#but the thing is my dads bald and I look just like him so if I get rid of my hair no ones going to be able to tell us apart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

transmascissues · 2 months

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it's silly but the biggest reason why im not into t yet is bc im so afraid of losing my hair. do you have any solutions/tips for it?

first of all, i don’t think it’s silly — it’s natural to be worried when hair loss is talked about by so many people as like…one of the worst results of aging for men. listening to my dad talk about how much he hates balding definitely did not make me feel particularly good about the knowledge that i may very well be joining him someday. i’m not saying the fear is right, because i don’t think hair loss is something awful that we should avoid at all costs, but it’s an understandable fear given the beauty standards we’re working with, and it’s one that a lot of us (myself included) feel.

one thing that’s helped me is just…paying more attention to the guys that i interact with on a daily basis. i’ve learned two things from it: 1) hair loss is super fucking common. i’d say it’s much harder to find an adult man who isn’t balding at all than it is to find one who’s completely bald. and 2) if you forget everything you’ve been told about how bad hair loss is, you’ll realize that quite frankly, every single one of those guys looks totally fucking fine. it doesn’t ruin their appearance and make them ugly, it looks totally natural and isn’t really even something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it. we put so much weight on it but it’s really just not that big of a deal. i’ll hear my parents talk shit about men in my family who are losing their hair when i didn’t even notice a difference last time i saw them. it’s one of those things (like so many other appearance-related things) that you really only notice at all because you’ve been taught that you’re supposed to care about it.

this isn’t something i’ve done personally, but if you really want to desensitize yourself to the idea of it, embrace the time-honored queer tradition of just shaving your whole damn head! find out what you’d look like without hair, find out how you feel about it and what you can do that makes you feel good about your appearance without hair, test the waters while it’s still a temporary change and not something permanent. that way, it won’t feel like this big scary unknown, and you’ll actually have a frame of reference for your feelings about how you look without hair rather than accepting the societal assumption that you’ll inevitably hate it. if you don’t want to actually shave your head, you could also just fuck around with bald filters or photoshop and see what happens.

oh, and if you’re attracted to men, keep an eye out for guys who are bald or balding and also hot as fuck. in my experience, there’s no insecurity or potential future insecurity that being gay for other men hasn’t helped me with. just off the top of my head, i can think of a couple actors who i think are absolutely fucking gorgeous who have helped me get over my fears about losing my hair. despite what our anti-aging-obsessed world might want you to think, there is no such thing as a physical feature that automatically makes someone less attractive, and while making attractiveness less of a priority in your life is good, it can’t hurt to also give yourself some proof that actually, you might lose your hair and look hot as hell doing it.

basically, entertain the possibility that it won’t be a bad thing at all! whether that’s just because it turns out to be a neutral thing for you or because you end up actually liking it, it’s not an inherently bad thing. i’ve ended up liking a lot of things that were “supposed to” be bad effects of t — i love the weight i’ve gained and the new shape it gives my body, i get a lot of gender euphoria from the fact that my acne is now on parts of my face that i saw a lot of guys in high school get it and i’m not complaining about the scars i get from it either because i’ve always liked the added texture that acne scars give my skin, and so on. i think there’s a lot of joy to be had in the changes we’re taught to fear, once we look past that conditioning and actually explore how we feel about it.

but if it’s something you really don’t want and you just want to improve your chances of not having to deal with it, it’s not like there’s nothing you can do! products like finasteride (oral) and minoxidil (usually topical but i think there might also be oral versions) are pretty commonly used among trans guys, for the purpose of avoiding hair loss and for other reasons, and there are plenty of other anti-hair loss products out there (though i don’t know how effective any one of them might be). if it’s a big enough deal for you, you can just decide that you’ll go off of t if/when you start noticing signs of it, since no longer having higher t levels would stop the process in its tracks. and if you don’t find prevention options that work for you so it ends up happening, you can always explore different hair styles (judging by the pattern of hair loss i see in my family, i suspect that keeping my hair long would make it less obvious if i started losing mine), find your preferred method of covering it when you don’t feel good about it (personally i love a good beanie generally and would probably wear them a lot more if i didn’t have hair to worry about because my main complaint is the way they press my hair onto my neck), or just shave it all off if you don’t like the look of the partial balding but don’t mind a shaved head. the point being — you have options!

at the end of the day, whether you go on t or not, you’re going to see your body change as you age in ways that aren’t always going to be attractive to others or aesthetically pleasing to you. that’s just the reality of having a body. even if you never went on t, you’d get older and you might see your hair thin out even if you don’t bald, you’ll see your skin start to wrinkle and sag in places that used to be smooth, your metabolism might slow or your body fat might start to gather in new places; hell, you might lose your hair for a totally different reason and end up in the same place but without the benefits of having been on t that whole time. life is full of bodily changes like that. transphobes will fearmonger about the permanent changes of testosterone all day long but the truth is, there is no escaping permanent bodily changes. whether or not you go on t, your body now isn’t the same as it will be in 1 or 5 or 10 or 20 or 50 years, just like it isn’t the same as it was at any point in your life before now. our bodies are never supposed to stop growing and aging and changing throughout our lives. there’s no guaranteeing that we’ll love every single change our bodies go through, but that’s okay! there are so many things in life that are more important than the way our bodies look. even if you go on t and lose your hair and don’t like how it looks, your life won’t be ruined; plenty of other things will bring you joy and more than make up for the insecurities.

just think about the gender euphoria and relief from dysphoria that t could give you. would losing your hair be bad enough to outweigh all of that? or is it just the pressure of a society that decided balding is bad that’s making you fear one single change despite how much joy you could have if you let that fear go? only you can decide if going on t is worth the potential downsides for you, but i suspect that for most of us, the benefits of going on t far outweigh the possibility of side effects like hair loss happening down the line.

#when i say i love helping people beat their fears about t this is what i mean. i will simply write a whole essay about it #some people might think it’s silly to answer a question like this so extensively #but i don’t think it is! i feel like this is a really common fear but also one i don’t see talked about much #maybe because it’s so common among cis guys that people don’t see it as a question to ask in trans spaces? idk #but i think we should talk about it more. especially when transphobes use it as a way to talk shit about t #ask answered #testosterone #hrt #ftm hrt #hair loss #trans men #transmascs

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enchantedanimal · 1 year

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All of the QSMP eggs as dragons!

Now for my design notes/headcanons! (There's a lot lol)

- The color pallettes are (for the most part) based off of their parent/parents. In lore terms, l'd imagine that more time they spent around their parents before they hatched, the more their color developed to mimic them. It would usually be used as a survival strategy with their dragon parents, however sometimes their personality overcomes this and they develop their own color.

- Being dragonets, none of them can fly due to their currently underdeveloped wings.

- Tilin's yellow spots would make Quackity think that Wilbur was supposed to be the other parent.

- Tallulah's colors/features are close to that of a duck. It would likely be a coincidence, but it'd be enough to Quackity to feel like the island was mocking him.

- Tallulah's "hair" is feathers. She's the only one with feathers, and it may either be a cause or effect of her being left in the attic (possibly being mistaken to be an egg from a different species and not a dragon, or the coldness of the attic caused feathers to form).

- Tallulah and Tilin have the same colored eyes since Quackity once said that she reminds him of Tilin.

- Chayanne has fins bc he likes doing mlg water bucket clutches and fishing with Missa.

- Chayanne's tail fin, Leonarda's ear, and Richarlyson's wing are ripped in a spot due to loosing a life. Bobby lost one of his after I designed him but one of his horns would be chipped, and forgot Ramón only had one as well so let's just pretend he's got a scar on his left leg lol.

- Its kinda subtle, but Chayanne has protruding bottom canines, similar to my (and many others') Techno design.

- Fun fact that usually in my style I have the neck spines start from the top of the head. Ramon is purposely "bald".

- Ngl I don't have much to say about Trump bc he died so quick (rip) and I never saw much about him; but his hat is too big for his head.

- Bobby is a wyvern bc it's easier to slap everyone with his wings. He also headbutts and slaps ppl with his tail (those hurt more).

- Bobby's colors are less based after his parents, but the orange/blue complementary colors are kinda more of a nod to Jaiden being an artist (which doesn't make a whole lot of sense now idk my brain just defaulted to that), but feel they match his personality as well. Also his scleras (part of eye that's not the iris/pupil) are black unlike the rest who's are normal.

- Leonarda has a tiny mushroom pin on her hat and their back has mushroom-like spots for the hat she always wears.

- People keep saying that Leo somehow looks like Foolish which is funny bc that wasn't even intentional- in fact was worried that she would be one of the only ones who didn't resemble her parents enough. I did try to make her slightly taller but I'm going to guess that it's the jawline lol

- [Edit bc I just thought of it] Leo's wings are bigger bc they've grown faster due to using them more to glide off of Foolish's/Veg's builds

- Dapper is built to be more bipedal than quadrupedal (their dewclaws on their back feet act more like a normal toe for better traction/ stabilization). This makes it easier to grab (or steal) things for their collection. And hold a taser.

- Richarlyson is based after an iguana! thought it would fit well (it's kinda hard to base him off of 5 different people lol)

- Had to go off of a secondhand info + auto translations (I can understand a decent amount of Spanish but have no idea when it comes to Portuguese so this could be off) but think there was something about Richarlyson having a bad leg both in and out of rp, and think maybe Cellbit said something about him having a prosthetic for it and I thought that was so so cool! It's based semi loosely off of a dog hind leg prosthetic and a human running one; probably wouldn't actually be functional but tried to keep the general shape of the leg.

- Richas and his dads cover it in stickers :)

- Juanaflippa's tail and probably the lower half of her front legs (which aren't visible) are semi transparent from Charlie (yellow comes from Mariana), and it shifts around a bit! It looks more like slime than it feels like it. I've been calling her Bananaflippa endearingly

- Gegg intentionally looks like Juanaflippa a bit (but he's way more slimy)

- Gegg's inventory basically consists of him absorbing random things which are sometimes visible (he is so full of avocado toast). He's like Bob from Monsters vs Aliens or smth idk haven't seen that movie in forever.

There some smaller less exciting details and other headcanons I have for them (such as extra accessories they'd have like Tallulah wearing sweaters) but that's about it! Feel free to ask about anything I like talking about them lol

#qsmp #qsmp fanart #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp ramon #qsmp tilin #qsmp dapper #qsmp leonarda #qsmp juanaflippa #qsmp trump #qsmp tallulah #qsmp bobby #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp gegg #gegg fanart #mcyt #mcyt fanart

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madkiska · 7 months

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watching the entirety of jrwi: riptide again. here's some important things from the first few episodes that I feel we forgot (<110 mentions too though)

Jay

Had night terrors similar to those of Kubakinta's curse in episode 5, and they eventually start returning even after Loffinlot's curse is lifted ○ All of them were about her family and/or the navy ○ I simply think people leave her out of the nightmare stuff and she deserves it. Hurt her more, please (he said, lovingly)

was actually very upset at having to use her medal to get a Loffinlot rebellion to shut up ○ This could be because she didn't want them to guess she was a spy, but I choose to believe it's because she felt guilty

"If you're gonna be sailing with someone, you should have a good relationship with them. [nervous chuckle]." She says, while asking him for information about the Black Rose Pirates (ep. 10)

Said "thank god they didn't find me" after a nightmare about the navy attacking. Even when she was supposedly a spy, who one day would have to return to the navy ○ Very unclear if she was scared of her dad, or if it's because she was a secret spy so the navy would've just killed her

Rewatching, she was suspiciously into the plundering and gold and stuff. Like that was real sus. It doesn't fit her current character much

The only one among them who's gambled before

Chip

The entire thing literally starts off with Bizly holding a lit match

Called Gillion "Gill" and Jay "Sureshot" from an early stage

Was SO much more of a bastard. Lied to Gill constantly, didn't care about anything but the money, etc.

Had aggressive hand tremors alongside Jay's night terrors ○ Gill cures it with lay on hands

When he gets drunk married, they talk extensively about how he'd be released when he's dead. Welp.

They did actually break up and it was fine and they were still friends. They parted on good terms

Is really fucking good at chess ○ Beat Earl twice and Jay once. Jay had a point of exhaustion after a nightmare but Earl had no excuse ○ Lost to Gillion though, but only cause of prophetic screwup ○ This kid is smarter than he lets on, y'all

Was the first one to have a backstory dump while Jay is asking him about the Black Rose Pirates, yet still we know jack shit about his life before them other than "orphan"

Gill

Charlie has referred to Gillion with 'they' many times. I can pull receipts.

When describing Gill, Charlie said: "He's more.. elven, if you had to make a comparison. 'Cause I don't wanna be a fish guy". Oh, honey.

Smote a bald person by using his hair as a whip (ep. 4)

Was given anxiety and self-doubt alongside jay's night terrors and chip's tremors ○ "What do you want?" "I want the feeling of satisfaction I've been chasing my whole life." ○ This was episode FIVE.

First mention of the prophecy and how Gillion wasn't their ideal student is ep. 7, after he divine smites + prophetic screwups and deals like 60 damage to some beetles ○ Chip spends the next 30 seconds in gay awe

He refers to the crescent moon Niklaus tattoo as "my zodiac" (probably a bit) ○ It's not a lil basic white girl moon this thing is the entire size of his forearm

Gill had never heard about the Black Sea - it's unclear if the Undersea just don't know, or if that's just how sheltered he was (ep. 10)

Biz: "What would Gillion do. If he just had no goal - was just sitting there." "Gillion always has a goal." "Would his goal ever be to just.. Sit there?" "Absolutely not." ○ Later, Chip expresses that he doesn't know what Gillion likes. What he would want out of winning a bet. Gillion doesn't have an answer

Other

Apple, in a couple of early battles, acted like Gill's familiar (see: ep. 7)

They also pecked at his Niklaus tramp stamp and looked all confused at the idea of eating seeds

The specific crescent of the moon in the Niklaus tattoo is known as a symbol of "corruption" (ep. 9) and its antonym is the sun, for "life", similar to the yin and yang ○ Interesting to consider after what the tree said in 110 <_<

Pretzel has a masters degree in couple's therapy (ep. 10)

The Albatross/Millennium Chipper was described as the colour of rosewood or mahogany

Captain Lizzie's first introduction was a wanted poster, and Chip wanted to turn her in for the prize, then decided to try learn from her instead

Chip/Bizly called Old Man Earl "Erol" for a loooong time ○ Maybe it's an accent thing but I have an uncle called Erol and so this stands out to me

#I have lots of thoughts about all of this #jay also got her gun in like ep 1 but didnt use it for ages #idk. it's unclear with the combat in the beginning. she just says “shoot”. i love her anyway #jay the kinda girl to have a “no boys” sign up but then when she meets chip and gill she changes it to “son boy” like that one meme #theyre all my favourite character #not art #jrwi riptide #jrwi show #jrwi jay #jrwi chip #jrwi gillion #jay ferin #chip bastard #gillion tidestrider #jrwi #just roll with it #just roll with it show #just roll with it riptide

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leclsrc · 1 year

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sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath.

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended.

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?”

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned.

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.”

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements.

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.”

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach.

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply.

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway.

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after.

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet.

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff.

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are.

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy.

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately.

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

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issa-pheonyx · 7 months

Text

Being Johnny Cage's Niece...

𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹. 𝗬𝗲𝘀, 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝘀✨𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗮𝗻✨, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱-𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻𝗻𝘆. 𝗟𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗻 𝘆𝗮'𝗹𝗹 [𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆]🤭

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

-He is literally the fun uncle...with such dad jokes and puns that makes you double take on being his favorite. Yes, you're his favorite what makes you think he is open with you hanging around when he is in acting mode at work or he invites you to the red carpet to announce the winners for best actor (AKA him). Plus, there is a new game system you've been investing? He got you. Student loans? No need just tell him how much it is for each semester, he is very supportive of your career. "Is that your uncle Johnny fucking Cage!?" He is at the drop off waiting for you to be picked up in his red Lamborghini, blasting California Love,"Yup...that is my uncle."

-Speaking of his acting career he will NOT permit you to go to any film industry if he is not around. He will confront any sleazy creeps who dare to make you sign a contract, because you will be the biggest star like your uncle. Nope! Not on his watch. "Give me that. Who gave you this paper?" "Uh, some bald guy-" "Yeah, didn't I teach you any better talking to strangers??" "Uncle J you're not even my da-" "I'm calling your mom."

-Not only is he protective, but he will keep mad bugging you to teach you his martial art skills. It is just an excuse to have some uncle and niece bonding-both you hang out 24/7 it is ridiculous-so, you could be his trustee side kick and who knows if he ever has another movie coming in he would definitely drag put you in since you learned martial arts like him. On a serious note though he would let you know he is not doing it for clout (bullshit), but to make sure you are safe and know what to do in dangerous scenarios

-Of course, you will be bombarded with paparazzi when you're hanging with your uncle, however the pictures seem to have a unique pattern about you both. It is like a game between you and Johnny against them. You received little attention before your first movie with your uncle, yet after that you decide to troll them. Every picture they failed to take your face either you wearing a hoodie only seeing your mouth in view, surgical masks and not being to capture you pulling it down when you're eating/drinking cause the angle is shit. Or even then you would position yourself around objects or things that it just looks like a tree branch covered the majority of your face flashing a smile cause Johnny cracked a joke as he was smiling too, eating frozen yogurt going for a walk at the park

-Now being introduced with Lui Kang God of Fire, Sub Zero, Scorpion, and so much was mind blowing. Even you were part of it. Johnny being the protective uncle he absolutely REFUSED to get you involved. So, instead you had to stay close to him at all times since you were forced to join. It was quite a beauty since these different timelines had gorgeous views, so you would snap pictures here and there (without uncle Kenshi knowing cause he bonked you with the sword once). Plus, you were stunned how pretty everyone was there like holy shit why is everyone so hot???

-Furthermore, everyone was just as curious as they were with Johnny to you. "So, you're related to Johnny Cage?" Lui Kang asks as he was behind the entrance door of your uncle's mansion with his arms crossed,"Unfortunately, yes-" "That's it! Youngins' shouldn't be here. The adults are talking." The ladies were a little confused you can be the opposite of Johnny being humorous and all. "How can you tolerate such patience with an uncle so untamed, (Y/N)?" Kitana whispered to you after he told her she was gracefully aging for a 10,000 year old,"I don't know, princess. I question myself that everyday."

-Of course, your uncle J told you to be close to you at all costs, but you end up snapping when someone laid a hand on your uncle. That's when all that work of martial arts paid off when you were popping awf, honey. Everyone was shook and couldn't believe their eyes even Mileena complimented,"Such fire you show within kombat! I wish you can stay here in the Outworld to teach all my guards." You chuckled,"I would be very honored, your majesty, but I don't think uncle Johnny would be okay with that."

-Being his niece has taught you to enjoy life even when things don't go your way it'll get better. With you he learned that not everything shouldn't be taken so lightly when it is necessary especially to those he has a special bond with. Lets just say it is a healing and mind opening moment for you and you uncle away from the riches, the media, and fame into the Outworld

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁. 𝗠𝘆 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹~🖤🫣

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk 1 #johnny cage #mk1 2023 #mk 1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 2023 #lui kang #kitana #mileena #kenshi takahashi

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hippielittlemetalhead · 9 months

Text

So I've seen a lot of 'Hop actively dislikes and distrusts Steve', 'Hop tolerates Steve because he's useful during UD shenanigans but doesn't like him', and the big swing to 'Hop has adopted Steve as his own and treats him the same/almost the same as he does El'

BUT, I present:

Hop pseudo adopts Steve because when he and Owens were trying to get the Harringtons to make any decisions about their teenager who saw some sketchy shit and may need government testing they legally gave Hop the rights to act in loco parentis and he takes that seriously because he doesn't want another Will Byers and he's pretty sure the Harrington kid has a concussion.

Hop who stays involved just enough in Steve's life season 1-3 that we the audience see Steve is getting attached. But Hop just sees an annoying kid who won't leave him alone when he's trying to deal with a rebellious psychic and her insane little friends and keeps asking stupid questions about highschool romance and teenage rivalry drama. Knows Joyce Byers doesn't like the kid but won't give a lot of reason why but he's mostly learned to trust that woman's judgement about people. Still gets him the job at Scoops when the kid's dad makes a stink about college and tells him if he survives a few months there he'll consider bringing him on the force, makes sense to keep him close and in a position to help should shit hit the fan again.

Hop who doesn't get it when Steve is one of the most relieved when he 'comes back to life' after Joyce and Murray bring him back from Russia. When Steve introduces him as "My Hop," (something he'd taken to calling him just before season 2 shenanigans) to his sarcastic, fidgety little friend like it means something. The girl, Robin, looks between the two of them and gets this sad look on her face for a second before smiling and shaking his hand and saying something about "Dingus has told me all about you".

Hop who complains to Murray one of the times The Party and assorted teens and adults are over at his renovated and expanded cabin (courtesy of Owens and shady government organizations recognizing these people are worth investing in, heavily if omens are to be believed) when the bald annoyance asks about what's up on there. Complains about having annoying teenagers who have nothing better to do but pester him legally put under his supervision cause their parents can't be assed to care and are spoiled little shits who are slightly more bearable versions of said parents cause he can stand toe to toe with one of those monsters they faced and the kids kind of listen to him. Complains about barely being able to breathe cause of regular visits and check-ins like Hop was still responsible for him. Says at least the extra hands are useful around the cabin what with the still healing up and El pacing herself after the showdown with Creel and still trying to find Max and the Byers not quite moved back to Hawkins yet.

Hop who doesn't realize that Steve hears every word cause he had gone looking for the older man when he disappeared for more than a few minutes, when he couldn't see him to make sure he was here and safe and alive. Steve who thought Hop actually had come to care for him in his own gruff way and had confessed to Robin that in a lot of ways the way Hop has taken care of him makes him the closest thing to the father figure he's always wanted but never thought he'd get to have. Steve who hears Murray hum and recollect a visit from Nancy and Jonathan where their romance officially started (he vaguely knows about the visit, didn't realize that's what happened, didn't realize she couldn't be bothered to even do the decent/considerate thing before moving on to something better) because it seemed it was a pattern he was seeing 'people liked Steve, but people didn't love Steve'.

Hop who hears a choked sound like someone taking a claw to the gut and turns to see Harrington. Steve Harrington his bandages just peeking out from the collar of his shirt and the opening of his sleeves. (He never did get the stories behind those, too busy being fussed over and being told about the kids and how they were doing as Harrington played babysitter) Steve Harrington a kid who went through hell and still managed to smile and laugh and stand tall and unyielding looking at him with a blank face his eyes misty and his shoulders starting to curl in on himself before he clears his throat, chokes out that he just wanted to make sure Hop was alright but looks like Murray had everything under control. He'd go now, get out of his hair, let him rest, let him breathe. Steve Harrington who walks away with purpose like a man on a mission and doesn't acknowledge the kids calling out asking if he's alright, make sure he has his walkie talkie on him.

Hop, who realizes maybe he left behind two kids who missed (needed) him. Who wonders who took care of Harrington's paperwork when he was concussed and sedated because he was bleeding out and feverish from infection and Hop was busy at the cabin reveling in the comfort and warmth of his daughter and the woman he loved and her two sons who were fast becoming like his own. Hop, who realizes too late that maybe if he'd given the kid half a chance he could have had 3 sons to sit with him and his daughter and the woman he loved as they basked in surviving another end-of-the-world. Hop who has spent years barely giving a damn about Steve Harrington and realizes that he's no better than the kid's own parents.

Part 2

Part 3

#nttttf verse #Never Took The Time (To Forget)#yeah the ramblings of a madperson #honestly made myself choke up with this one #some projection about father figures and unrequited familial affection #we in our feels today #morbid and melancholy unlovable bastards are we #got the morbs #hopper adopts steve #but make it sad #steve harrington whump #Hopper POV #mostly #come yell about the sad with me #rambler writes

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bruciemilf · 2 years

Text

,,,, russian bruce wayne

Russian Bruce Wayne

RUSSIAN BRUCE WAYNE -

Listen. Listen. Not fully compacted into something coherent, but I'll do my best, because this idea has been haunting me, -

SO he's russian on his mother's side!! Martha Wayne immigrated in America when she was a teenager, nothing to her name but hope in her chest and her mother's pearl necklace in her pocket

She always got ugly looks for speaking in her native language and her accent. Slowly, it melted into something perfectly English, but she still spoke Russian at home and especially to Bruce

Little Bruce loved Baba Yaga as a kid and dressed like her for Halloween every single year; Nobody really understood it, but a glare from Alfred was enough to fill a bag full of candy

Martha and Bruce would talk shit in front of Thomas' faux philanthropist friends, but they were on wildly different spectrums

Martha, whispering: You see that man, Brucie? He sold his soul to greed. He's a worm of a human and his morals are rotten. That's why his eyes are dead

Bruce: haha, he's balding at 25

Martha, Alfred, and Bruce cooking beef stroganoff, syriniki, borscht, and Bruce's absolute favorite- pirozhki.

Martha also played the piano and LOVED Swan Lake so, so much. It was the one song that calmed Bruce during night terrors.

When he reaches eight, it all stops.

He eventually reconnects with his Russian roots in his 20s, when he's in college and his literature teacher shares a DISRESPECTFULLY incorrect opinion about one of Dostoevsky's works.

His teacher scoffed, " Well. Didn't know we had a Russian citizen here. "

" Not a citizen, but I AM a Russian descendent. My mother was an immigrant. That's kind of how America was formed. It's a pretty significant thing that happened."

Imagine you're a Gotham criminal and Batman starts muttering things about you in Russian. Somehow that's even more intimidating than anything he does.

" I can't believe they're more afraid of someone who doesn't speak English than a guy who beats up people dressed as a bat."

Alfred hums, sloooowly pulling away the vodka cereal Bruce made. " I can't imagine why. You're the poster child for mental health, sir."

" Not funny, papachka"

" For you."

When Dick is brought into the nest, Bruce struggles a bit with showing his affections; He only has money to offer, but Dick is happily uninterested in that, and seeks Bruce out instead.

BRUCE ABSOLUTELY SPENDS AN ENTIRE NIGHT TRYING TO PERFECT HIS MOTHER'S BAKLAVA FOR DICK!!

yes he's supposed to be on patrol. No, he doesn't care, Jim. It's all worth it when Dick takes a single bite and he has stars in his eyes and vines his little but strong arms around him, " this is PERFECT! Thank you so much, dad"

Air freezes in his blood, " ... Of course, ptichka."

He absolutely uses russian proverbs all the time (mostly when his children need to be reprimanded and reminded that making jokes is illegal when they're on duty)

JASON AND BRUCE FIGHTING OVER TRANSLATIONS AND CONTEXT IN ENGLISH ADAPTATIONS OF SLAVIC LITERATURE!

" PAPI, THAT'S NOT WHAT THEY MEANT TO SAY!"

" MISKHA I'M SO GRATEFUL YOUR GRANDMA ISN'T HERE, BECAUSE SHE'D DIE AGAIN IF SHE HEARD YOU SAY THAT!"

Damian 100000% prides himself on knowing russian and communicating with Bruce the smoothest.

It becomes a competition soon enough. Bruce is SO tired but the way they butcher words is funny, so he just pretends they're right.

The League finds out when Bruce snaps and calls Hal Cyka in a low, angry mutter while stomping away from his stupidity. " ... Bless you? What did he call me?"

Diana, struggling so hard not to laugh. " He said you were a genius."

" Huh. Had no idea he was French."

Meanwhile Clark is losing HIS shit because wow, Bruce's russian might be the hottest thing he ever heard. Please, this dork would absolutely try to learn Russian and talk to Bruce more.

He's absolutely horrible with it but Bruce is just very excited. He definetly chuckles (which. Wow. Clark couldn't even make him GRIN 3 weeks ago) " You just asked me if I sleep with my dentist."

" ...Oh. I...Was trying to ask you for drinks. You can kill me right now. Please?"

" Maybe another time, solnyshko. Take me for a drink first."

Clark inhales. " oKaY thank yoU."

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marleyybluu · 8 months

Text

Piercings

Spooky x f!reader

Word count: 925

Warnings: Spooky being a cute daddy, talks of piercings, brief description of a child's ear being pierced, tears from both baby and dad (lol), fluff, Spooky gets a lil freaky at the end. (had to), allusions to smut. reader is not race-coded, reader speaks/understands Spanish

(not my gif. hes so fucking hot.)

“Spooky, baby, come on she’s six months. It’s easier to do it now, they say the pain won’t last as long.” You pouted at your husband. You’d been talking about piercings and earrings since you found out you were having a girl. Spooky hated it. Said you could just give her your moms old ass clip-ons and call it a day but you were not about to do your daughter like that. Plus you maaay have jumped the gun and bought lots of studs and little hoops for her.

Your husband scowled at you as he held the child in question in one hand and pushed the stroller with the other. “Pleeeease.” You begged. He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” He complied. “But I’m gonna be so pissed at you if something bad happens.” You rolled your eyes, you were sure she’d be fine. “She won’t even cry.”

“Have you seen her get a needle at the doctors? Yes she will.” He argued. But it was too late he already said yes and so you led them over to Claire’s. You browsed around until the piercer was done with her current client. Spooky smiled as his daughter’s tiny hands reached for the bow he was holding. “You already have too many bebita…. But what’s one more? Right?”

Spoiled.

While they were distracted you conversed with the piercer who assured you that the pain would be quick, she’d cry for a few seconds but she’d be completely fine after. “Yeah, try and tell my husband that. He might fight us both.” You joked. She laughed and shrugged. “All the dads are like that,” She leaned in to whisper. “Sometimes they cry more than the kids.”

Oh, you’d pay to see that.

“Just let me finish sanitizing every thing and I’ll get to you guys.”

“Alright, thanks.”

You wandered to find your little family, your daughter snug as a bug in her fathers big arms. You poked her side and she squirmed flashing you a toothless smile. “Are you ready, mi amor? We’re gonna make you look extra pretty.”

Spooky groaned. “Say Mommy I’ll always be pretty and that this idea is estúpido.” You flicked him on the back of his bald head."

"Stop teaching my child bad words."

He mocked you and flipped you off, you grabbed his finger, about to twist it off if you could but the piercer had called you guys over. You firmly planted your hand on his back and pushed him to the chair, he sat and glared at you. "Okay, so you'll sit her on your lap, one arm over her torso... like this..." She arranged his arm for him, "And hand... here." His large hand engulfing your child's head, she turned her small head to you and smiled again. "Are you ready?" You asked in your baby voice which always got her excited.

The piercer picked up her piercing gun, you cringed starting to remember what that felt like when you got your nose pierced so long ago. She gently picked up the small lobe of your daughter's ear and let it hang between the end of the earring that was jammed inside the white gun and the hole it would come through. You heard one quick click and your baby's smile turned into a frown, her tiny lip quivered and she blinked out a few tears. Her calm before the storm. Her head was turned away from you and the same thing happened, a fast click, and soon a wailing baby.

Your heart sank, maybe it was a bad idea. Your eyes met Spooky's, in them held sorrow for his baby and disdain towards you-- they were glossy and slowly reddening from his own incoming tears, he rested her head in his chest and bounced her up and down with a comforting pat on her back.

"Ohhh, mi bonita flor, I'm sorry. We're not talking to mommy anymore." He cooed kissing the top of her head. Your jaw dropped. "Oh, come oooon, Spooky."

No response. Just a look that could kill. You half-smiled. "I love you. Thank you."

He sucked his teeth and walked out of the store with your bawling baby.

-- --

The silent treatment continued when you got home, even after your daughter calmed down and forgot the whole ordeal. You held her in your arms as she slept peacefully, milk drunk as usual. Her ruby earrings sparkled as they complimented her skin tone and face shape, you smiled drawing faint circles on her arm. You felt those warm brown eyes boring into the back of your skull.

"Still mad?" You mumbled turning toward him. "Yes." He huffed. You nodded your head at your baby. "Look how fucking cute she is. Just say I was right."

Spooky leaned over to get a better look at her, her small nose twitching in her sleep. He swooned resting his hand on her little leg. "Qué bonito. Ella es hermosa." (How cute. She is beautiful.)

"Exactly." You looked down at her. "Always knew we'd make some cute ass babies."

He delivered a soft kiss to your neck, his teeth nibbling at your skin and you could feel his smile against it. "Speaking of," He kissed the back of your ear. "When we gon' start trying for another."

You gasped as he pinched your thigh with his free hand. "Oscar Diaz!"

"I got my own milf walking around, you think I can control myself?" You playfully rolled and carefully eased off the couch so as not to wake your baby. "Let me put her in her crib."

"Yes!"

something quick cus i'm high asf and I've been seeing a lot of men crying when their daughters get their ears pierced and idk I just imagined spooky lmao couldn't think of a title but if yall come up with one and i like it I'll use it

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Peace and love see you in the next one✌🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb

#oscar diaz #spooky #spooky x reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions #fluff

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shikai-the-storyteller · 2 months

Text

People talk a lot about how Fit didn't want a kid when the Egg event happened, but I'm watching his Egg Event Day stream for the first time and picking up a few interesting things that both confirm and contradict what a lot of people say about Fit's perspective of the Egg event, So here are some notes from his VOD:

Fit immediately went over to Ramon when he saw him and cooed at his cute little mustache.

Fit repeatedly said to himself "I'm not a dad I'm not a dad I'm not a dad" while the informational videos were playing. HOWEVER--

When Ramon flashes the "Egg" sign repeatedly to them, Fit says he has eggs at his base and tells Ramon to wait with Spreen. Ramon chases after him, and Fit insists that he stays with Spreen, saying: "I will be right back, Ramon. Don't worry, I will return. I promise." ~ 1h 17m

Moments later when he's on his own, Fit says "Spreen better keep that Egg alive. I'm not emotionally attached to the Egg with the mustache, ok? I'm not emotionally attached." (Mirroring the things he often says these days about not having separation anxiety. Which is a lie). ~1h 18m

Fit says even though Ramon has a mustache, he doesn't know if Ramon is a boy, girl, or enby. (This isn't really relevant lore-wise, but I thought that was sweet). ~1h 20m

Foolish and Vegetta introduce Leonarda to Ramon, and Vegetta says "Look look, it's a friend, it's a friend! 😊" and then two seconds later says "Now fight to the death! 😊" ~1h 25m

(The QSMP admins also make a whoopsies here and call Fit "Feet" in chat LMAO)

Despite joking that he's going to build Ramon a dog house near his place, when Spreen asks if they should build a simple house or something nicer for Ramon, Fit says, "Well he is our kid, so he deserves only the best, right? Maybe we should make a big mansion." ~1h 31m

Ramon makes a beeline to Fit's starter house (which the admins poked fun at) and excitedly jumps on the bed

Spreen accidentally hits Ramon (again) and Ramon runs off, and Spreen apologizes while he and Fit chase him down. Fit says "He didn't mean to do that, he loves you very much!" ~1h 36m

Fit gifts Ramon a seashell. ~1h 42m

Fit jokes that there's no doubt he's the father because Ramon looks just like him -- bald as an egg

They put Ramon to bed, but Spreen and Fit introduce Roier, Jaiden, and Bobby to Ramon while he's asleep. ~2h 10m

Spreen says he left food for Ramon in case he gets hungry at night. They get worried about Ramon because he's been sleeping for a long time and check to make sure he's still breathing. ~ 2h 14m

Spreen says they'll be a really good team, and Fit says, "We will be very good parents together, I can feel it." (oof) ~ 2h 15m

Fit and Spreen say goodbye to each other, and Fit says "Being a father is not easy, that's why I've put off fatherhood for so long, I don't know if I'm ready." He says it doesn't seem so bad, but Ramon's sleeping a lot and he's kinda lazy, so he doesn't know how he feels about this child, but "We'll make it work." Right after he says this, he suddenly finds Ramon climbing up the hill towards him, and they go fishing together. ~2h 16m

Fit calls Ramon "Mi huevito." ~2h 19m

"I dunno how I got roped into this fatherhood thing" he says while waiting for Ramon to finish using the bathroom. Then he teaches Ramon how to cook the fish they caught (classic Dad behavior) ~2h 21m

Spreen tells Fit he's going out and to take care of Ramon. Fit teases him and says it's a shared responsibility, and Spreen says he has to go to work. ~2h 26m

IMAGES THAT AGED VERY VERY BADLY

The subtitles don't show it, but Spreen is saying "Don't worry, Ramon. You'll see me tomorrow." Fit says he'll teach Ramon how to grow crops, and Spreen says, "That's right Ramon, I want to hear all about how to grow crops when I get back."

Fit tells Ramon "You are my huevito" and sings him a lullaby. 2h 30m

"Spreen going out for cigarettes my ass! I'm not gonna see him for months now. See - someone's gotta step up and be a parent, and be there, and take the responsibility! That's me. That's me. It's weird though, I mean, I'm not used to this whole "fatherhood" thing, keeping a living thing alive. It's weird." ~ 2h 31m

Fit says he thinks he and Spreen will be a good parenting pair if Spreen comes back. But he's glad the child is doing well right now. ~ 2h 36m

Not related to Fit and Ramon, but these are some other funny moments:

Fit gets kicked for "flying" (he was jumping off a tall tower, but manages to clutch it) ~ 2h 43m

Fit meets JuanaFlippa! ~3h 12m

Slimecicle gives JuanaFlippa a landmine. ~ 3h 21m

#i talk #qsmp talk #sharing these things since it's been almost a year and I'm sure some people have forgotten / never saw this (like me)#it's interesting #Fit #FitMC #Ramon #qsmp info #QSMP analysis

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judesluvvvv · 6 months

Text

this is what it feels like

fc: gracie abrams

paring: judebellingham & singer!femreader

summary: a certain footballer and a certain singer who would’ve thought?

author’s note: tbh I was bored not sure if I’ll ever do this again but we’ll see ((:!!

yourusername

liked by judebellingham, oliviarodrigo and others

yourusername forever a barca girl but ig madrid wasn’t so bad!! (thank you for the most amazing concert i love u all sm)

view all comments

username THANK YOU FOR COMING BEST CONCERT EVER WTF

username when are we getting new music?!?!?!

↳ yourusername a girl never tells🫣🫣 (soon I promise)

username does she and jude know each other orrrr🤨

↳ username that’s what I was thinking

username I’ll do anything for u to sing mess it up in Australia

username NAH FR WHAT IS JUDE DOING HERE

masonmount get me tickets to your next show

↳ yourusername next time ask nicely and I’ll consider it

yourbestfriend I MISS YOUR GIRL COME BACK FROM TOUR😔😔

↳ yourusername stop I miss u too but I’ll be back soon

yourusername

liked by judebellingham and others

yourusername and that’s it for tour for now thank you guys for everything I had the best time ever I love u I love u I love u and I’ll se u soon 🫶

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username gonna miss tourrrr thank u for everything we love uuuu

username don’t be gone for too long 😔

↳ yourusername I won’t I promise!!!!

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↳ username apparently someone saw him at her show tonight aswell

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trentarnold66 thank u for the tickets your sooooo goooood

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↳ trentarnold66 definitely not the only one who had fun ((;

↳ username what does this mean 🤨🤨

username

liked by username and others

username jude was seen at yn’s concert in london tonight!!

view all comments

username I KNEW IT OMG

username omg the singer and the athlete here for it 100%

username I’m so happy I just know they r so cute

username saw him there tonight honestly he looked so happy and kept singing along to the songs it was so cute

↳ username shut up that’s so cute

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username okay he was at her concert this doesn’t mean anything lmfao yall r reaching too much

↳ username your just a hater there is obviously something going on between them

judebellingham

liked by yourusername, england and others

judebellingham bis bald, #EURO2024 🦁

view all comments

england 🔥🔥💯💯

username such and amazing player

marcusrashford 🔥🔥

declanrice levels

gioareyna 3 years together and never heard you speak any German until now 😂

↳ username LMFAO HELP?

yourusername ⭐️boy

↳ judebellingham ⭐️girl

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↳ username she called him her starboy her called her his stargirl I need a minute to recover from this

username

liked by username and others

ynupdates yn spotted with jude today!!!

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username i love them i love them i love them

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↳ username the only thing I’ve seen u do is hate on them do u actually not have anything better to do let people be happy like??

username this is lowkey so random but I’m here for it

yourusername

liked by judebellingham, oliviarodrigo and others

yourusername hey there pretty pepole i have a little something for you called feels like coming out on November 8th enjoy

view all comments

username EVERYBODY SHUT UP THE YN IS DROPPING A NEW SONG

username new music new music new music thank u yn

username how am i meant to survive till November 8th??

oliviarodrigo sooooo excited

↳ yourusername i love u liv

↳ oliviarodrigo i love u more

yourbestfriend did u guys hear that my girl is giving us new music

↳ yourusername ILOOOOOOOOVEEEEEYOOOOOUUUUU

masonmount it was about time fr especially cuz couldn’t make it to your london show

↳ yourusername maaaaseee next show in london or manchester you’ll be the first to know so u can clear out your calendar

↳ declanrice excuse me there what about me

↳ yourusername you too rice ig🙄

username we love u mother

yourusername

liked by judebellingham, sadiesink and others

FEELS LIKE OUT NOW EVERYWHERE!!! A special thank you to my muse and my lover jude bellingham for inspiring this song

view all comments

judebellingham i love u pretty girl

↳ yourusername i love u judeth thank u for everything

username I’M GONNA PASS OUT FINALLY

username FEELS LIKE IS SO GOOD?!?! THE LYRICS OMG??? AND.ITS.ABOUT.HIM

username jude i hope u know how to fight

sadiesink it’s so good u slay everytime I love u girl

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yourbestfriend you better not hurt her Bellingham or istg ill come and fight u myself

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oliviarodrigo died dead when I heard this song

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judebellingham

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judebellingham stop whatever your doing and go stream feels like by the one and only i love uuuuuuuuuuuuu

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trentarnold66 cat’s out of the bag?

↳ judebellingham yuppp

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jobebellingham bro’s whipped

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gioareyna it was about time u announced it

username thank u for this song jude🙏

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff #england nt #jude bellingham imagine #real madrid #england national team

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rhinestonz · 3 months

Text

☆ DONT BELIEVE EM’ ☆

You stood in the doorway , playing nervously with your fingers. “Um Toru- we don’t have to meet my family , we can ju-“ you were cut off by Gojo’s smooth voice. “ I want to meet your family doll, it’s inconsiderate to marry someone’s daughter without knowing them” he smiled. You blushed , he just casually hinted that he’d marry you. However the butterflies in your stomach quickly left when you thought about it again. “No like Toru trust me we don’t have to-“ you were cut off once again by hands lacing around your waist. “ Baby , I know you're nervous for me , but I have irresistible charm, “ Satoru smirked, giving you a wink that made you laugh. “ fine “ you looked down as he walked past you to get ready. “ But I’m not scared for you, I'm scared for me “ you mumbled.

Gojo noticed that you were nervous, way more nervous than he’d imagine you’d be and he was the one meeting your family. The way you woke up early , curling pins in your hair , makeup done at 4 am. You only did that on super important events. Meeting with family should be casual. He noticed how you weighed yourself like ten times since you knew that you were meeting your family again after years. He took notice of your strained voice while on call with them. He had a suspicion, but he’d wait for it to arise.

“ Hi Mama “ your voice wobbled a bit as you bowed to your mom. Gojo behind you. You looked at her awe stricken face. “ Mungu wangu…” fell from your mothers lips as she turned , not even glancing at you but to Gojo’s tall figure. She hurried to the man after giving you a rushed hug. She ruffled his hair , her voice booming “ ah my daughter caught a good one even with looks like hers” she laughed. “ Ai , come here“ she signaled to the man gojo thought to be your father. He walked over with a smile. Gojo grabbed your bags , Bowing to both of your parents as they directed him where to put your things. “ he’s a man with manners eh” your dad joked with you, Gojo noticed the way you demeanor totally changed with your dad. You laughed at his joke while embracing him. “ ai , but she’s so big she may be strong enough to carry it herself,” your mom laughed. That’s when Gojo understood the situation. When your smile wavered nervously at your mothers joke. Your father quickly came to your defense “ ai , look at you~ “ he joked to your mother , she jokingly sucked her teeth and gave him a soft smack upon his bald head. You loved that that’s the way they joke with each other. You knew your mom loved you but she didn’t understand the affect her words had on you. “ it’s fine “ gojo started as he walked over to you “ I’m a big man, I can carry anything” he smiled down at you. “ ah , such a sweet guy “ your mother nudged you on the shoulder. That was the first time you genuinely smiled at her that night. Your relationship was complicated.

Gojo’s eyes widened and his mouth watered at the food before him. Rather a feast.

You smiled as you saw him and your parents getting along. “ This is Nyama choma , and this “ your mother pointed around the table to the different dishes. Gojo strained himself to listen instead of just digging in. The room soon filled with laughter and the enjoyment of food. Aside from the ever so present comments on your weight. “ ai , you're going to eat more ! Save some for the big man “ your mother chided. You laughed and pushed your plate away. Arms folding over your stomach for the rest of the night.

“Gojo are you okay ?” You looked at your boyfriend in worry. “ did I upset you?” You asked, watching him as he threw his coat off. His brows furrowed. He didn’t say a word to you. You stood in front of your bed as you tried to figure him out. He was muttering under his breath. You yelped as your frame was yanked to him by your hips. Back arching as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass “ what the fuck do they know?” he mumbled his eyes dark. His hand came down harshly against your ass before you were sprawled out against the bed. “ Don’t give a shit bout what they say, you got the prettiest body ever baby” he said practice ripping your clothes off. Cold hands squeezing your tits as you moaned out “ Toru , what the hell~”. You almost giggled as his face pushed into the small fat of your tummy. “ You actually believe what your mom says don’t you?” He pouted his fingers sneaking to your cunt. You huffed out a small “yeah i guess, I’ve always known I was ‘big’ “. Gojo’s head shot up to you , his face contorting as if you said something absurd. “ big !! I could bounce you on my dick like a fucking ragdoll “ he cursed , grabbing your thighs as lifting you with ease. You felt slick form faster than ever as your core was mere centimeters away from his cock. He was right , he held you above his dick with ease. “ Maybe I need to drill the fact that you're small as shit compared to me into you” you let out a cry as you were slammed down, Satoru’s length filling you up without a problem. His tip kissing your cervix. “ or maybe it’s my fault for filling you up to good , stuffin ya full of cock” he groaned. Hands rubbing the fat of your tummy. “toru~” you whined as you creamed on him. “ good girl~” he coed , flipping you over watching your ass ripple ass he fucked you from behind. “ or maybe it’s my fault for making this ass too fat , too many backshots?” He teased “ bet you’d disagree , you love em don’t you?” he smiled. Your eyes began to roll back as whines left your mouth. “T-toru please~” you pleaded feeling a knot in your stomach as he fucked you deeply. You shook as you felt yourself turn to mush on his cock , your juices spraying everywhere.

You laid against your pillow , catching your breath. Gojo hands wrapped around your body as he laid against your tummy. “ Baby , you're so pretty , nun wrong with your weight at all, your mom is cool and I respect her , but don’t believe shit she says about your looks at all,” he said. He placed a small kiss on your tummy.

“Unless she tells you you're the prettiest girl in the world… I love you baby”

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billthedrake · 4 months

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This is a collaboration that @josmith1718 and I have been working on together for a while. It's a hypnosis themed story, so be forewarned if that's not your thing.

THE PROTOCOL

By JoSmith and Bill Drake

CHAPTER ONE

I came home from work and was ready to unwind when I realized that dad was not there yet. I found it weird because he was usually back before me. Nevertheless, I went inside and began to change out of my suit and put on some shorts before warming up some food. While I was in the kitchen, dad came in and sighed as he usually did. I felt for him, single dad, divorced with a 27-year-old son living at home couldn’t have been easy on him. I did my part to lighten his stress by providing outlets for him to let loose and not be the hardass foreman he was at work at home.

"Welcome home, Dad. How was your day?" I asked as I took out a plate and served him some of the leftover lasagna I warmed up for myself.

"It was horrible, buddy. I need to relax before I start going bald." He came towards me and hugged me. I hugged him back, feeling his hard body gained from years working construction. When we separated, I smiled at him, and he leaned down and gave me a kiss. We made out a bit before he and I separated, and he went to get a beer from the fridge.

"At least you’re home, right?"

"Yeah, with my favorite guy." He replied. He was hot, literally and, well... literally. We had been going through a heatwave and he had to be on site most of the day. I was indoors but even the short distance I had to walk to my car was unbearable with the full suit and tie getup I had to wear for work. I could only imagine him sweating through his plaid shirt, dripping as the sweat traveled down his meaty pecs, down his hairy body….

I’d loved this man ever since I graduated from undergrad. When he divorced the second time, I asked him to move in with me. Sure, the apartment I had at the time was not a mansion, but we made it work. After some years and promotions, we were able to upgrade to a nice home in the suburbs. Dad continued as a foreman, and I stayed in the corporate world until they brought up the opportunity to get my MBA in a top-shelf B-school that my company partnered with.

"How was your day, buddy?" He asked as he was taking a sip from his beer. I shook my head and smiled, "Good, I got an exam tomorrow, but it's nice to have a night off." I was doing grad school part time. It was a great deal: my company was footing the bill and there was an implicit promise of a promotion after. But the evening classes and the weekends devoted to homework were kicking my butt. Thankfully, I had a great support system in my father.

After warming up the food, I brought it to the table, and he and I ate in silence. Dad was always tired, always stressed, and it was hard for me to look at him like that. He'd always warned me not to go into a manual labor profession, and I'd taken every bit of his dreams for my own future and tried to live up to them, and more. When I graduated the first time, I said that this was our degree, not just mine. This new MBA would be just as much as his as it was mine.

When dinner was over, I got the dishes and Dad began to undress, "I’m taking a shower son. I don’t want to keep the scent of the site on me any longer."

"I don’t mind it, dad..." I smirked at him.

He shook his head and came towards me, "You like your old man smelly?" He whispered in a hushed raspy tone.

"You smell like a man, dad." I responded with confidence as I finished unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

"How did I get so lucky with you, bud?" He replied before we began to make out again. My fingers felt his hard rounded muscle, dusted with his fur. Dad was big all over, beefy and strong, but his chest was the centerpiece of it all - big and round pecs that felt like stone beneath my fingers.

We stopped making out and he got on his knees, "My shower can wait but I think my corporate son needs to relax with a nice blowjob from his old man," Dad was rubbing his hand over my bulge before looking up at me again, "let me service this cock, son."

"Aren’t you tired too?" I asked, but selfishly, yeah, I wanted this as well.

"This helps me relax," he smiled and then fished out the cock from shorts and started to blow me. He was skilled, after several years of blowing me, he had learned what I liked. I never got tired of my construction worker father - my tan, muscled, hairy, beefy, sexy construction worker dad, who was more than willing to get on his knees and suck my cock whenever I needed “relaxing.” In my mind, he justified the blowjobs he expertly gave as doing it for “my son’s pleasure, not mine.” That was a facade, since every time he shot his own load, his mouth was connected to my cock. The old man loved sucking my cock just as much as I liked getting blown.

"Dad, I’m getting close, Dad, fuck, I’m getting—"

I shot and my dad greedily sucked and sucked until every drop was in his mouth and down his throat.

"Good load, buddy,” he grinned as he leaned back, a proud smile on his gruffly handsome mug. “Now, time to take my shower." He kissed my cock and got up to head to the master bathroom.

The sex was great, incredible as always, but I still kept thinking about how stressed Dad had become. That evening, I talked to him about letting me have more of the responsibility of the house and its finances. I told him that I could pitch in more, and I'd tried to get him to talk about finances. Maybe it was putting the cart before the horse, but in my head, I'd be earning a lot more by 30 and ready to ensure dad and I were financially stable enough for him to look for something more relaxed or retire outright.

I was ready to make sure dad was not so stressed all the time.

"Buddy, it’s fine how things are. I’m fine." He said, but then I continued.

"Dad, you’re stressed, and I don’t blame you at all. I have enough money to make sure that we can live comfortably. Especially after this promotion, you could potentially retire."

"I don’t..." he started to object. Then he sat back up and took off the reading glasses he had on to read his iPad, "Son, I’m happy. Being with you, making sure you’re happy, I’m fine. No need to worry about me. I’m your dad, that’s my job."

"And my job as your son is to make sure you are happy too. I’m not happy to see you so stressed." I got closer to him and began to fondle his pecs and nipples, "This, us, I’m happy... but seeing you stress over bills, that does not make me happy."

He took in what I was saying but was stubborn ol’ Dad. "In some ways, I’m old school. I am the father so that means I oversee the finances and everything that has to do with the household. I can’t just let it go…"

"You are in charge of people at work all the time. You have a lot of responsibility; I can take some for you dad. I want to do that for you. Think about it, yeah?"

"You’re so good to me, son." He kissed me before he traveled down my body, ready to give me another blowjob, "You gonna give me something to help me have a good night sleep?" He winked at me. Then I felt my dad's wet lips and soft tongue start working my hardon again. As he slowly sucked and bobbed and then went further down on me, I tried to rack my brain to remember the last day the man hadn't gotten me off at least twice.

I couldn't remember.

I was damn lucky.

***

We didn’t talk about finances anymore and went back to the same routine. Dad was great and loving, but he was also a stubborn man. Maybe I'd inherited his stubborn streak, too.

In the spring I graduated and got my promotion at work officially. I was to get a raise and a new office. It was something I was excited for. I was already doing some of the work of the new position to get used to the new processes, but as soon as my contract was renewed and everything was official, I invited dad to see my new office. He came wearing a plaid shirt and dark jeans.

"Wow, my son, the executive." He was impressed.

"Junior executive," I corrected him. Mind you, my company handed out VP titles like candy, but I was proud and prouder that Dad was proud. I closed the door and lowered the blinds. It was late afternoon, and most people were leaving, but I wanted to show Dad that everything he and I worked for was beginning to pay off.

He turned around and damned if he didn’t tackle me to the wall. He was kissing me, groping me and pawing at my body.

"You look so fucking handsome in your suit and tie, buddy." He whispered as he felt the silk tie he had given me for one of my birthdays.

I bit my lip, "Dad..." My heart was beating fast and the anticipation of what was going to happen was beginning to make me get a hardon in my dress slacks.

"Let me show you how proud I am of you buddy." He whispered and then undid his shirt, button by button, he slowly began to reveal that beautiful hairy body and got on his knees. He undid the zipper of my slacks and fished out my cock, "Executive cock… fucking A, son... you’re making one of my fantasies come true."

Up until now, I thought his career dreams for me were about my financial success in life, but I was starting to get the feeling my father was into professional dudes. The fact I was his flesh and blood made his turn-on that much deeper.

The big man took his time, it was a slow session, edging me as I stayed pressed against the wall. I took off my tie and put it around his neck. We had never done something like this and since it was a first, I gave it a shot. We were pretty vanilla, more so because I could tell dad had hang ups. My old man was momentarily surprised but growled as I slipped the silk tighter around his neck. I tightened the tie and pulled him towards my cock. He got into it, doubling his efforts as I messed up his hair, "Come on, dad, suck your boy’s cock."

He nodded.

"You like that?" I growled. "Your son, the executive, is making you into his personal fleshlight."

That got a deep, heavy moan from the guy. I got rock fucking hard. In all our time together, I never got verbal like this. I never imagined my buddy-buddy blue-collar dad would be remotely into it. This was new territory for both of us. His reaction, the intensity of his blowjob, I couldn’t handle it and blew in his mouth. It felt like an eternity, but he continued to suck until every drop was taken in. When he took my cock from his mouth, some spit got on his chest. I got on my knees and rubbed the saliva all over his hairy pecs and munched on his nipples.

"Buddy..." He cradled my head, applying slight pressure to get me to bite his nipple more.

I bit and pulled; dad groaned but he never told me to stop. He pulled me up and kissed me deeply. I took off my suit jacket and rolled on the floor with him, making out, celebrating this new phase in our life.

We stopped when we heard a knock on the door telling me goodnight. I said good night, my voice hoarse but as soon as I cleared my throat, I said goodnight again and saw dad catching his breath against the wall.

I crawled and stayed next to him until I spoke, "So this was a fantasy of yours?" I asked. My white shirt was wrinkled, my suit jacket discarded on the floor, my pants dirty from the fibers of the carpet. My face flushed from a good rutting. Dad looked at me and responded with a "Yeah," with an uncharacteristic blush.

"What else do you fantasize about, dad?" I asked as he rubbed his palm. He stayed quiet but I began to get an idea when I saw the red tie near him.

"I don't know, Kyle" he began, "You gonna think less of me, son?"

"Course not," I replied. We’d been carrying on our crazy father-son affair for years, and it blew my mind that there was more to discover.

He nodded and ran his fingers along my dress shirt. "When you took control... that was very hot."

I grabbed his hand, caressing it with my fingers as he felt me up. I wasn't going soft and worried I wouldn't soon. "That turned me on, too, Dad. Maybe a little too much."

He gave me a concerned look. "We don't gotta, Kyle."

I patted his hand. "Believe me, Dad. I wanna. Just don't want you to feel less than… y’know," I laughed.

He laughed along. "Well, let's talk about more at home, OK, buddy?"

I straightened up as best as I could. I was still quite disheveled, and dad was too, but we made do with what we had and left the office smelling of sex. I left the door ajar hoping to air out some of the scent. Hopefully the cleaning people would not suspect anything. Office sex may have been risky, but I knew I'd be wanting to do that again. And from the glint in Dad's eye, I suspected he was thinking the same thing.

We picked up some takeout and a six pack on the way home. I always shuddered when we pulled up into our suburban driveway, looking like a normal son who's a temporary roommate with his father to save some money, or biding my time till I met the right girl. On the other hand, we did move to a suburb where no one knew us and could only assume who we were. No one ever asked us, and we never clarified. There was a mystery surrounding us and that made it hotter for me. Inside this home, we were father and son but so much more. Maybe even husbands someday…

After dinner, I brought up finances again. We were doing good month-by-month, but I knew we could refinance the mortgage, invest our spare cash more wisely, and start stocking away extra for our future. Dad still bristled at my bossy tendencies when it came to money. He had the experience of raising a family and being man of the house when I was growing up, but I knew more about personal finance. I just wanted him to not need to burden so much by himself.

Still, he was more open to it this time. Not saying no outright. Asking me questions. Not giving up control, but not being the normal Brian Peterson.

But even as we talked about the dullest, most boring stuff possible, his eyes shifting, looking at me with… lust. In the mood for round two or maybe he was just responding to my own lust for him. Having Dad around, living with him, supercharged my sex drive.

He finished off his beer and shot me a smirk. "Feel like hitting the bed a little earlier tonight, buddy?" he asked.

I think the office sex had amped up his libido. Me, I was just horny. "Yah," I said.

We both got up from the table and it was unmistakable, both Peterson men were horned up. My cock strained my shorts and dad had opted to go pantless, only wearing boxer briefs and an old college t-shirt of mine. Every time this man wore my clothes, it made me feel closer to him.

Something was different that night. As we headed to our room, not saying anything, there was a feeling that something had shifted. The atmosphere was supercharged, I felt warm and giddy. Dad kept looking at me and smirking that goddamn sexy smirk. Once in the room, we planted ourselves to opposite sides of the bed and did a slow strip tease for one another.

Dad had refused to go into detail about his and Mom's relationship ("too close to home, buddy"), but I gathered his second wife didn't like how much of a sex drive Dad had. She was fucking crazy, I thought, as I watched him peel off my shirt that was snug on his frame and slowly lower his underwear.

"Fuck, you have a beautiful cock, son," he hissed as I finally slipped out of my briefs. I had inherited dad's length, but had some extra girth. A lot of extra girth, to be truthful. I'm not sure where it came from, but my father seemed to enjoy it.

He kicked off his underwear and joined me naked on the bed a few seconds after I'd climbed onto the mattress. Our bodies connected and we kissed, making our way to a fully reclined position to make out. It was electric. There was never a moment in all this time we were together where the kiss lacked chemistry or passion. This man had the most talented mouth on a construction worker. His kisses were everything you read about in the hottest erotica or saw in movies.

In the midst of the make out session, I ended on top of him. My body on his, his hands on my back pulling me closer to him. His groans of pleasure as I placed my weight on him. I don't know if I took the initiative to roll on top of him, or Dad pulled me into that position. Nevertheless, my mind wandered to what he was thinking. I thought maybe he'd ask me to fuck his face. I had to go easy with that but occasionally he was in the mood for that. That was as far as ‘kinky’ our sex would get.

"You wanna fuck me, Kyle?" Dad asked. Paternal, friendly, and vulnerable all at once. I looked at him and if he wanted to know, my twitching cock on his was answer enough.

We'd tried that a couple of times. Dad at first swore that wasn't for him. Neither of my attempts was successful, it just hurt too much attempting to breach the tightness of his cherry. I didn't harp on it, or press it, but Dad knew the idea turned me on. "Yeah?" I asked, surprised.

"Go slow, OK?" He urged.

"God, yeah," I grunted. I kissed him deeply then started kissing along his neck and upper body, gradually working my way down.

Dad realized I was going to try to rim him. His hand reached out to stop me. "Don't think I'm up for that buddy. Sorry," he said.

I looked into his eyes. Those loving fatherly eyes. The man treated me right every night, and I wanted to make sure he was into every bit of this. "Sure thing, Dad," I replied. I reached for the lube I used on the rare occasions I had to stroke off on my own. Like I say, it had been a while.

I guess the stuff doesn't go bad, I thought, as I undid the cap and squirted some on my fingers. Then more.

My fingering was slow, real slow. Dad hissed some but seemed OK with it. I even got two fingers in and out easy as anything and had my father's hole stretched around a third. It was time.

I lubed up and scooted in place. Dad complied by pulling his legs back and wide, showing off his mature, furry hole that was like a hit of poppers to me. Or coke. Or heroin, or something. I just knew my dick was rock hard seeing that unviolated dad pucker and my thick dick lining up for it.

I went as gently as I could, nudging, teasing that ring before applying some real pressure.

"Oh fuck, slow!" Dad gasped. His hand reached out to touch my chest, stopping me, and his eyes looked up in a plea. I bit my lip and took a deep breath and backed off a bit.

I nodded and realized I'd have to take it slower. I leaned in and made out with him, trying to get his mind off the pain. That seemed to relax the big guy. His beefy body relaxed on the bed beneath me. I tried not to break the kiss as I tried again. Even slower.

Fuck, it didn't work. Dad let out a yelp like I'd stabbed him. "God, that fucking hurts," he cried as he broke our kiss. No more pleading in his eyes, just a lot of pain and frustration.

I rolled off him. My hardon was gone, replaced by my concern for him.

"Sorry, Kyle," he said, softly, contritely. "I know you wanted it, bad."

I sighed. "Come on, Dad. You gotta want it, too. If I wanted to fuck something not invested in it, I’d buy a blow up doll."

He turned and faced me, a hangdog look on his gruff face. "That's the thing, son. I do want it. I want to make you happy, give you that pleasure. It's just... my body doesn't seem to cooperate." He looked down at my softened dick. "I guess I kind of killed the mood, huh?"

"You didn't kill anything, Dad," I said, pulling him into a soft kiss. It was a romantic, reassuring kiss, but pretty soon we got each other worked up again. Before I knew it, I was rock hard. And Dad's fist circling around it felt amazing with the lube job I'd given myself.

"Damn," I hissed, pulling back and looking down to where Dad was giving me a hand job. We'd never done this and while it would probably never be my preferred sex act, it felt amazing just then.

"You like that buddy?" Dad growled playfully, his breath on my ear, his tongue flicking at the earlobe as his fist continued working my tool. "Fuck... I love taking care of my boy." He admitted aloud.

I turned to look at him and he held his gaze on me. I loved this man and even more because he wanted to give me his all. "You’ll take care of me, right dad?" I asked, gulping at my question. Involuntarily I thrust some into his greased fist.

"Let your old man take care of you son. That’s my job, to make sure you’re satisfied." Dad pumped me some more, looking down at my meat before looking back up at me. "Earlier, bud... when you were on top of me.... I was so fucking proud of my hot executive son.... ready to take charge."

"Oh shit," I gulped. I didn't feel like I was taking charge then. Dad was playing me like a fiddle, just like he was playing with my cock.

His lips formed a sexy leer. "You like that, huh, son? Being in charge?"

"Hell yes," I replied, gaining my voice and admitting the fantasy that had been latent. Dad was tapping into it big time that day. "I don't mean any disrespect to you, sir," I said. I hadn't called him Sir since I was like 16. But the emotions were pouring out. "But that idea.... of being man of the house... oh fuck!"

My cum was shooting. I knew I was on the edge but that orgasm hit hard and fast, by surprise.

"Shoot it, buddy!" Dad encouraged, milking me harder. "My hot fucking stud."

I felt like I had left my body how hard this orgasm had been, feeling a sudden lassitude hit me with the post-coital endorphins. My body jerked as I felt Dad kiss my belly and lick up my jets of semen. Then I felt his mouth encircle my prick, unconcerned about the lube there. Sucking me all the way down. I had a reflexive reaction to the overstimulation and almost pushed Dad off.

But the second I touched his shoulder; I had second thoughts. I knew the sensitivity would go away and that I'd enjoy another BJ. I circled my dad's delt muscle and held him to work him up and down my bone.

***

It was the weekend before Dad brought up the idea.

"Kyle... you got a minute?" he asked as I came in from mowing the lawn. We split the household duties, but given that dad worked hard in the hot sun day in and day out, I tried to tackle the major yard work.

"Yeah, Dad... what's up?"

He got me a cold soda from the fridge and pulled up a chair to our kitchen island where we had a lot of our meals. Dad had a barely concealed look of excitement on his face as he started in.

"So I've been thinking... I guess I have a lot of hang ups when it comes to sex...."

I laughed. "Dad, you're the last guy I'd say has any hang ups." I mean, the guy had blown me in the shower that morning. And then asked if I wanted seconds. "Seriously, you're incredible."

He grinned, pleased at the compliment. But he continued. "I do though. The other night, I really wanted to bottom for you. But I just have a hard time giving up control."

I grimaced. "Dad we don't gotta. If it's not fun for both of us, I don't wanna do it."

Dad was anticipating that answer. "Tell me the truth, Kyle. Would you enjoy fucking me, right?"

I didn't have to ponder the answer. "I would," I admitted. "That doesn't mean..." I started.

Dad interrupted. "Buddy, of course we don't gotta.. But I think I found a solution." He picked up his iPad and clicked on the screen then pushed it my way.

There was a webpage with big bold lettering. "HYPNOTHERAPY..., a way to take back control of your life by using our services. You too can overcome challenges and learned behaviors stopping you from being the best you."

Dad watched excitedly as I read it. "I found them through an online forum…" I raised my eyebrow and he blushed, "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, buddy… I want to be able to give you my all and found a forum with guys with similar issues as mine, unable to bottom for their partner and well… A lot of services don't let you use it for sex therapy, but several guys had good experience with this company. Said it was worth every penny."

"You want me to undergo hypnosis?" I asked slowly. I loved my dad but sometimes he could have wacky ideas.

He chuckled and shook his head, "No buddy, I want you to hypnotize me. You know, kind of get me past my mental roadblocks."

God, he was serious. I felt a flush of heat. There was something powerfully hot about the idea, but it also felt wrong. "Dad, I don’t know that it works like that."

"Won't you even fucking give it a try?" I'd never seen Dad upset at me like this, at least not in a while. "Listen... I called them and they assured me that they could do virtual training if need be." He was giving me that hangdog look of his that was hard to say no to. "It'd be an hour consultation with me and then a three-hour mini course for you. I figure after all those econ classes you'd be a quick study," he smirked.

"I'll think about it," I said.

That seemed to cheer him up and he stood up and came over and patted my shoulder. "Love ya so much, buddy," he said. "I just want to find a way to make you happy."

"You do, Dad," I replied then felt his strong muscle get closer behind me and his hand travel down my sweaty T-shirt, feeling up my chest muscle. I thought Dad had drained me pretty good earlier but I was boning up, fast. "Dad... when was the last time you edged me?"

I heard his soft chuckle. "Beats me, buddy... beach vacation last year?" He patted my pec muscle and gave my head a soft kiss. "Why don't you go shower up? I'll put on a Sox game and we'll see if I can get you to hold off blasting till the eighth inning, OK?"

I laughed and turned around to meet his kiss.

***

The next day Dad went into my home office, shut the door and did his one-on-one consultation. I spent the afternoon online with a mild-mannered guy. Handsome dude in his early 30s, he had that tech-bro attire on, but he had a way of making me feel at ease with him. He asked me about myself and my goals in life. We hadn't told the company we were father and son of course, but I talked in general terms about my relationship with Dad.

"Would you say he was a father figure for you? In your relationship..." His tone wasn't judgmental.

"Definitely," I said, and he nodded, writing some stuff down.

Then it was twenty questions about our sex life. I hesitated at first but decided to be honest and do this, for Dad.

That was the first hour. The next hour was the man describing the process - the Protocol as he called it. Dad would be asked to listen regularly to a recording, a mix of repeated words and white noise. I was given the trigger words and told how and when to use them. Beyond that there was a general script, but Tech Bro told me I’d have to use and adapt it, almost improvise. It was a method more than anything.

“It’s easier than it sounds, Kyle,” he explained. “You’re in finance right? Think of it as a flow chart or business strategy plan. You respond to Brian’s psyche.”

The man warned me about what not to do, but also allayed my concerns. "Kyle, Brian is doing this because he wants to. You can't make him do what he doesn't want to, deep down. Just remember that."

"Yeah," I said, trying to convince myself. Part of me was convinced this was all a sham and it wouldn't work. And part of me was afraid it would work all too well.

"I believe you're going to enjoy this, too," he finally said. I kind of zoned out a little, because the next thing I remember was the Tech Bro's voice. "You feeling relaxed?"

"Yeah, I am," I replied.

"Good," he said. I've sent you the link to a recorded video that will walk you through the hypnosis you're going to perform on Brian. Watch a few times before you actually do it."

With that, he signed off.

***

I gave it a week. Each night, Dad would come home, tired from work. We'd have dinner, he'd blow me and the hour before bed, he'd listen to the recording, headphones on as he lay on the couch, eyes closed. I took the time to review the instructional video.

On Friday, I got an email from the company. "Watch this and you'll be ready."

I found myself surprisingly thrilled to click the link. It was a video conference recording, only with my dad in center frame. The familiar bookshelves and posters from my home office were in the background, and I realized it was from Dad's initial consultation. Only the video started halfway in, after the preliminaries.

The man's voice was a different man’s, deeper and more seductive and monotone. "That's it, Brian... let those eyelids get heavier and heavier.... don't need to fight it. Just let it feel good."

Dad nodded and as the voice droned on in its hypnosis chant, I saw him finally relax. At first nothing seemed to be happening but then I saw dad's shoulders lean in and then his head slumped forward.

The voice became more assertive, "Good, Brian. How do you feel?"

"Relaxed..." Dad said in a monotone voice.

"That’s good to hear. Every time you hear the phrase ‘power down’ you will revert to this state, is that clear?"

"Yes..."

I was so fucking hard watching his. Particularly because I realized Dad had given up control for my sake.

"Now, let’s begin…"

I listened to how the man guided dad and how he brought him back. I was jotting down notes. When dad came back to, it was as though he was waking up from a deep sleep.

"How do you feel?"

"Relaxed, as though I just went on vacation. Thank you." Normal Dad voice, groggy from having ‘woken up.’ It was wild seeing that happen. I don’t think my father was just playing along. We were paying good money for this and if it was not working, Dad would say so.

Then the video stopped.

I was horny all afternoon. Dad sensed something was off when I got home. Friday is normally our unofficial dad-son date night. And when Dad came into the living room, he saw I was sitting nervously.

"Something wrong, Kyle?" he asked, unbuttoning his plaid work shirt. It was unusual for Dad to call me by my name unless he was mad, worried or we were at a work event, though those were rare before my promotion.

"Just a tough day at work," I lied. I forced a smile. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go out and grab a bite."

That seemed to relax Dad as he smiled before turning to go to the room and get ready. He was looking great when he walked back to the living room wearing a clean polo shirt that hugged his beefy body and some jeans.

"Ready son? I'm starving."

I perked up over dinner but when we got home, I patted Dad's meaty shoulder once we walked into the living room. "Power down," I said, my body shaking with the nerves of what I was doing.

I honestly didn't expect this to work as easily as it did, but at hearing his trigger, Dad’s face went slack, his hands dropped to his sides and his eyes became glazed. I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"How do you feel?" I asked. Dad acknowledged the question but did not look at me nor register who I was.

Instead, he answered while concentrating at a point in the distance. "Relaxed and calm..."

I tried to remember the protocol. I was glad I'd watched the instructions multiple times since the words came to me readily; "Good... you know that every time you are in this state, you feel relaxed and calm, correct?"

"Yes... relaxed and calm." God, his voice was so sexy, deep and soft like this.

"Kyle put you in this place because he loves you very much. Repeat after me, ‘Kyle loves me.’"

"Kyle loves me."

"Again."

"Kyle loves me."

"Good. Kyle knows you have a hard time showing him you love him." I had to give the company credit; they'd come up with a hypnosis protocol specifically tailored to our needs.

"I do," Dad's reply came. "I love my boy so much."

My heart pounded. Dad was looking in my direction but not focusing on me as he spoke. He was open to everything I would be saying to him while in this state and he would answer my questions truthfully and with no hesitations.

"How do you want to show him your love, Brian?" It gave me a thrill to call my old man by his first name.

"I want Kyle to fuck me," Dad said simply, "I know that would make him happy."

Pretty much, things had gone to script so far, but the protocol was more about a set of prompts and ways to deal with the truth of the response.

"Will you do that for him?" I asked, a horny knot in my throat. "Will you make your son happy?"

Dad nodded. "I want to, but I couldn't… I can’t."

"Why is that Brian, why can’t you give your son this one thing?"

"Because I'm a man. Men don't get fucked."

Jesus. The man had some issues I wasn't prepared for. But it made sense my butch, blue-collar dad would have some issues about bottoming. I stepped up and touched his face. He didn't flinch and didn't lean into the caress, but he smiled dreamily.

"Kyle is a man, right?" I asked. I was ad adlibbing some, but this was basically following the protocol. Leaning into the resistance.

Dad nodded, "He is. My son is the sexiest man I know."

I was getting rock hard now. I walked backwards as I began to take off my clothes. I rubbed my cock to feed the pleasure and continued.

"You think your son is a sexy man and you love your boy very much… Do you think Kyle should be the one getting fucked instead?" I asked. This wasn't scripted but was part of the jiu jitsu move of taking the man's hangups and using them against him.

Dad's brow creased for a second then the calm returned. "No. Kyle does the fucking."

I was dripping now. I let go of my prick and stepped a little closer. I could smell the Irish Spring or whatever fucking soap he uses at the end of a hard day. "I want you to remember that, Brian," I said. "I want you to remember that Kyle does the fucking."

A part of me felt low for trying to get Dad to put out for me like this. But I remembered what the Tech Bro had said about Dad only doing what he'd want to do deep down.

My father's tranced response was automatic. "Kyle does the fucking."

I nodded. "I want you to think about that. A few times a day at least. Think about your sexy stud of a son. The executive, fucking you, seeing the love you have for him. Show your boy that you love him by giving him what he wants. And when you do, it will give you a sense of happiness and pleasure."

"Happiness and pleasure," he repeated.

"And when you feel him on top of you, his weight on top of you, you will feel safe and content."

"Safe and content."

I wasn't 100 perfectly sure if I was doing this right. Dad was zone out to be sure, but I worried he was just repeating whatever the fuck I said. So, I asked, "Why is that?"

Dad's answer had surprising clarity, as it was his normal voice speaking to me. "Because my son is a man. And men fuck, men don't get fucked."

Maybe it would take me a while to deprogram that nonsense from him, but a shallow side of me was getting turned on by the way Dad talked in such primitive, black-and-white terms about fucking.

"Good," I instructed. "Now..." It was time to return to the Protocol. "I want you to envision an empty room. An empty white room. Totally white. Blindingly white..."

"Yes..."

I moved back away from him, a few paces away.

"Good. I want you to concentrate on my voice. As I begin to count to five, you will be walking towards a door. Kyle will be there, walking with you, making sure you are taken care of."

Dad took a breath and nodded, his big chest rising and falling.

"You do not need to do this alone," I continued. "Kyle will be with you every step of the way. I’m going to count to five and once I get there, I want you see the door. When we get to the door, I’ll tell you what will happen next." Dad didn’t respond but nodded as he began to concentrate on what I was saying.

"One... you are walking forward..." Dad began to walk towards me, "two... you are reaching out to hold Kyle’s hands, he alone brings you comfort and relaxation..." Dad reached towards me and soon as my hands touched his, he held on to them with a firm grip... "three, we are walking to the door I mentioned. It’s getting closer... four, we are almost to the door... Five, we are here..."

"I can see it," Dad said softly. It's bright but I can see it." His voice was deep but excited.

"Open the door. What do you see?" I asked. The Protocol was about the implantation of a suggestion and the reinforcement of that before the session was over.

"Our bedroom," Dad replied. Again, his voice had a strange clarity. "I'm on it, on my back... and Kyle is fucking me."

I almost came then, but luckily my hand was nowhere near my cock.

"How does that make you feel, getting fucked by your sexy son?" I asked.

"I am relaxed and content… And happy. Kyle is making me happy."

"The same way you feel when you are sucking your son’s cock, worshiping it, making it shoot for you… that’s how it’ll feel when you let yourself get fucked by him… you’ll feel pleasure beyond what you could imagine."

"When he fucks me..." his voice was getting that soft drone like quality again.

One big no they told me was not to have Dad under hypnosis for too long. Especially for the first sessions. It was time to bring him back.

"Good, Brian. Close the door." I saw Dad do the motion of closing the imaginary door hesitantly, he wanted what he saw but until now, that was more of a dream than a reality.

"Think of that moment, Brian. Think how happy you were, how happy you made your son. All that matters now is that you show your love for your son. He deserves it as much as you do, to feel the pleasure only you two can give each other. Understood?"

Dad nodded. I wanted to kiss him, hug him, but I needed to bring him out, "Now, at the count of three, you will follow all my suggestions while you were under. Deep in your mind, you know that Kyle does the fucking and that to show him you love him, you have to let go and give him what he wants… what does he want?"

"To fuck me… fuck his dad…" Dad responded, biting his lip and his cock beginning to get hard.

"Yes, fucking you will give him happiness and bring you pleasure. That’s all you want, as a dad right? Bring happiness to your son?"

"Yes, I want my son to be happy…"

"And your boy wants to give you pleasure."

"Give me pleasure… my boy…"

"Yes. I’m going to count to three and you’ll wake up, not realizing you were under but following all instructions. You will not question why your son is naked and you’re not. Okay, let’s start… One.... you can feel your toes... Two.... your muscles can flex again.... Your breath getting back to normal... Three."

Dad's eyes flicked open with a suddenness that startled me.

"Fuck!" I gasped.

Dad shook out his muscles a little as he refocused on me. I saw him break into a huge smile. "Damn, buddy... looks like you couldn't wait to get me to bed, huh?" He stepped up to me and latched on to my naked muscle as he claimed a quick kiss then crouched down in front of me. Oblivious to the hypnosis he'd just undergone.

I was so primed and hard I had to pull Dad off my prick a couple of times when I was in danger of blowing too soon. And when I finally came, Dad coughed on the load, it was so heavy.

After he swallowed my load, we showered and he kept touchy feely with me, rubbing my shoulders, slapping my ass, and when we went to the living room to watch T.V., he grabbed my feet and rubbed them as he watched the highlights.

Once we went to the room, he asked if he could play with my cock again. I told him I didn’t think I had anything in me, "Come on buddy, one more go before I hit the hay."

I nodded and like a little boy on Christmas morning, he licked his lips and went down to play with his favorite toy. He sucked for almost an hour with breaks in between and when I finally shot, it was not much, but Dad happily drank it down, nevertheless.

#drakestories

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five-rivers · 1 year

Text

The Intern

AO3

Inspired by a variety of DPxDC posts, but mostly this one by @gettingcomfyinyourwalls

Before Danny's Accident, he and Jazz had competed for the title of "the normal one" with an intensity and ferocity achievable only by siblings in families where there was no normal one. After the Accident, he had to cede the title, however reluctantly, to his sister, who then, in a turn around only possible for siblings, then dedicated herself to giving Danny the title of "the one everyone thinks is the normal one." Combined with his chosen friend group - a girl who pursued weird as a lifestyle, and the kid who once tried to use a tamagotchi to hack a vending machine, then gave the tamagotchi an Egyptian burial when the attempt killed it - it was very easy to forget that Danny was not normal at all. Not even if you ignored the whole "half-ghost superhero" thing, which was very difficult to ignore.

It was even easier to forget what kind of not normal he originally was, before the accident, and continued to be even afterward.

However, the world (and particularly Sam and Tucker) was about to be reminded.

"Guys!" shouted Danny, literally skipping up the hallway to come to a bouncing stop between Sam and Tucker. "Guess what!" He was quivering with so much excitement that his edges looked a little blurry.

Tucker put a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop. "I guess it's a good thing, and not that your parents invented a ghost wiggler or something?"

Danny stilled. "The ghost wiggler. My enemy."

"Wait, I was joking."

"Mom and Dad weren't. That thing was evil."

"Okay, okay," said Sam, raising her hands, "it didn't have anything to do with one of your parents' inventions. What did happen?"

"Two of my summer internship applications were accepted," said Danny, almost sparkling with delight.

Actually, he was sparkling. If he had an internship outside of town, he would have to get that under control.

"That's great," said Sam. "Which ones?"

"Lexcorp and Wayne Industries!"

"Lexcorp?"

"Wayne Industries?"

"You applied to Lexcorp?" demanded Sam, appalled.

"You're going to Gotham?" asked Tucker in the same tone.

Danny looked from Sam to Tucker, then back again. "Yessssss?"

"To work for the guy you call Bald Vlad? The one who keeps trying to kill Superman?"

"The place with all those crazy villains and mad scientists? That Gotham?"

Then, together, they asked, "Why did you even apply there?"

"Lexcorp is a civilian leader in astronautics, meteoritics, cosmochemistry, nuclear physics, quantum computing, robotics and medical research."

"Because Lex Luthor is trying to kill Superman."

"And even beyond Wayne Industries, there are so many great scientists in Gotham, like Dr. Isley, Dr. Crane and even Dr. Fries!"

"Danny, those are the villains."

"Well," said Danny, "I figure I'm never going to meet Lex Luthor, being an intern and all, but if I see any dangerous weapons, I can trash them! I have lots of experience."

"Don't you think it might be a little dangerous for you to work for an avowed human supremacist?"

"It’s not any different from staying home."

Sam leaned back to stare at a point over Danny's head, flummoxed.

Tucker, not liking his point being ignored, squeezed Danny's shoulder. "If you miss fighting that much, I'm sure any ghost you ask will be happy to spar with you. The villains, Danny. Why do you want to go somewhere with that many villains?"

"It's not like I'm joining them." Danny rolled his eyes. "I just want to talk to them. If you're so concerned, I can take Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane off the list."

"Why only those two? Why not get rid of the whole list?" asked Tucker, shaking him slightly.

"Because Dr. Isley was mostly for Sam and Dr. Crane was mostly for Jazz. Dr. Fries is for me, and Mom and Dad want me to try to convince cousin Hugo to try therapy again."

"Why," said Sam, as Tucker glared at her, "do you think I'd want you to talk to Poison Ivy?"

"Uh," said Danny, "because you admire her work?"

"Admired, past tense, and that was before she started turning people into trees."

“But the ‘turning people into trees’ part is way more applicable to our lives!”

“Forget about that,” said Tucker. “Why do you want to talk to Mr. Freeze?”

“Well, Doctor Fries is an expert in cryogenics and incorporating ice into technology. I want to be able to do that.” Danny looked back and forth between Sam and Tucker. “Come on, I’m not interning for him. I just want to expand my knowledge base! Just think about all the cool things I could make!”

Sam and Tucker, united in horror and purpose, grabbed Danny by the arms and dragged him bodily into Senior English.

"Jazz," said Sam, hauling Danny forward by the arm she held, "your brother is turning into a mad scientist!"

Jazz looked from Sam, to Danny, to Tucker, then back to Sam. "Yessssss?"

"Well," huffed Sam, "aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"No? Why would I?"

“Mad scientist,” repeated Sam.

“That’s generally a bad thing,” said Tucker.

“It’s fine. Danny has a very strong sense of ethics.”

“And lab safety!” chimed in Danny.

“And lab safety,” agreed Jazz, nodding. “Now, if you want me to help you with your internalized prejudice, I can refer you to some resources I’ve found quite helpful myself.”

“Internalized prejudice is when you’re biased against yourself,” said Tucker.

“Yes.” Jazz returned to the task of arranging her pens and notebook on her desk.

“Wait,” said Sam, “you are not calling us mad scientists, are you?”

“Well,” said Jazz, “Mad Science Disorder isn’t in the DSM, but there’s a movement to have it included in the next edition, and I think you would fit the proposed diagnostic criteria.”

“No,” said Sam.

“Yes,” said Danny.

“I have seen the inside of your greenhouse, Sam,” said Jazz. “You’re at least on the road to being a mad botanist, if not a mad ecologist.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” said Tucker.

“And you’re obviously a mad computer scientist, with a minor in archaeology.”

“Wait, why are you saying this like they’re college majors?” asked Tucker.

“It’s easier that way,” said Jazz. She frowned slightly. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just that you should be aware of it, so you don’t wake up one day and start planning involuntary human drug trials, or something like that.”

“Jazz did that, once. I was five.”

The warning bell rang.

“You should go to class,” said Jazz, pleasantly. “You don’t want to be late.”

“Listen,” said Sam, leaning over the desk to whisper at Danny, “couldn’t you, I don’t know, just do the Wayne internship?”

“Hm,” said Danny, rubbing his chin, “maybe. But I kind of get the feeling I only got the Wayne internship because I got the Lexcorp one.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, like we talked about way back, Bruce Wayne has to be funding the Justice League, at least a little.” He pushed his math homework - already finished - to one side. “It’d make sense for him to keep an eye on anyone Lex Luthor personally hires, on account of the Superman thing. It’s either that or corporate espionage.”

“Wait,” said Tucker, leaning in from the side, “go back to the ‘personally’ part.”

“It’s a special internship?” said Danny, somehow still managing to pull off the clueless innocent look. “It was, like, competitive? You know what I mean.”

“Luthor personally hired you? Reviewed your application and whatever?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think he isn’t going to meet you?”

“Why would he? I’m basically going to be getting a tour, then doing drudgework for a month.”

“I love you, man, but you are so, so dumb sometimes. The man is going to meet you. Jeez, I hadn’t even heard he was doing internships like that for our age group.”

“Age group?” asked Danny.

“Dude. No. Tell me it was at least limited to just high schoolers. Tell me you didn’t apply for an internship meant for college students.”

“There wasn’t any age on it as far as I remember.”

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Falluca, “will you please come solve this triangle for the class?”

Danny huffed. “Rule of cosines,” he said as he stood. “Give me an easy problem…”

“Why is he even in this class?” mumbled Sam.

“Ghost hunting,” Tucker mumbled back.

“How are you even going to get to Metropolis?” asked Sam as they walked away from the school. “You don’t have your license yet.” He probably wouldn’t have his license ever. Three Fentons driving had, evidently, proven too much for the local DMVs. Jazz, as conscientious as she was, had gotten hers from the one in Elmerton before they, too, realized the horror that was Jack and Maddie.

“Jazz is going to take me,” said Danny with a little shrug. “She’s doing a pre-college thing there. Some kind of volunteer thing.”

“And how are you getting to Gotham?”

“There’s a train that goes there,” said Danny. “Like, a regular one.”

“And getting back?”

“Mom and Dad will pick me up.”

“Where will you be sleeping?”

“There’s on-site dorms on each site.”

Sam curled her lips. “The return of company towns in the modern era.”

“I don’t know, I think the Wayne ones are probably fine.”

“But you’re sleeping in the Lexcorp ones?”

“I figure I can disable any subliminal programming devices that might be installed there.”

“Do you not see how crazy that sounds? Tucker, back me up, here?”

Tucker sighed. “Honestly, I don’t think we’re going to be able to change his mind. I’ve been picking out funeral flowers. You still like lillies?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll call you guys if I need help. Just like you’ll call me if some new ghost shows up and starts causing trouble, right?”

“Yes,” said Sam, exasperated. “But you understand those two things aren’t the same, right? That with the way things are here, there probably won’t be a new ghost causing trouble?”

Danny had made… peace probably wasn’t quite the right word, with the Fentons, the Guys in White, and the lack of an organized overarching social structure, but there was an understanding between him and the ghosts. Without that understanding, he wouldn’t have been able to take the time to apply for internships, let alone actually go to any.

“I mean, if it’s an imposition–”

“That’s not what she meant,” interjected Tucker. “Nope. Nope. You aren’t wriggling out of calling us when a supervillain kidnaps you. She’s trying to talk you out of taking an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s not really a risk for me, though.”

It really wasn’t. Danny might not be invulnerable, but the sheer variety of his powers along with his accelerated healing made that point academic. For most enemies.

“This is the guy who fights Superman, Danny,” said Sam. “For all we know, he’s got some kind of anti-ghost material in the same cabinet he keeps his Kryptonite.”

“I don’t think that’d work very well, actually,” said Danny.

“It was a metaphor. Be serious.”

“I am being serious. This is something I want to do. I want to go there and learn and prepare for the future.”

“You sound like Jazz, you know? You’ve got two more years here. You don’t have to do this. If this is some kind of overcorrection because of the ghosts–”

“It’s not. I told you why I wanted to do this.” He stopped on the sidewalk, pulling on the hem of his shirt. “Is it really that bad? Is it really that terrible that I’m going somewhere and doing something that I’m interested in?”

“No,” said Tucker, awkwardly. “We’re worried about you.”

“And I’ll be fine,” insisted Danny. “Really. I will be. And, you know, like I said, I want to do this kind of thing in the future, so it’s good practice.”

“For what?” asked Sam, crossing her arms. “Scamming supervillains?”

“Well, yeah,” said Danny. “That, too.”

Sam’s arms fell, along with her jaw. “What?”

“Scamming supervillains,” said Danny, starting to walk again. “Like, obviously, I want to either do something with spaceflight or something with a big humanitarian dimension, but scamming supervillains is definitely going to be my backup. Or maybe my hobby. They always have the coolest stuff, and a lot of money, too, usually.”

“Coolest stuff?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, almost skipping, now. “Ice rays, supercomputers, gene therapy, rapidly growing vegetation, limb regeneration, cloning techniques… Lex Luthor came up with a cure for, like, over half a dozen different types of cancer.”

“Because he wanted to kill Superman,” said Sam, taking up an earlier refrain. It had only

“Yeah, but imagine what he could do if we could convince him that Superman got his strength from, like, world hunger or something.”

“I hate it,” said Sam, after a long moment, “but I think you have a point.”

“You two could go into business with me. Some villains go through goons so fast, I bet we could hit them about a dozen times.”

“You’re not planning to do this now, though, are you?” asked Tucker.

“Huh? No. No, not until after graduation. Most I’ll do with any supervillains I see this time around is talk.”

“That’s a lie,” said Sam, immediately. “There’s no way. The first time Man-Bat or Brainiac jumps out of a sewer, you’re going to start swinging.”

“Man-Bat is a geneticist and a chiropterologist, you know,” said Danny. “I’d love to take Brainiac apart, though. Do you have any idea how many planets he’s wiped out? And the stuff he’s got to have–”

“You’re floating,” said Tucker.

“And glowing,” said Sam. “You’re really going to have to work on that.”

“Oops,” said Danny. “Sorry. It’s just, like, everything I’m Obsessed with.” He landed, but still fidgeted, as if shaping something invisible with his hands. Which he might have been. “It’s– I still want to help people.” The plaintive note in his voice made it clear that ‘want’ was, in this case, closer to ‘need.’ “I don’t mind doing the hero thing, and I can’t ignore a cry for help. But I’m not going to just waltz into someone else’s territory and start messing with stuff.”

“I think the territory thing is more of a ghost thing than a hero thing.”

“Eh,” said Danny, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Danny waved goodbye to Jazz as she pulled away from the curb, then grinned up at the Lexcorp building. Wow, it was tall. And probably had a lot of really sketchy stuff in the basement.

But! He wouldn’t start poking around with that stuff until he’d been there for at least a week.

(Okay, he’d probably last twenty-four hours at most, but who could blame him? How often did anyone get to poke around the lair of a supervillain who wasn’t their archenemy?)

He walked into the lobby, craning his neck this way and that to take it all in. It was… honestly pretty boring. Not unlike Vlad’s buildings. But he supposed that all corporate buildings were like that to some degree.

“Hello!” he said, walking up to the front desk. “I’m–”

“You’ll have to wait for your parents to come out, I’m afraid, sweetie,” said the secretary. “Company rules.”

Danny blushed. “No, um, I’m here for the internship? The Innovators of Tomorrow Today internship? I’m Danny Fenton. Daniel. Daniel Fenton.”

The secretary blinked at him, then looked down at her computer for a moment. “I’ll need to see some ID.”

“Will my passport be okay?” Danny asked, tugging on his bracelet to get it to lie more comfortably on his wrist. On account of the whole ‘no driver’s license’ problem, he didn’t have anything else, other than his student ID.

“That will be fine,” said the secretary, reaching for it. She looked it over carefully, becoming more and more confused. Danny wondered if she was expecting it to be fake or something. “You’re fifteen.”

“I know I’m short,” said Danny. “But I’m almost sixteen.”

“I see,” she said. “Well. Here’s your visitor badge. We’ll have someone come escort you to the meeting room shortly, and your internship badge will be ready when you start tomorrow. You can leave your luggage here, and it will be scanned and brought up to the dorms.”

Danny bobbed his head happily and took back his passport and the badge. He couldn’t wait to meet the other people he’d be working with. He bet that there’d be a lot of people his age, no matter what Tucker said after he looked it up and saw the website.

A tall man wearing an earpiece and some kind of weapon - a taser, probably - walked up to Danny a few minutes later and scanned his badge. With a few words, he directed Danny to an elevator - one with a keypad code - and brought him up to the tenth story. The elevator opened directly into a… Danny wasn’t entirely sure what to call it. It was square and very large and open, with soft, rounded furniture, a kitchenette, and a catered lunch spread out on several long tables. One wall was all windows, looking down into Metropolis, and another wall was covered in cool, art-deco Lexcorp posters.

There were a lot of people.

A lot of tall people.

A lot of tall, college-aged people. Older college-aged people, even. No teenagers.

Tucker had been right. Great.

A middle-aged woman extracted herself from the loose crowd and came over to Danny, smiling.

“Hello!” she said. “You must be Daniel Fenton. My name is Liberty Rue, I’m the coordinator for the Innovators of Tomorrow Today program.”

“Hi,” said Danny, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Ms. Rue nodded. “Thank you, thank you. We’re just giving everyone a chance to get to know each other before we start the orientation. Please feel free to take any of the refreshments and mingle. All of you are going to be working together closely. Your specialties were electrical engineering and space science?”

“Yes,” said Danny. Although, to be honest, he didn’t really have a specialty. He was more of a generalist.

(Unless you counted ghost science, but there was absolutely no way he was going to bring that up.)

“Excellent. Let me introduce you to the group you’ll be working most closely with–”

What followed was something of a whirlwind. It wasn’t that there was a lot of people, but it was one after the other, and Ms. Rue seemed to be… showing him off, almost? Or showing the other people off? In any case, there was a weird tension to it all.

Was it because he was younger?

He tried not to dwell on it too much, though, because everyone here had so much cool stuff to talk about. Almost all of them had been involved in serious graduate or undergraduate research projects. Strange matter, transient dimensions, reality fields, meta gene analysis, non-quantum teleportation, reproduction of extraterrestrial technologies… Danny was starting to feel a little inadequate. The project he’d sent in was a ‘theoretical’ blueprint for a spy-bot disabler. One that he was proud of, sure; getting a localized EMP effect without a nuke wasn’t easy, but it was doable. And the EMP part was definitely the ‘last resort’ stage of things. It was, after all, much better to hack into Vlad’s bugs and have them send him a hundred hours worth of rickrolls.

In the middle of a conversation about exactly how much room you needed for a decent particle accelerator, Ms. Rue stepped aside and put her hand to her ear. Danny hadn’t noticed the earpiece before, but now he looked at it with curiosity. It was well made, and he could barely hear it, even with his slightly augmented hearing. He wondered if they were designed to counter Superman.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Ms. Rue, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to steal you away for a moment.

“Okay,” said Danny. He followed her back to the elevator, stealing a cookie as he went. They weren’t as good as his Mom’s, but he was pretty sure they tasted the way they did because of their ectoplasm content, so…

Ms. Rue punched a code into the elevator and scanned her badge. “Alright, Mr. Fenton. Go ahead. You’ll be taken where you need to go.”

Well. That was maybe a little sketchy, but Danny was nothing if not curious. He got in. “I’ll be back in time for the orientation, right?”

“If you aren’t, I’ll make sure you’re shown around personally,” promised Ms. Rue.

The doors closed and the elevator went up. And up. Then stopped for a moment, during which Danny felt the tingle of a very thorough full-body scan. And up some more. All the way to the top. The doors opened to a sparkling office. Everything in it was white, chrome, or glass, with smooth straight lines and geometrically perfect curves. It blended perfectly with the skyline of Metropolis framed by the full-wall windows.

Between Danny and the windows was an enormous white desk. Behind the desk was Lex Luthor.

“Daniel Fenton,” said Lex Luthor, inclining his head ever so slightly towards Danny. “It is good to meet you.”

“Thank you,” said Danny, trying not to squeak. “I’m happy to be here. I’m looking forward to working here for the next couple of weeks.”

“It is heartening to see that you are more open to cooperation than Vlad.” Luthor turned away, slightly, surveying the city below him.

Danny took that as an invitation to come closer and peer out the huge windows himself. What did Vlad have to do with this?

“I confess, I found myself frustrated by his lack of vision,” continued Luthor, “but youth often holds wisdom that age lacks.” He turned back to favor Danny with a smile. “On seeing your application, I was charmed by your initiative in circumventing your mentor.”

Danny’s train of thought, such as it was, derailed.

“Mentor?” he asked.

“You don’t have to hide it,” said Luthor. “Not when we are both quite aware of the others’ knowledge. Considering my wealth, I am privy to a number of things that ordinary people are not. Including the beneficiaries of my fellow billionaires’ wills.”

Oh. Oh, no. Lex thought– But why– Was he– He couldn’t be right, but– But did this make Danny a… a… nepotism baby?

The sprout of confidence that had been flourishing ever since he got the letter announcing his acceptance to the internship program withered. This was even worse than finding out he and Jazz were test tube babies. (And that was only so bad because his parents had felt the need to go on a long tangent about how they had selected their donor-parents, as large portions of Jack and Maddie's genomes were unstable due to a combination of the family proclivities and a variety of curses.)

Lex Luthor stood. “Doubtless, you’re interested in the projects I outlined to Vlad when I proposed our cooperation. The device blueprint you submitted for the internship referenced them quite cleverly. I would like to show you how far they’ve progressed since I spoke to Vlad, and then we can discuss your contribution to their success.”

“I don’t have access to any of Vlad’s resources, Mr. Luthor,” said Danny, cautiously. “I couldn’t provide any, er, funding to these projects.”

“I am aware of that. But I think your value goes above and beyond the financial, Daniel.” He put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “After all, the reason I approached Vlad was his science background. And in a few years… Well. Vlad Masters is not a young man.”

Was that a murder threat? Danny thought it was a murder threat. Oh, boy, did he have something else coming for him if he thought he could just kill Vlad like that.

Luthor directed Danny back towards the elevator, and this time they went down. Far down. Into those basements Danny had been thinking about before.

They stepped out into a vestibule, and a pair of much more openly armed security guards saluted Lex before running through a series of security measures. Danny took note specifically of the ones intended to detect mind control and shapeshifting.

From there, they passed through a series of locked doors and into a maze of gleaming white hallways. The color made Danny’s skin itch. Too much like the GIW for his taste.

Luthor opened a side door, and showed Danny into an empty lab. Empty in terms of people, that is. In terms of stuff… blueprints, prototypes, models, drawings, coffee cups… not so much.

“I had the team take the day off,” said Luthor. “I thought you’d appreciate the chance to look at things without any distractions.”

Danny surveyed the plans with interest. There were similarities between what was being built and the mini-EMP portion of his bug-zapper. There were also echoes of shield technology… some kind of energy projector or amplifier?

“What is it supposed to emit?” asked Danny, unable to hold back his curiosity. He touched, ever so gently, a hollow place he was sure the energy source was supposed to sit.

Lex smiled. “I’m glad you asked,” he said. “Follow me.”

They went back out into the hallway, but only briefly. The next room had even more security, but Luthor bypassed it all with businesslike efficiency and they entered a plain, all-white and bare room.

One wall of this room was taken up by a backlit display cabinet made of square cubbies. Within each cubby was a tiny chip of crystal, like a sample display of particularly expensive rock candy. Green, of many shades, was the best-represented color, but there was also red and blue. That made sense, because each crystal was made of delicious ectoplasm-infused quartz. Danny swallowed. They were making his mouth water, but the amount of death energy they would have had to be around…

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Luthor. “Kryptonite. The key to repelling our would-be alien overlord.”

Yeah. Remnants of a planet that imploded while still inhabited by billions. That would do it.

“I intend to create a Kryptonite field over the whole of Metropolis, one that should, at the least, disable Superman to the point where we can drive him out. I will sell them to the great cities of America, and then, the world. One day, the whole Earth will be protected, and Superman must either leave, or die. But for now, it is still a dream. That is why I need you, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t think Luthor’s weapon would work. Not now. There was too much missing. Too much being missed by scientists and engineers expecting the Kryptonite to behave in a normal, logical way. He was certain, however, that he could make something that functioned exactly as described. He could even do it quickly, building off ghost and human shield technologies. He could see the pieces of it fit together, like a puzzle.

Making it, just to prove that he, Danny Fenton, could, was tempting.

So tempting.

But he had this little thing called morals, and driving Superman off Earth was definitely in the category of bad.

“Well, I don’t know if I can fix problems all your scientists can’t, but I can sure try to help.” He winced a little at the phrasing. Why did he have to use the word help?

“That’s all I ask,” said Luthor. “But that’s far from our only project. Shall we?”

“Sure,” said Danny, not at all faking his smile. Even though he’d have to sabotage this stuff, it was really cool to see it!

Later that night in his dorm room - which was, incidentally, a lot more spacious than he’d expected - Danny rotated the bracelet on his wrist and pressed a button on its side. Inside the thick band was a miniaturized and completely functional version of the spy-bot zapper he’d submitted as part of his internship application. He listened to it click as it went through the different modes available to it. It tweedled at him when it finished.

Only then did he pull out his phone and power it on. He clicked into his contacts and hit the button for his first favorite.

“Hey,” he said, when the call connected, “Jazz, so… Sam and Tucker might have been just a little bit right about my internship…”

May do more at a later time, but for now, this is it. I am incredibly forgetful, so I don't do taglists. Please consider subscribing to the AO3 version of this instead.

#dpxdc #dannymay #dannymay 2023 #dannymay 2023 day 7: weapon

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