable of behaving professionally, and often considered whether this was a side effect of deciding to train literal children.

He looked at the flight to Paris that Alfred, Tim and, shockingly, Jason had boarded. It was still in the air, although it wouldn't be long until it arrived. If he wasn't currently the last Bat in Gotham, he would be able to beat them there via the Zeta tubes and shadow them to find out what was going on.

Unfortunately, he had to wait until the next day when Batgirl and Spoiler returned from their most recent trip abroad. He was in a bad mood when he went on patrol, and the fact that there were hardly any disturbances annoyed him. It made it look like Tim was right to abandon his post in favour of a ‘vacation’, as Jason had put it.

He briefed Steph and Cass as soon as they arrived, explaining that he was going to the Watchtower on an urgent matter, and to call if they needed help. He scowled when they said that they had already been informed of the plans in place, Tim having informed them somehow. He had been checking Tim's outgoing messages and there was no record of contact between them.

But finally, he arrived on the Watchtower, making his way over to his office. He had found himself spending more and more time in the office, ever since Ladybug had effectively resigned from the League. Wonder Woman had been furious, immediately pulling Bruce into a meeting room to chew him out. He had argued back, just as stubbornly, that Ladybug had proven herself a liability and they still needed to know her identity.

But Bruce had not won that argument, and Wonder Woman was still barely speaking to him. Even Superman had distanced himself, privately telling Bruce that he was worried about him, and that he thought he was wrong. And so, frustratingly, Bruce had had to conduct all of his research on Ladybug by himself, not even Tim assisting.

A line had been drawn that had left his family on one side, agreeing that Ladybug's identity was her own business, and the correct side, pointing out that she was a loose cannon that needed to be reined in. The only person who seemed to agree with Bruce was Green Lantern, irritatingly.

Once secluded in his office, he pulled together all of the files he had compiled, starting with the crime statistics in Paris. They were suspiciously low, and Bruce felt that someone must have been altering the numbers before they were released, but he couldn't find a trail to the true statistics.

He then looked up Tim's credit card, finding several purchases in the past 12 hours. They all centered around a few apartment buildings, making Bruce's eyes narrow; was Tim not staying in a hotel? And the area Alfred's supposed family was staying in was much more expensive than he would have thought, could there be more to that story?

He went around the information several times before touching on the seemingly unconnected Ladybug. How did she factor in to Alfred traveling halfway around the world to Paris? Because he was positive she must have something to do with it, especially as all of his major problems had started when Dick went to Paris with Jason.

Several hours later, he concluded that there was nothing for it but to visit Paris himself. It would be around midday in France, meaning that he was more likely to spot where his family were. He packed his surveillance gear, but chose to go as Bruce Wayne instead of Batman. No point in calling attention to himself when he knew that Ladybug disliked that she had been unable to charm him.

He found a central cafe to the apartment buildings, settled onto a bistro table outside and waited. It took over an hour, but eventually he was rewarded when Jason came into view, holding hands with a young girl, no older than 2. Jason was looking down at her indulgently, listening to every word she said and responding when she paused for breath.

Watching intently, he observed them stepping into the tallest building, greeted by a doorman who seemed to recognise the pair on sight. Bruce frowned, wondering how he might be able to talk his way past the man. He made and discarded several plans over the next couple of hours, but ultimately couldn't think of a foolproof plan that wouldn't show his hand.

His stubborn refusal to move from his seat was rewarded again when Tim came out of the building next, accompanied by Alfred, the young girl who had been with Jason and a small woman with a pram. She smiled sunnily at the doorman, saying something that Bruce couldn't lipread.

Bruce's fortune continued when the group headed towards the cafe he was in, and he browsed the newspaper he had brought with him, whilst listening intently. The woman's voice was clear and warm, a combination that made Bruce slightly homesick for his life before that night in Crime Alley.

“Merci, Monsieur Pennyworth,” she was saying, seemingly paying little attention to Tim and the little girl. “I have felt…unsettled for much of today, I appreciate you coming with us. Hopefully, the others will have located the source of the disturbance by the time we…”

Her voice went out of his hearing range, and he waited a few moments before following. This was the family Alfred had spoken of? She seemed nice, but she had called him by his surname and seemed overly polite with the man. His suspicions (paranoia, a quiet voice murmured in the back of his mind) were heightened by her demeanor but he didn't move to act just yet.

He watched Tim playing with the little girl, making her shriek and giggle as he swung her around. Just like with Jason, his son doted on the child, apparently hanging off of her every word. It was as alarming as it was endearing, and Bruce decided to try and close the distance between them.

“...next week with Master Dick,” Alfred finished, looking and sounding at ease. Bruce tensed at the mention of his eldest, wondering what they had been discussing. “But I am so glad you were able to accommodate our visit, so soon. Now, we shall wait here whilst you visit with your friend, it would be rude of us to intrude.”

The young lady beamed up at Alfred, giving him a tight hug before calling for the little girl, Penélope. He got his first full glimpse of the little girl, and she had startling green eyes, and a shock of black hair. Her hair was a shade darker than the woman's own hair, almost absorbing the light that hers seemed to reflect.

Once the trio had vanished into the building, Tim and Alfred stood closely together, muttering in voices too low for Bruce to hear. Just when he thought he would move closer, a hand dropped onto his shoulder. He whirled, aiming to floor his assailant, only to pull up short when he recognised Jason - who looked furious.

“Bruce, what the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was full of anger, dark energy almost radiating from him. When he didn't get an answer, he grasped Bruce's upper arm and marched him over to Tim and Alfred. “I found the problem, apparently Bruce is stalking us.”

“Master Bruce, what brings you to Paris?” Alfred said, voice deceptively even. But Bruce could see the disappointment lurking in the older man's eyes and felt himself hunch inward. “I have to assume you are here on some form of business, as I know I taught you better than to impose yourself onto others’ plans.”

The silence that followed was awkward and intense. When Bruce looked to Tim for help, he was surprised to see the same anger across his face that Jason had. He swallowed before attempting to do some damage control. “...I have been concerned about all of your behaviours. The fact that you are all in a known enemy's base of operations is concerning-”

“Known enem- are you talking about Ladybug?” Came Jason's disgusted response. Bruce glared at him defiantly, ever more confident that she was the reason his family was acting strangely. “Bruce, you're being ridiculous, Ladybug hasn't even been seen since your ridiculous blow up on the Watchtower. How is your paranoia still pushing all of your buttons? Jesus, I don't think Alfred has even met Ladybug, how is it so twisted in your head that you think she's a problem right now?”

“Everything that has been going wrong this past year can be linked back to Ladybug. At the beginning of last year, you dragged Dick to Paris, leaving his city undefended and vulnerable. And you only did that after taking the Zeta tubes to Paris yourself the December before, which is when I assume you met Ladybug the first time.

“That all led to Ladybug making it onto the Watchtower, bamboozling most of the high ranking heroes and putting everyone at risk. She then allowed an unregistered magic user access, before finally realising that she wasn't going to fool me and declaring us enemies! And now, suddenly, Alfred believes he has long lost family in Paris, even though he's never mentioned anything of the sort before. If this has nothing to do with Ladybug, why is all of this happening?”

“Bruce, you are so far off your rocker, you should be in Arkham! Ladybug has literally done nothing wrong, she showed up to help and you treated her like a criminal. People like her because she's nice , and she genuinely wants to help them. She has literally been saving the world since she was fourteen, keeping her identity safe from even her teammates. What has she done, other than refuse to tell you her name, that makes you so suspicious of her?”

“There doesn't need to be another reason! I know the identities of every other hero in the Justice League, Ladybug should be no exception. How can we trust her if she won't tell us who she is?”

“Did you tell her who you were, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked quietly, and Bruce felt betrayed. He stared speechlessly at the man he saw as a father. Alfred sighed and placed a gentle hand on his charge's arm. “Master Bruce, you are a good man but you cannot expect trust from those you give none to.”

Silence descended once more, broken only when Tim's phone rang. He stepped away, answering and speaking in low tones. Bruce strained to hear what was being said but couldn't quite hear him without stepping closer. Which Jason stubbornly refused to let him do.

“Okay, alright, if you think it's a good idea, I can give him the phone,” Tim said, getting back into hearing range. His brow furrowed before his eyes widened. “Wait, what? You can't be serious, what good would it do for you to come here? No, I don't think- fine. We'll see you in ten.”

“He isn't,” Jason said, hand tightening on Bruce's arm. “Tell me he isn't just giving in and coming here.”

“He wants to finish things,” Tim said, shrugging, and Bruce tensed at the obvious threat in his words. Tim noticed and groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus Bruce, take a chill pill. You're in no physical danger, even if you deserve a good smack.”

The next ten minutes passed in a charged silence, all four of them watching each other. Jason and Tim looked angry, but Alfred merely looked apprehensive and a little…sad. Bruce tensed further when he heard footsteps approaching from behind him, and span around to face the new threat.

When he first saw the approaching man, he was confused. The man was tall, muscular and had hair as dark as a starless night. He had a strong build, similar to Bruce's own, but seemed to have less tension. Bruce remained alert as he approached the group, stopping only once he was within touching distance.

“Todd, you may release him,” the man said, his voice unfamiliar, although the manner of speaking was not. Bruce shifted one of his feet behind him, distributing his weight to better defend. The man watched him with a raised brow, apparently amused by this behaviour. “Tt, it is good to see you too, father,” he said sarcastically, and Bruce fought the urge to blink and gape at him.

“Damian?” When the man nodded, Bruce could see the resemblance to the eighteen year old boy who had stormed off in a fit of pique. He had the same scowl lines, the same arrogant tilt to his mouth. “What are you doing here? Don't tell me you're a part of this conspiracy as well.”

“The only reason I am here is to stop you from terrorising my wife, who recently gave birth. You may think it appropriate to stalk a young woman and her two infant children,” Damian said, building up to full outrage and scathing sarcasm, “but if Todd had not spotted and recognised you, you would be dealing with the police and the local heroes. I will ask only once, what are you doing here?”

“My entire family abandons their posts and you didn't expect me to find out what was happening?” Bruce refused to let his cool demeanor slip, his voice deep and unworried. “I wasn't trying to stalk a young mother, I was assessing a threat. What is your connection to Ladybug? And what are her plans, does she intend to corrupt the Justice League further?”

“Hey, we did not ‘abandon our posts’, you fucking egotistical maniac,” Jason cut in, although Alfred admonished him for his language. “No, he's gone fucking insane, seeing enemies everywhere. Timbo here made sure your precious Gotham had super powered heroes on hand to keep the peace, not to mention Dick's still in Bludhaven which is barely a train ride away. And it doesn't matter what you thought you were doing, you could have traumatised my niece with your bullshit.

“You know what, on top of that, what level of crazy do you have to be to see Damian, standing in front of you with the rest of your family, and still assume that a freaking superhero is the bad guy? We're all here to see Damian, who we love and missed because you have control issues. Get your head outta your ass and go home, you lunatic.”

Bruce stared at Jason, a frown on his face. He turned back to Damian after a moment, only to see him appraising Jason with surprise. Jason looked back at him before shrugging, almost bashful. “What? You knew all of that, stop staring at me.”

“I think that Master Damian is just touched that you care, Master Jason,” Alfred said, smiling warmly at his grandchildren. “And I must agree, we do love you, Master Damian, and I do believe you have made quite the home for yourself here in Paris.”

“None of you have told me what connection this has to Ladybug!” Bruce interjected, impatience making him snap. “And before you say that there is no connection, I will remind you that you are not behaving like yourselves. How are we even sure that this is really Damian?”

“Father, I am tired of this argument. You once told me that Robin could not stand without Batman, when I tried to persuade you to give me the freedom to step out from your shadow. You refused and I stepped out anyway. I did not come looking for Todd, even though I knew where to find him. He found me, and asked to be a part of the family I made for myself.

“I do not understand your obsession with the Parisian heroes, nor do I want to. Make no mistake, I have met them and made them aware of my past as I moved to their city, and I will be telling them about this…incursion. I have a life here and I will not allow you to ruin my life a second time.”

“How on earth did I ruin your life?” Bruce asked, bewildered. From where he was standing, it had most definitely been the other way around. “If you hadn't thrown a temper tantrum and run away, like a child, your brothers would be working to keep their city safe right now. Instead, you've convinced them to enter a potentially dangerous city, with a woman who thinks herself above the authority of the League!”

“Ah yes, the ‘dangerous’ city, which boasts the lowest crime rates and has superhero protectors. This interrogation is over, father, go home before I do call the police and press charges.”

Bruce stared openly at the man claiming to be his son as he walked away. Instead of walking back the way he had come, he entered the building the woman had gone into, presumably to conspire further. He was jostled from his reverie by Jason, who started to march him down the street.

“What do you think you're doing?” Bruce demanded, his surprise giving way to indignation. Neither Tim nor Alfred made a move to stop Jason, which only made him angrier. “Jason, let go of me, I’m not done here. The only way to be sure that that is your brother is to do extensive tests. You need to listen to me, Ladybug must have done something to you, that's why-"

“Bruce, enough. You show up, terrify our sister-in-law and somehow think that you're in the right anyway? If even Alfred isn't on your side, you have to know you messed up,” Jason said, scowling even more, if that was possible.

“Jason, wait.” Both men halted suddenly at the words, the petite woman having arrived without their notice. “Merci, I did not want to have to chase you down. Jason, it is alright, you can let him go.”

“Pix, I really don't think this is a good idea,” Jason said, scowl softening to an unhappy frown when he looked at her. Bruce went onto high alert, his mind making connections between the petite French woman and the ‘heroine’ of Paris. “You weren't wrong in leaving him out of the family reunion, he's completely lost it.”

“Thank you, Jason,” she said softly, and Bruce was floored when his angriest son relented and released him with only a warning glance. “I would feel better if you did not leave us, though. Damian is already anxious enough, having to stay with the children whilst I have this conversation.”

“My son doesn't get anxious,” Bruce said, decisively and without doubt. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he felt himself get rightfully angry. “I know Damian, miss, and one of his qualities is his lack of fear. Now, tell me what your connection to Ladybug is.”

“Ladybug? The French superheroine?” The woman seemed genuinely perplexed. That more than anything else so far made Bruce pause. “Monsieur , you do realise that I was a teenager during her main years of hero-work, and that she is most notable for defeating a supervillain who preyed mostly on teenagers’ negative emotions? What do you think my connection with her is?”

“So you admit you are connected to her?” He said, pouncing on her admittance. He ignored Jason's eye roll, and Tim's put-upon sigh, positive that she had slipped and revealed more than she intended to. “What are her plans for my family? For the world?”

“You are actually insane,” she whispered, a look he read as horror crossing her features, and Bruce flinched at the quiet concern he heard in her voice. “Monsieur, Ladybug was famous for asking for aid in her battles and, I admit, I was available once to assist her. But I was not an adequate holder for the Mouse Miraculous and was therefore retired after a single fight. I have not spoken to Ladybug since then, although I believe my husband has contact with her due to his…past.”

“You- there must be more to this! You will not convince me that there is no plot from Ladybug, any more than you will that the man you claim to be your husband is my son. Now, tell me what you know about Ladybug's plans.”

“As far as I know, Ladybug has no plans. Nobody has seen her in six months, although the other heroes are seen now and then. But I am not going to be able to convince you of that. We have not even begun to discuss what I came to say to you, and you will listen . If you are indeed Bruce Wayne, then yes, I married your son, Damian Wayne.

“It horrifies me that you think him incapable of fear, anxiety and probably doubt. Damian is brave, yes, but he fears disappointing those he cares for, something I am sure stems from his life in Gotham. He fears losing the life he has made here, and he is worried that you will make that happen.

“You obviously allow fear to colour your decisions, or else you would not be here, confronting the mother of a newborn and a toddler. As someone who had to gain mastery of her emotions at a young age, let me assure you that you are in the wrong here.

“Now, I have answered your questions to the best of my abilities,” she concluded, stepping back. He stepped forward, intent on getting more information from her but was stopped by Jason. “I suggest you find another way to spend your vacances, because if I see you following me again, I will be pressing charges and requesting a restraining order.”

“You can't-” Bruce started but she turned back to him, a flash of anger gracing her features.

“Monsieur, I am tired, hurting from having given birth little over a week ago, and have been frightened by a strange man following me and my family. I have already informed the police of my concerns, and it is already on file. I shall be updating that report once I go inside, if Damian has not already. For your own sake, I suggest you give me a wide berth.”

And then she was stalking away, stopping briefly next to Alfred and Tim, who was lowering his phone and looking at Bruce as if he didn't know him. Alfred was focused purely on her though, one of his arms around her shoulder as he steered her into the building.

After that his protests were ignored, and Jason forced him back onto the Watchtower. He was met there by Wonder Woman and Superman, both looking concerned. Well, anger was also fairly predominant on Wonder Woman's face, but it was tempered by some concern.

“Bruce, what's going on buddy?” Superman said gently, taking hold of him firmly and nodding at Jason. The younger man relinquished his hold on Bruce and thanked both of them for taking over. “No problem, Jason, let us know if you need anything else.”

“Nah, it's cool, I just want to go spend time with my brother and his kids without worrying about them being stalked,” Jason replied, giving Bruce a stern glare, before turning on his heel and vanishing from sight. The trio watched him disappear from view before Superman and Wonder Woman turned back to him.

“I do not know why you have insisted so much on painting Ladybug as a villain,” Wonder Woman began, the anger he could see on her face much more evident in her voice. “And I'm not sure I wish to. What possessed you to stalk a young woman and confront her in the streets of Paris?”

“That young woman is a cohort of Ladybug, and she has convinced the rest of the Bats that she is their only connection to Damian,” Bruce said, convinced that he could at least make them see sense. Superman looked surprised, but a happy kind of surprise, probably because Jon was often considered Damian's best friend before he went AWOL.

“Wait, you found Robin? When?” Superman demanded, but Bruce refused to answer him. He excused himself for a moment, calling Superboy to join them. Wonder Woman stayed still, watching Bruce. The silence stretched as no-one attempted to ask any more questions, and Bruce refused to explain himself.

Eventually, Superboy entered the room, smiling sunnily until he saw Bruce. At that point, the smile dimmed into a frown, just shy of a glare. It made Bruce tense all over, warning bells ringing in his head that Superboy was the first one approached on the Watchtower, which surely meant that he was compromised.

“Hey dad, you wanted to see me?” The young Kryptonian asked, moving next to the more brightly dressed heroes in the room. Superman gave a brief rundown of the situation and Superboy's glare turned almost lethal. “You stalked Damian's family?”

“So it's really them?” Superman asked, clearly stunned. When Superboy nodded and smiled, the older man smiled back, but looked a little hurt. “Why didn't you say anything to me or your mom? How long have you known?”

“It's been just under a year, I found out last April,” Superboy admitted, and Bruce quickly made the connection to Ladybug's first appearance on the Watchtower. He glanced at Bruce before continuing. “And I didn't tell you because Damian's wife was pretty explicit in her instructions that certain people be kept out of this particular loop. She's crazy protective of him, which I don't think is unfair given his past.”

“You make it sound as if he was being tortured,” Bruce said loftily, staring at the young hero. Superboy just stared back at him, making him bristle with irritation. “My son has always been fiercely independent, to the point of being callous to all other people. His moniker of Ice Prince was not given in error, but you expect me to believe that he met a woman in the past six years and completely changed?”

“He hasn't really changed, though,” Superboy argued, visibly getting aggravated. Bruce snorted, drawing the eyes of both Superman and Wonder Woman back to him. “No, really. I've spent tons of time with him and his family in the last ten months, and he's the same guy he was when I left him in Germany six years ago. He just learned to bend a little, something you could really benefit from.”

“You will not convince me that Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, who barely managed to learn not to be an assassin, became the man I met today.”

“Okay, this is going around in circles. There's a much easier way of checking whether this young man is who he says he is, assuming you never revoked his access to the Watchtower?” Bruce said nothing but nodded slowly, allowing Superman to proceed. “Superboy, can you ask him to come to the Watchtower? Obviously he doesn't have to, but it would help to confirm that it is actually him.”

“I'll ask, but he does have a newborn,” Superboy said doubtfully. “He doesn't like being away from his family at the best of times, but after what they went through today…” he glanced again at Bruce, who refused to give any outward sign of discomfort.

When Superboy was able to get hold of the man claiming to be Damian, there was no argument. The tension seeped away from Superboy's shoulders as he chatted quietly about the other man coming to the Watchtower.

“Did he agree?” Superman asked eagerly, and Bruce was concerned that he was too biased to look at everything objectively. Superman had always been hopelessly optimistic about Damian returning to the fold. He practically vibrated with happiness when Superboy nodded, grabbing him up in a hug. “That's wonderful, when should we expect him to be here?”

“He needs some time to change and get to the Zeta tube, but it shouldn't be more than an hour,” Superboy said, glancing at Bruce. The next hour passed in near silence, and they moved to another room for better access to the computers so that they could check who was accessing the tubes in real time.

But finally the computer lit up, confirming that Robin was accessing the Zeta tube in Paris. Superman gave a happy laugh, squeezing his son's shoulder tightly. Superboy smiled less brightly, and Bruce eyed him suspiciously - if it was truly Damian, why was he suddenly unhappy?

Everything went even quieter when the young man Bruce had confronted earlier stepped into the room. He was dressed in an updated version of the Robin suit, the colours more muted, but still obviously Robin. Bruce refused to admit it, but he looked good, better than in the previous colours.

“I thought you weren't taking the mantle of Robin anymore? And where did you get a new suit?” Bruce demanded, eyes hard. Robin tensed before letting out a long breath and turning to face him.

“I do not wear the mantle ordinarily, but I would not come to the Watchtower without something to obscure my identity. My wife is a talented seamstress and made this for me in case I ever wished to wear it,” Robin said coolly, his hands steady. Bruce was still trying to figure out why the suit looked strange when Wonder Woman worked it out.

“You came without your usual weapons,” she observed. Bruce realised it was true, the Robin in front of him lacked the katana he used to wear in Gotham. “Thank you, for taking time away from your family to settle this matter. And congratulations on welcoming your little one to join your family.”

“Thank you, we are overjoyed that they both have come through the birth safely. And I did not bring a weapon as I am not here to fight. I am only here to prevent further intrusions upon my wife and family,” Robin said, glaring at Bruce. “I believe the main reason you required my presence was to test whether the Zeta tubes recognised me?”

“Yes, and we have already confirmed your identity. May we ask some questions before we allow you to rejoin your family?” Wonder Woman was being gentle, her voice soft. Robin responded well, another thing that made Bruce suspicious, but he could not argue with the system in place for the Zeta tubes.

“I've got a question for you, if that's okay,” Superman said suddenly. When Robin nodded, he leaned towards both Robin and Superboy. “You left Gotham over six years ago, apparently with Superboy's help. How is it we haven't been able to locate you? I know most of the Bats have been trying for a long time.”

“Ah, that was due to Red Robin being under the impression that I had run away. Due to that belief, he never searched for my true name when searching for me. It was pure luck that Red Hood happened upon my details and re-entered my life. From there, I have made contact with all of my siblings, and Agent A.”

“My understanding is that you approached individuals one at a time to begin with. Why go such a roundabout way? Would it not have been easier just to approach everyone at once?” Wonder Woman asked; a pointless question in Bruce's eyes. He was growing impatient to ask what the connection with Ladybug was, as with Superman here, he wouldn't be able to hide his reactions.

“Tt, we were attempting to keep our lives private and out of scrutiny from…certain individuals,” Robin said, blatantly eyeing Bruce. “My wife has always wanted me to pursue this at my own pace, if I ever chose to reconnect with my family. And I did not wish to subject her, or my children, to the level of interrogation I knew would await them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Bruce growled, glaring at Robin. “I have waited long enough for you to tell me and you will answer me: what is your connection to Ladybug?”

“And I have already informed you of my connection,” Robin frowned, distaste obvious in his features. “Ladybug is the heroine responsible for Paris. I made a home for myself there, and with my particular past, I thought it prudent to inform her of who I was and the risks associated with my mother.”

“So you gave her your identity,” Bruce accused, a feeling of dread settling into his core. “How could you be so selfish? It was never just your secret to share!”

“How could I inform the resident hero of potential threats that came with my relocating to her domain?” Robin asked, a cool detachment becoming evident in his tone. “I do not have to explain myself to you , father. I did not tell Ladybug any additional information, I merely gave her the facts of my background and only to ensure that she would not be taken unaware if others came looking for me.”

“It was the responsible thing to do,” Wonder Woman interjected, frowning at Bruce once more. “Given that there have been no complications for yourself in the six years since Robin relocated to Paris, I would say it is not unjustified. I have yet to hear a logical explanation for your own behaviour, Batman.”

“Ladybug is an unknown power, she is a threat and we need to plan for when she eventually goes completely rogue!” Bruce could feel the situation slipping sideways, and knew that this would not be happening if Ladybug hadn't already woven her spell over the other League members. “Wonder Woman, you have deferred to Ladybug ever since she pushed to become a member of the Justice League and-”

“She did not push to become a member,” Wonder Woman said quietly. The room went silent, Superman and Superboy looking confused and Bruce outright befuddled. The only person who seemed unsurprised was Robin, which made Bruce even more suspicious. Wonder Woman sighed and pulled up her communication history with Ladybug on the computer bank.

“Ladybug has been of interest to me ever since she publicly revealed that she had defeated her nemesis and would continue to protect the city of Paris. I reached out with an invitation to join the League but she declined. I have reached out periodically since then, and last April she finally agreed to join, along with many of her cohorts.

“So you can understand my frustration when one of our founding members treated her with suspicion, was hostile and unwelcoming, and eventually drove her to resign from the League,” Wonder Woman said, her voice a deadly calm. “You had no right to pry into her identity, no right to press her until she decided it was safer for her to leave.”

“I think I have served my purpose as much as I am able,” Robin said after a brief silence, in which Bruce and Wonder Woman were locked in a glaring contest. All four turned to look at him as he stood, Superman looking a little upset at him having to leave so soon. “My wife is understandably in a vulnerable state right now, and she has had a stressful day. If you do not have any further questions, I shall take my leave.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Superman said before floating over to him. “I guess my only question is if you intend to return to the Watchtower in the future? Or to hero work at all?”

“No, that part of my life is over,” Robin- no, Damian, he wouldn't be Robin anymore, regardless of what costumes he wore. Bruce felt an odd feeling of loss as his son bid farewell to Wonder Woman and Superman, bowing formally to each. “Thank you for your guidance in my youth, but I have found my place and a family who love me. I do not wish to jeopardise it by falling back into bad habits.”

“Then this is goodbye,” Wonder Woman said, sounding suspiciously hoarse. She hesitated before reaching over and gripping his shoulder tightly, trying to convey something that Bruce couldn't decipher. “I wish you and your family all the best. With Ladybug as the guardian of your city, I am sure that your children will grow up safe and well.”

“Tt, if your civilian selves ever find their way to Paris, do not hesitate to reach out,” Damian said firmly, turning to Superman. “Superboy knows where to find us, I give permission for him to relay my contact information through secure methods.”

Pausing only briefly, Damian then embraced Superman quickly, surprising everyone in the room. And then he was striding away, cape billowing dramatically behind him, not bothering to say goodbye to Bruce. Superboy trailed after him, floating along until they were side by side, Superboy and Robin, a sight nobody had seen in six years, and likely never would again.

“I think I have heard enough,” Wonder Woman said at last, breaking into Bruce's thoughts. He turned to her, tense and already looking to make counter arguments but the look on her face made him pause. She looked at him with something akin to pity, mixed with frustration and anger. “Batman, you have proven you do not have an unbiased view of the Parisian heroes. You also used the Zeta tubes to selfishly enter the city to satisfy your own curiosity.

“If Superman agrees, we will be restricting your access to the Paris Zeta tube. You will not be able to enter Ladybug's city without an accompanying hero, and even then we will be monitoring your actions. In addition, we will be monitoring your searches, to ensure you do not overstep and pry into your son's new life and family. He has made it clear that he does not wish for your involvement and we will respect those wishes.”

“This is absurd!” Bruce shouted, anger beginning to be crowded with panic. How did he make them see that they were bewitched? Nobody was so much as entertaining the idea that Ladybug was a danger, and that alarmed him. “You can't just-”

“Yes we can!” Wonder Woman shouted back, temper finally snapping. “You have caused irreparable damage with your paranoia and pigheadedness! Ladybug was a powerful ally, someone who did countless good in the four months she was with us and you ruined it ! Not only that, but it is blatantly obvious that you were the sole reason we lost Robin as a hero! You have always been suspicious of magic and it has gone too far.”

“B, you have to see that we have no choice,” Superman said quietly, sympathy clear in his voice, but with a surety that meant he would not be swayed. “Stalking a woman through the streets of Paris? You're lucky the police didn't get fully involved. As it is, if they ever choose to look into it, they'll see that Bruce Wayne never entered the country legally, which puts your whole identity at risk. You're behaving irrationally, and it's our job to make sure you don't cause further problems.”

After that, it didn't matter what Bruce said, Wonder Woman and Superman refused to bend. They sent him back to Gotham, though not before telling him that they were revoking his access to all Zeta tubes for the next month. He tried to argue that he would need them if there was an emergency, but they shut that down by suggesting that another hero could bring him.

When he returned, begrudgingly, to his manor, it was quiet in a way it had rarely been before. He looked around the batcave, imagining Dick on the trapeze equipment, or Jason reading a worn paperback at the planning table. He could almost hear Tim and Barbara clacking away at the computer, arguing about the most efficient way to hack into so-and-so's company for evidence.

Steph would have been complaining to Duke about a bust gone wrong, while he consoled her, and Cass would be listening intently, offering only the occasional word of comfort. How long had it been since the cave had been full? Since the family had been gathered and working together for the common good?

His eyes strayed to the wall covered in swords. They had barely been touched since Damian had left, only being used when someone was feeling rusty at that particular practice. And it had been a long time since anyone had just stopped by for a training session.

Damian. His wayward son, the reason for all of the strife and discontent in Bruce's household. He swallowed, stepping closer to the swords but not touching them. Why had he never returned? Bruce had never imagined that he would stay away, nobody else had ever managed. Hell, Jason had died and he'd still come back to the fold.

His eyes fell on a slip of paper, folded in half with his name on the front. He scanned it, heart growing heavy as he read Steph's angry words, saying that Tim had sent her the video he had captured of Bruce's confrontation with Damian and his wife. That she was disappointed and if he needed assistance for anything crime related, he would need to go to another hero.

He sighed, slumping into a seat for longer than he normally would. Ordinarily, Alfred would come and encourage him to get some rest, but as he was in Paris…Bruce forced himself to his feet, going through the motions of going to bed. Perhaps things would look better after some rest.

Something inside him whispered that it wouldn't.

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #damian x marinette #damianette #fanfic #lostinparis #bonus chapter #chapter 7 #daminette #daminette fanfic

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