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toytle · 10 months

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everything abt this is outdated but ykw. tag yourself anyway, i’m jean and fred

text ID under cut:

mom jeans (jean): 1) leader but not by choice 2) never forgets a birthday 3) gets away with things due to her reputation

fuzzy elf (kurt): 1) tries to be hip with the kids (is a kid) 2) honorary catboy 3) fingerguns his way out of situations

:3 (kitty): 1) impulsive shopper 2) livetweets everything 3) says ‘omg’ and ‘ttyl’ outloud 4) bakes muffins for her friends! they are inedible!

skater boi (evan): 1) cool guy syndrome 😎 (undiagnosed adhd) 2) steals food off his friends' plates 3) PARKOUR!

e-girl blueprint (rogue): 1) hopeless romantic 2) only child AND middle child energy 3) knows the best thrifting spots

“””team leader””” (lance): 1) tries a lot, fails a lot 2) anger is default emotion 3) probably named his car betty or smth

actual team leader (pietro). 1) cool guy syndrome 😎 (unmedicated adhd) 2) causes problems on purpose 3) motivated by attention

toad (todd): 1) thinks he's just soo funny. well, he is. 2) hasn't showered in a month 3) stays out of drama but Will grab the popcorn

bombshell blonde (tabitha): 1) self-loathing vs superiority complex: fight! 2) flirts with friends 3) parties to avoid being alone with her thoughts

scarlet bitch (wanda): 1) hates authority figures 2) cuts her own hair. and clothes. 3) in a constant state of overstimulation 4) deserves to snap tbh

hey it’s (fred)!: 1) cries easily 2) would literally murder for friends 3) treats plushies like living creatures

professor clean (xavier): 1) “hello el gee bee tee que community" 2) adopts every child he sees 3) knows everything and yet nothing at all

grrrr (logan): 1) that sounds like a you problem." 2) acts like he hates kids but tacks their drawings to the fridge 3) believes that violence is the answer

weather report (ororo): 1) everyone's bisexual awakening 2) has high expectations for everyone, including herself 3) live laugh love 😊😊😊 or else

mr beast but like actually (hank): 1) god, i could really use a drink." *makes chamomile tea* 2) longs to be a smooth rock basking in the sun 3) gives unwarranted life lessons

another blue one (mystique): 1) #girlboss 2) “gay rights but only for me" 3) loves her son but will dropkick other children

magnum dong (magneto): 1) heterophobic 2) "you have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair" 3) does not love his son AND will dropkick other children

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oldwizardboots · 2 years

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#this tweet was made for me #taz balance #the adventure zone #taz #McElroys #my grey ace ass would absolutely trick my fiancé into listening to me describe taz in detail

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spooksier · 1 year

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new year, same freaks

#art zone #fanart #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #yeah i just posted something but the jmart disease ramped up in the past 10 hours #slightly different designs now! trying to get closer to how i see them when im listening to eps #gave martin a tboy stache and changed how i draw jon’s grey hair #i like these designs a lot xoxo also i love you marker brush i will use you forever #art zone plus

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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The Grey Zone 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Oh my mustachioed man!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Lloyd pulls in at the last rest stop before you officially enter the true desolation of the northern wilds. You open your door before he can even turn off the engine, unable to hold back the spew of sickness. You spit onto the tarmac as the sun sets darkly above. You grip the door and flinch as Lloyd reaches over to rub your back.

"You okay, baby cakes?" He asks as you press the back of your hand to your mouth and sit back, trapping his hand against the seat.

"Yeah, I just get car sick, like I said," you're almost breathless as the bile sears in your throat, "I should go rinse my mouth out."

"Need help?" He asks and you send him a confounded look. He winks as you struggle to decipher his meaning.

"No," you unbuckle your seat belt and grab your little leather knapsack.

"I guess you're not in the mood for any snacks?" He says as he climbs out on his side, mirror you as you shut your door.

"No, I'm good," you cough.

You walk in stride with him, trying to keep ahead as you're paranoid about your breath and any possible dribble from your vomit. He reaches past you to open the door and holds it open. You flit in and search for the bathroom sign, leaving him behind as the taste of your sickness dries on your tongue.

You hurry down the hall and push into the ladies. You crank on the sink and bend over to rinse your mouth out. You dry off, wiping away much of your black lipstick.

You fish a mint out of your bag and reapply the tint to your lips, checking your reflection one last time. You go into one of the stalls, just to be sure and wash your hands before venturing out into the store.

As you come out. Lloyd stands by the magazine shelf, browsing without intent. He glances over at you and smirks, his hands full.

"Got ya... ginger ale," he holds up the green bottle, "and some anti-nausea stuff." He shakes the box of tablets.

"Oh, you didn't have to..."

"I saw it, so... whatever," he hands over the items, "paid and good to go, unless you need anything else."

"All good," you muster a smile.

"You just relax, sweetheart," he waves you towards the door, "we're looking at making midnight if we're lucky. You rest up... you'll need your energy for your vacation."

"Thanks," you mutter. You don't plan on relaxing, you have textbooks and more than enough homework.

"Let me get this," he opens the door for you again.

You step through and he follows closely, just grazing the loose fabric of your pants. You feel a tug but don't think much of it right as he passes you and hits the unlock button on his keys. You near the car and drop into the passenger seat with your goodies.

You crack the seal on the ginger ale, the mint tainting the flavor. You open the box of pills and break one free of the insert. You swallow it with another swig of soda and put the bottle in the cupholder, tucking away the pills in your bag before shoving it between your feet. You lean back and buckle up.

Lloyd turns the engine and flips the stereo on again. You're tired already. You're glad he's taken on most of the driving, aside from his lead foot.

"That's it, you just chill," he reaches over and claps his hand on your thigh, "we'll be home before we know it."

"Home?" You wonder.

"Home away from home," he shrugs and pulls his hand back to the wheel and shifts into gear. "don't worry about it, babe. I got you."

You don't respond. You're not really sure how to and you're stomach is still gurgly. You just want the meds to kick in so you can close your eyes without getting dizzy.

"Alright, back on the road," he steers around the lot, following another car towards the ramp, "huh," he snorts as he speeds up.

"What?"

"Nah, just thinking... feels like... a movie," he muses as he sits back, keeping one hand nonchalantly on the wheel even as the speedometer ticks up, "like we're going away on a honeymoon. Some ridiculous romcom... or maybe a horror movie. You seem partial to the latter."

"I guess. That's a stereotype though. I'm not really a horror person."

"No?" He sniffs, "my bad. I saw that Poe collection on your shelf, so I assumed--"

"I like to read, not so much into seeing gore," you shrug.

"Fair," he replies, "surprising..."

"Why's it surprising?"

"I didn't take you as squeamish with the whole..." he points to his nose, "ring thing."

You reach up to touch your septum.

"Oh, I couldn't really see them doing it," you say.

"Not that I don't like it," he assures you, "it's a look."

You furrow your brow and nearly laugh. Is he trying to sound young and hip or something? At least he's not like your mother, lecturing you on mutilating your body.

"You got any ink? Tattoo or something?" He asks, "something mommy and daddy don't know about?"

"Um, no," you say, "it's... expensive."

"Oh, do I ever know," he clucks.

"You have a tattoo?"

"Sure do," he pats his chest, "I'll give you a look once we get where we're going. It's nothing hardcore. Mostly a college mistake."

"Ah, makes sense."

"What else is college for?" He winks at you in the rearview, "making memories."

"Sure," you agree and yawn into your hand.

"I'll shut up now," he scoffs, "you rest that pretty head."

You look at him, hesitating before letting yourself relax against the seat. You cross your arms and lean into the door, closing your eyes to keep from glancing out the window. He must have got the drowsy stuff, your head is swimming.

🖤

Soon the motion of the car turns from alarming to soothing. You let yourself sink into the anti-nauseant laced drowse itching on your eyelids. You blink, slower and slower, as you succumb to the dark sky and your induced exhaustion. You drift into semi-consciousness, the engine still whirring in your ears.

The hours slip by like seconds and you wake much before your ready too. Not quite all the way as your head wobbles and your body feels buried in sand. You drag your hand across your face clumsily as the car slows and you hear the chirping of crickets. You grumble, batting your lashes before letting them close again. You nestle into the door, reaching for sleep once more.

A soft rumble, like a chuckle, rises as the engine quiets completely. You feel a shift and hear the driver's side door. You can't tell if it's real or you're dreaming. Not until your own door opens and your seatbelt barely keeps you from falling out of the car.

Lloyd nudges you back and snickers again, "ah, look at you, sleepy girl."

He bends over you, his fingertips fluttering over your stomach as he reaches to undo your seatbelt. You moan as you struggle to keep your eyes open. His shadow blocks the moonlight as your tongue sticks dryly to the roof of your mouth. You feel... more tired than you should.

"Let's get you to bed, huh? Look at you," he lets his hand wander down your thigh, "fuck, you're so warm." He tickles you through the fabric of your pants and you shiver, "and it's damn chilly, isn't it?"

He pushes his hands between your thighs and you gasp. You reach for him and he bats your hand away easily. He cups your cunt through your pants and you squirm. He puts his other arms below your chest, pinning you to the seat.

"Wha..." you babble.

"Shhhh, it's alright, babe," he purrs as he bends, pulling his hand down your thigh as he parts them wide, dipping his head into your lap. "Mmmm, you smell delicious."

He buries his face in your pelvis and takes a deep breath before exhaling hotly into you. You whimper and push on his head. He chuckles and pulls his head back. He raises the hand he had cupped against you and sniffs that too.

"The way I'm gonna taste you and find out it you're just as good as you smell," he stands and hooks his arms under yours, lifting you out of the seat, "and you're gonna be begging me for it."

"What are you talking..."

"It's okay, honeybee, you're fucking out of it," he snaps shut the passenger door, keeping you against him, "if I wanted to, I could fuck you in the dirt right now but that's no fun."

"Huh?" You lean against him, your feet unsteady in your platform boots.

"My dicks been hard since we got in the car, you're lucky I don't test your throat out," he guides you along the pebbles and twigs, a large structure looming limned in moonlight.

"Mr. Hansen?" You eke out.

"Relax, I'm gonna put you to bed, nice and cozy. Cozier on my dick but we'll save that," he teases as his hand creeps down to squeeze your ass, "you got some of those rings in your nips too? Kinky shit."

You shake your head, stumbling with him up the wooden steps of the cabin. The place is dark and you didn't notice if your dad's SUV was there yet. They must have got there by then.

Lloyd angles you through the front door and moves seamlessly through the dark. His strength is unsettling, knowing he could do anything and you couldn't fight him off. Even if you weren't groggy.

"Come on, princess," he hums as he takes you up the stairs, each step creaking.

"Please," you beg, "why..."

"Shhh," he hushes you as he gets you to the top.

Your panic pulses and you try to shove away from him. He lets you and you go crashing into some unseen shape and bounce onto the floor. The noise of your tumble is deafening. Lloyd cackles and you hear something else. Suddenly, footsteps barreling but uneven, a door opens further down.

"What the fuck is going on?" Your mother snarls drunkenly.

"Nothing, Connie," he calls through a chortle, "girl's just a bit hopped up."

"Hopped up?!" She shrieks and you hear her struggling before she emerges, shining a light at you from the flash of her cell phone, "what?!"

"Calm down, she had some dramamine," he scoffs, "she doesn't have the same tolerance as you, Con."

"Oh, shut up," she huffs and turns back, casting the light away from both of you, "keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep."

"Pleasant as ever," he mutters as he slides his arms under you and lifts you. You touch your forehead, dizzied as he cradles you against his chest. He walks down the hall and stops to push open a door with his foot. He stands in the frame and clucks, "just like a honeymoon, huh? Me carrying you over the threshold." He enters and moves carefully through the dark as it thickens, "but we'll save the fun stuff for now."

He puts you on the bed and you grumble. He hovers over you, his hand trails down your body. You shiver and he presses his lips to your forehead and growls, "I can wait…"

He pushes away and stands straight, lurking as you feel him staring down at you. You hug yourself and roll onto your side, weak and disoriented. He takes in an audible breath and lets it out.

"I'm not even gonna jerk off, as much as my balls are swinging like barbells," he taunts as he leans back on his heels, "I'm saving it all up for you, baby." He clicks his tongue in his cheek, "I'm even gonna be a gentleman and bring your stuff in. Don't worry, you can be naughty for me."

You don't say a word as you close your eyes, hoping to shut out this twisted reality. You hear him retreat, slow deliberate steps that stoke your nerves. He's letting you be for now, but it won't be forever. And now you know exactly what he wants…

🖤

The morning greets you with the sight of an unfamiliar room. Your memory doesn’t rush back but trickles in. A patchwork begins to form in your mind; your father sending you off with Lloyd, his herky jerky driving, the rest stop, and the wobbly scenes that came after.

You remember a conversation but not every word. Only enough to set you on edge. You sit up sharply as the words etch in your mind; ‘don’t worry, you can be naughty for me’. You want to shrug it off as a figment of your own imagination but it’s all too real in your mind.

You look around at the bedroom. Hardwood side for the walls and similarly coloured slats across the floor. The bed frame is elaborate, hand-carved with ornate knobs at the top of each post. There’s a quilty haphazardly pulled over you, gathering at your waist as you hold yourself with palms flat to the mattress.

Your duffle is in the plaid armchair set in the corner. It’s empty. You shake your head, clearing out the last of the cobwebs. Despite the nausea meds and a night of almost lifeless sleep, you wake swiftly. You feel eerily alert of every detail.

You get up and near the tan dresser, your reflection appearing in the circle mirror perched above. Your eye makeup is smeared and your lipstick only left at the edges of your lips. You’re a mess.

Your hat hangs on the one of the posts that holds up the mirror and your knapsack from the other. You rest your hands on the thin metal handles and slide the top drawer open slowly. You look down as the wood grinds loudly.

Your underwear is neatly folded to one side but you didn’t pack enough to fill the whole drawer. At the other side, there’s something else, something unfamiliar. You touch the lacy fabric and hook your fingers through the slender straps.

You pull it out of the drawer and let it hang down to the floor. It’s a full body suit, lace in the pattern of spiderwebs, with no lining. It wouldn’t hide much at all. You look up and see yourself positioned behind it, as if you’re trying to see what it would look like on.

You lower the garment and clear your throat. Last night wasn’t a dream, you’re lucky it was a nightmare. You quickly tuck the lacy bodysuit back into the drawer and close it.

What do you do? Do you tell your parents? You don’t imagine your mother would believe you, if she even listened. She’s already into the wine. And your father, Lloyd is his friend. He’d probably shrug it off as one of his jokes.

You back up and turn to the rest of the room. You hear the birds chirping, trees swaying, and the soft breeze flowing in through the slightly open window. You cross to the pane and look out at the deep cluster of trees that stretches for miles. It’s all the more obvious then that you’ve walked straight into his trap.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #the grey zone #the gray man

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gammija · 2 months

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there's a certain thing that often happens with podcasts as they mature and get better sound design, which is that they try to convey more information through it rather than dialogue. which, every time it happens, is a bit of a slippery slope, because a *thud* could be any number of things, and usually isnt by itself enough to convey the scene. Only if you know what you're supposed to hear does it seems obvious

unrelatedly when i heard the Bonzo scene before reading the transcript i visualized him slowly crawling out of an old TV-set ring-girl style

#and i still think that's cooler #it seems like the transcripts are now being written concurrently with the episode #instead of afterwards and describing what can be heard #which creates a grey zone canon wise #are the scene descriptions from the official transcripts 'canon'? or is Ring-style Bonzo just as canon if the audio supports it?#not that what is strictly canon is a terrifyingly important distinction #but still #tmagp #tmagp s1 #tmagp spoilers #bonzo

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fisheito · 4 months

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He gets a little ..Dark Mode every other event

#that's a gif *points*#when i say dark mode i mean... hmm... dommy? possessive? moody shadow serpent hours?#maybe... light mode means more Bullyable?#honestly he's kinda split on cocoa liqueur. nerdkumo gets a lil All Consumey Dark Impulses too. uhhhh #and i'm not even talking about his behaviour in the story i'm just thinking of his h scene actions #because i def can't call chimes of darkness yakumo Light Mode in general *flashbacks to loud cult noises in the catacombs*#ok so he's a little dark mode in every event because that's just yakumo BUT11!!!#i needed to ignore the grey zones FOR THE GIF #the on off light switch gif action doesn't work as well when a couple lamps are on sometimes 🫤#honestly this is all just an elaborate justification #for my hopeful prediction that the yakumo cycle is coming round to subby again #come on! lights on! i want him extra pathetic next time!!#he had his glorious high heeled mountain goth moment #i want him SCRUNCHED for his next event #yakumo

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nostalgia-tblr · 2 months

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"are people not into that?" i ask, after posting my weird niche shit to the internet, despite knowing it to be weird niche shit.

#jsyk sylkius or anything adjacent to it does not “Do Numbers” in any way and i observed this some time ago #i assume that's the “rival ships” element at work but who knows really #that sort of thing is like femslash in that everyone approves of it but nobody actually reads or writes it #but who would have thought sylvie beating loki with a stick would not bring in droves of readers???! shocking twist there!#& i don't consider sifki a rarepair but my rarepair standards are VERY strict like if there's >5 fics a pairing is basically mainstream #chasing popularity would annoy me though & i just don't have the mental spoons to try writing stuff i wouldn't personally read #yeah i *could* put my blorbos to work in a coffee shop but what cost to my own enjoyment levels? AT WHAT COST FANGELA???#you can't please everyone so you may as well just please yourself and if anyone else likes it you've found some fellow freaks so yay #i don't mean please yourself in a wanking sense. though feel free to do that too it probably counts as a cardio workout idk.#BUT ANYWAY #fic related #ps i am v glad there's the “warning: loki” tag because i think/hope it acts as a filter for 'he did nothing wrong in his life ever' types #who are Valid & etc obviously but i write my morally grey characters to be morally grey and the tag might help avoid conflict #though tbh i write almost every character to be morally grey in some way so i can't claim to have left my comfort zone here #(i'm not joking when i say the 1987-89 run of Dr Who shaped my entire future fannish life from a young and apparently v impressionable age)

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yridenergyridenergy · 6 months

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#Dir en grey #gifs #Toshiya #gifset #25th Anniversary #from depression to #in the zone

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screamingfromuz · 7 months

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So, in the past few days (and weeks, and months, and years... any time that a Palestinian or Palestinian adjacent entity commit violence), people immediately go: "what did you accept? Israel has been abusing Palestinians, denying them their rights, why would they not turn to violence?" and this completely understandable. desperate people do desperate stuff. And although I completely agree with the notion, and often talked about how offering more funds to Palestinians and releasing the chock hold is the solution, there is something that often go unmentioned, mostly in pro-Palestinian circles.

and that is that Israel learned that any freedom given to Palestinian does not mean peace, but death. I mentioned it in a vary emotional post yesterday, but during the 90's anti peace movements took the idea of peace talks very harshly and increased attacks against Israelis. Israelis in turn were terrified that letting Palestinians hold weapons will mean deadlier attacks. and they were not wrong. in the four years after the accords death toll doubled, and people started naming the victims "peace victims". 'Peace with Palestinians' became not a chance for a better world, but a code word for death and destruction.

some of us remember the second Intifada, where Palestinian Terrorist groups took advantage of the freedoms they were given through the accords to attack and murder people. back in 2006 I saw a report that showed how supplies are getting rerouted not to feed and care for civilians, but to build bombs and missiles. Israel learned that without the chock hold that was slowly killing Palestinians but limiting the resources of the terrorist groups, there will be only more dead Israelis.

and so during the years, this mindset stayed, getting to a peak with the current right wing coalition. the only solution to Palestinian terror is to strengthen the choke hold until there is nothing left. this of course gave Hamas and their likes more sway over the people, recruiting more and more desperate people. Each incident used as an excuse to squeeze the Palestinians more, less money, more army surveillance. and the spiral continues.

now, because people need things spelled for them- non of it is or ever was ok, but that was the situation. an anti peace extremist will do something, the other side retaliate and more people will get hurt. this was a lose lose situation with a resolution many of us were trying to avoid- and we failed.

#israel #palestine #ישראל #ישראבלר #the israeli palestinian conflict #we live in a grey zone #this is not a place of honor

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virgeandhis-pocket-protector · 1 year

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“patton’s a cute baby angel!” “patton’s an innocent lil lamb” patton is the DAD CHARACTER. patton is SWEET and KIND because it makes the other sides HAPPY AND LOVED (what a dad is supposed to do ???). patton makes ass jokes and gave janus the middle finger but avoids swearing out loud because HE’S IN FRONT OF HIS KIDS. he’s gotta set the good example! Stop infantilizing this poor guy! He’s not naive. He makes dad jokes. He’s not overly trusting. It took him so many episodes to understand Janus - and guess what! He wasn’t wrong to trust and support Virgil either! Let this man be the father he wants to be. Sorry homies, he’s not an innocent little boy who’s the runt of the group if anyone's the runt it's janus. Patton’s the Dad Guy.

#patton sanders #sanders sides #lighthearted vent #pos #grey's zone

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eldrigeonsss · 11 months

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The Slayer and The Ballaster

#taz #the adventure zone #taz ethersea #ethersea #the adventure zone ethersea #amber gris #oksana #oksana kodeira #oksana kodira #Kodira #oksamber #they’re gay and in love #I forgot to give Kodeira her grey hairs just squint and pretend it’s there it’s 2am here

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melestasflight · 1 year

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I do love uncomplicated comfort, sweet reconciliations, and romantic happy-ever-afters. Because life is a lot as is, right?

But oh boy, do I get that special tickle thinking about a Fingon who does not forgive Maedhros so easily after Thangorodrim. Who readies for the Nirnaeth, thinking how his father and Aegnor and Angrod could still be alive if Maedhros only agreed to attack when Fingolfin called to do so.

A Maglor who does not ever reunite with Elrond in Rivendell, knowing it is better that way for them both.

A Haleth who never fancies Caranthir in the slightest, seeing right through him as he offers lands in the North close to the border and is happy to be gone from Thargelion.

An Aegnor who does not, in fact, remain forever in the Halls dwelling on memories of Andreth, but instead finds healing and chooses life again.

An Idril who lets go of Tuor when Eru calls him because their time together was enough and it does not need to be more.

A Maeglin who chooses the destruction of Gondolin with full consciousness.

About the Fëanorian brothers not being close and seeking isolation from one another after centuries of pursuing their own ambitions.

About the Noldor kingdoms in Beleriand not being tightly connected but rather assuming independence that allows diverse cultures to flourish more than they ever existed in Valinor.

If this reads like a prompt list, I'll be the last person to stand in your way.

#angsty things that simmer in the back of my mind #grey zones and all things in between #fingon #maedhros #maglor #elrond #haleth #caranthir #aegnor #andreth #idril #tuor #maeglin

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snail-studios · 3 days

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i just had a thought. since link was suspended in blue healing water for a century, which seems to be (looks) really similar to mipha's magic, do you think he was subconsciously reminded of her when he was asleep? maybe it's even the reason he wasn't panicked when he awoke. even without his memories he still associated it with a sense of safety because water = mipha is so deeply ingrained in his brain

#i shared this exact thing on disccord but its giving me feels #when i was once really close to dying i saw sometinhg that subconsciously reminded me of my closest friend and i just forgot #about the fact that i was in pain and really hurt and just thought #“oh...she would like this thing i'm holding :)”#miphlink #mipha #link #breath of the wild #i'm also reading into neurosciencce and coma/vegetetave states/locked in syndrom/grey zone and #these subconscious cues are really important there :#sigh...#is this what i get for listening to mitski and girl in red in the same sitting :///#and queensryche ouuuuuuughh'#save me miphlink save me

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ai-qa · 2 months

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Fatigue - https://www.patreon.com/posts/93127707

By then I thought I'd seen it all, thought I'd done it all-- not everything this world had to offer, sure, but certainly all the world had for me. Were I to somehow transpose the same hour between two different days the only change might be the weather. You do something long enough and time melts and fades, the days on the calendar just a sort of courtesy.

Doing this, you tend not to think much about tomorrow. It may never come for you, but you could at least try to make it come for someone else. For a while I was okay with that. I thought, perhaps naively, that I was helping. You know, fighting for some greater cause. These things were here because of us, right? Then it's our responsibility to fix what we caused. That's what we're taught growing up.

But as the days turned to weeks, turned to months, turned to years, I think it wore on me. People maimed, their family killed, everyone knows of at least one person who lost something to them. Rarely were those people a direct cause, but often collateral or just simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time-- a fatal coincidence.

For most people, demand for work is a good thing. But for me?

Were we even making a difference?

I still tried to put on a smile, to help those around me. Deep down I hoped that my contributions really did mean something and that their tomorrows might be just a little bit better. I tried to feed that last remaining spark as the days passed, that little bit keeping me going. From holding the door open for another to reaching someone before one of those things caught up with them, I took what I could get. After all, not every job had the worst possible outcome.

I'd see children outside playing, ignorant of what may come, and find myself envying them. While they lived in the moment, I braced for their futures. In a way, I guess I felt fortunate being alone, having seen what so many have gone through. Should something happen to me, it would stop there.

Right?

---

Please support my work, I'm practically begging at this point. None of my non-commission work is possible otherwise and I've been struggling just to make up for losses. If you'd like to support monthly you'll get very early access to full-size images, WIPs, and even some alternate versions.

patreon.com/ratte / ko-fi.com/ratte

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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The Grey Zone 6

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Lloyd I guess is the only man worth writing.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

The nearest bathroom is diagonal down the hall. Only a half bath with a sink, a toilet and a tall cabinet in the corner. You work at removing your makeup with micellar water, dragging the cotton pads over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

You watch your reflection, a loud growl rising from your stomach, a tic in your temple. You need your morning matcha but you didn't pack your powder, you didn't think of it. You mourn your tin forgotten in the cupboard at home and grab a fresh pad.

More than tea, you need a shower. You assume the main bath must be downstairs. You shove the bottle and leftover pads into your black leather pouch and tuck it under your arm.

As you come out into the hall, you nearly walk into an unexpected wall. Not a real wall but Mr. Hansen. You step back, trapped in the doorway as he smirks at you.

“Morning, sunshine,” he reaches to touch your naked cheek as you flinch, “don't you look fresh as a daisy? I don't think I've ever seen you without at least a couple layers on.”

“Mr. Hansen,” you croak and shy away, “excuse me–”

He doesn't move as you attempt to sidestep him. In fact, he gets closer, rescinding his hand to grip the door frame. He tilts his head as his other hand comes up to play with the hem of your shirt.

“I got my own shower. A nice big tub too if you need to clean up,” he purrs.

“That's fine,” you gulp, heat speckling over your skin, “I can just use the main–”

“You can't,” he interjects, “your dad's in there tearing the toilet out.”

He laughs at your gobsmacked expression. He leans in, letting out a slow breath as you look anywhere but in his eyes. He growls as you squirm.

“Let me show you my room,” he insists, “no funny business. There's a lock on the bathroom so… I'll just listen and use my imagination.”

“Please, I–”

“You know you're even sexier like this. How about we tag team this. Shower together? Or relax in a nice hot bath–”

“Stop!” You catch the shriek in your hand. He chuckles, his hand dangling above you as he leans even closer.

“You can put on that sexy little piece I got you,” he touches your hair, “fuck, you got me hard again.”

“I…” you gulp, panic welling in your chest and locking up your throat, “I cant–”

You don't think. You can't as your ears are ringing at his suggestions. Every word confirms that you didn't dream up last night. You shove past him and he lets you. If he didn't want you to get past, he'd make sure of it.

He cackles as you hurry down the hall, nearly running into the door as you scramble to open it. He sighs out his amusement as you trip into the bedroom. Your heart is thumping furiously.

“Don't worry, I like the chase, sweetheart,” he calls after you, “you just wait till I catch you.”

You slam the door and lean against it, sliding down onto your ass as you squeeze your leather pouch. You have no doubt he will catch you. It's only a matter of time…

🖤

So much for a vacation. You're pent up in the guestroom, staring longingly out the window at that unreachable beauty. You don’t dare emerge in case you run into your ravenous host.

You wonder how you missed the signs. Were there signs? You couldn’t have guessed his intentions. Why would Mr. Hansen want that? With you?

The thought of telling your parents makes you laugh. Not with genuine amusement, more sardonic acceptance. They won’t care. It’ll be the same reaction you got when you told them about your bullies.

There’s no escape either. You’ve come too far to turn back. Your dad will want to stay and do your work and your mother will savour the opportunity to day drink without judgment. So there you are; stranded.

You jolt as a sudden roar brings you away from the window. Your father yells your mother’s name a second time as you rush to the door, not thinking to stop yourself before you have the door open. As you enter the hall, you hear another door opening further down. You go to the top of the stairs as your own name drawls in the air.

You stop and look over at Lloyd– Mr. Hansen, struts towards you. Your eyes ping away from him the moment you see him. He wears only a pair of white swim trunks and they don’t go far down his thighs, exposing the thick muscles and leaving his torso entirely naked. He’s in better shape than you imagined, not that you ever thought about that.

You flit down the stairs before he can reach you, towards your father’s hollering and your mother’s chirping. A gush of water ripples over the hardwood as you follow the commotion to what appears to be a dining room. Your parents stand in front of the open doorway from which the water pours out.

“I told you not to use the goddamn sink, Connie,” your dad snarls, pointing a wrench in her face.

“Ooops!” She blathers, a wine glass firmly in hand, “I was just rinsing some fruit. I can’t drink on an empty stomach, Ray!”

Lloyd comes up beside you and rests his hand on your lower back. You stiffen and step away from him. He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest, making it look even buffer. You peek and notice the edge of black ink on his pec. You turn back to your parents’ show, hoping they can distract your host.

“It’s barely noon,” your father retorts, as close as he’ll ever come to telling her not to indulge.

“It’s barely noon,” she mimics and sticks her tongue out. “Maybe you should’ve turned the water off, Mr. Fix-it.”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Lloyd interjects as he comes forward, dropping his arm, “You know how to fix this stuff, huh, Ray, and Connie, why aren’t you enjoying the pool? Perfect place to enjoy some chardonnay.”

Your mother flutters her lashes drunkenly as she faces Lloyd. You see how she blanches before a grin twists her mouth. She’s shameless as she takes in the breadth of the mostly naked man in front of her. She licks her lips and wobbles.

“I could fix it if everyone wasn’t in my goddamn way,” your father chides. “Shit idea bringing everyone up here. Never get this done.”

“Oh, you know what,” Lloyd snaps his fingers, “I got a great idea. Connie, why don’t you camp out in the pool house? There’s everything you need. A bed, kitchen, a toilet not gushing sewage onto my floors.”

“Pool house?” Your mother echoes curiously, her head tilting one way than the other.

“Didn’t I mention it? Yeah, you must’ve seen it, right behind the pool,” he emphasizes the last word as if it’s obvious, “and I can take the kiddo up to Moose Ridge. It’s like an hour north. Get out of your way for a bit, huh, Ray?”

“As long as you leave me alone,” your father crosses his arms and turns back to watch the toilet gargle.

Your mother pouts and slurps her wine, “you’re leaving me alone? With him?”

“No, Connie, imagine, a pool house all to yourself,” Lloyd puts his arms over her shoulder, “just you. No husband, no daughter… You and the pool and all the wine you can drink. Isn’t that vacation for a hardworking mother and wife like yourself? You know the old man’s not gonna be sleeping and if he is, he won’t make it that far.”

“But… ugh, you shouldn’t have to put up with her,” she lowers her voice, but not enough for you not to hear.

“She’s right,” you agree, startling her as she gives you a caught look, “you could drive me back down to civilization. That might be for the best.”

“Eight hours? It’s not that far to the Ridge,” he insists, “unless you wanna crash in the pool house with mama.”

“Oh please,” your mom spits, “haven’t I been through enough?”

“I don’t care what ya do,” your father spins and snarls, waving his wrench, “I need you out. Go. Anywhere but here.”

“Then it’s decided,” Lloyd claps his hand, turning to smirk in your direction, “we’ll meet again when you got this all done up, huh, Ray?”

Your dad doesn’t answer. He grunts and enters the bathroom, shoving his hand down the toilet. Your mother hums and drains the last of her glass. She holds it up as she admires its emptiness.

“Before you leave, where’s the rest of the wine?” She trills.

You cringe. This can’t be happening yet you’re all too sure he planned it all so precisely.

🖤

You hole yourself up in your borrowed room. You make no move to pack your things or get ready for your imminent relocation. More akin to an abduction. You just can’t, you’re paralysed with inaction.

This is the one time you need someone to listen to you. To hear you, and as usual, they don’t. They refuse to. Lloyd knew they wouldn’t, he’d witnessed their indifference for so long, and turned it to his benefit.

That one question lingers. Why you? Maybe it’s just that. That you are vulnerable, an easy target. No one special, just a convenience. Not any different than what you were to your parents; a check mark on a list, nothing deeper than that.

There’s a tap at the door. Just one, the soft rap of knuckles. You don’t need to wonder or ask who it is. You already know. He lets himself and why shouldn’t he? It’s his house. The trap he set.

“Almost ready– woah, come on, sunshine, we got road to burn,” he proclaims, “ah, you know, I forgot to mention, there’s a pool at the Ridge. And a hot tub. Way better than this place.”

You look at him. You sit with your back straight against the headboard, legs stretched out down the bed, dressed in your typical black, though today it feels particularly mournful. You just stare. What do you say? What can you say?

“Well, honey, you can never claim I don’t care of you,” he grabs your empty duffel and goes to the dresser. He slides open the top drawer and starts shoving your clothes back into the depths, “which is exactly what I’m going to do,” he looks at you over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out, flicking the tip crudely.

You shake your head and stare at your feet, the shiny black pedicure on your toenails and your silver toe rings. He can’t make you go if you just don’t move, right?

Your vision blurs as he moves around the edges. You hear him shifting around, searching, digging in your things. He puts the bag heavily at the foot of the bed but you don’t react. You’re in a trance, the kind you used to put on when the girls in the halls called you names.

“Alright, I think that’s everything but really, all you need to bring is your sweet self,” he approaches you, breaking your shield as he taps the tip of your nose. You look up at him past your heavily mascaraed lashes. “Aw, don’t look so pathetic. Sweetheart,” he bends, leaning over you, “your whole life you’ve been wanting to be wanted and guess what? I fucking want you. So let’s get this show on the road.”

You flinch. That last part, that cliche, it’s something your dad would say. You frown as you notice the strands of silver woven through the dark blonde combed back on his head. You suspect if he didn’t keep the sides shaved, there’d be more gray there. He’s not that much younger than your own father.

“What is that look for?” His eyes narrow and his smile falls.

“I don’t want to go,” you fold your hands in your lap and turn your head straight.

He scoffs and laughs as he stands up straight, “I didn’t ask.”

You don’t answer. You don’t move an inch, planting yourself in a silent protest. He can’t make you go. You don’t care if this place smells like toilet water. You’re too afraid to go with him.

His soles scuff on the floor as he sucks his teeth loudly, “you don’t have to put on this act for me. I won’t think you’re a slut, I’d prefer it if you were.”

You shudder and turn your face away from him. Why won’t he leave you alone?

“Alright,” his tone deepens, “I’m starting to get annoyed, sunshine, so let’s stop playing this game. Here, there, we know how this ends. Don’t act so innocent, you’ve been flirting with me since before we even got here.”

“Flirting?; You sputter, “no, I…”

You don’t even know how to flirt. You never had anyone to flirt with.

“Those cards, bullshit. That was all you, sweetheart. Or maybe they aren’t and we should let fate take its course.”

“Please, go,” you quaver as you clutch your hands together. “I don’t want you.”

He exhales and puts his hands on his hips. He has no response. You shake your head lower your eyes. You slouch in defeat.

“You’re old and I’m not interested,” you murmur, “I’m done being a joke.”

He laughs suddenly, starling you. You wince as he drops his hands and rolls his shoulders. He clucks as he comes closer to the bed. He bends and reaches for your chin, forcing your head up.

“Old?” He sneers, “we’ll see about that.”

He dips his head and before you can react, he loops his arm around you and pulls you against him. He stands as he swings you over his shoulder. The breath is pushed from your stomach as your weight pulls at your head and feet. You wriggle as he carries you loftily, reaching with his free arm to grab your bag from the bed.

You cry out and slap his back, kicking your legs as you try to free yourself. What is he doing? He can’t just do this.

“Lloyd– Mr. Hansen,” you plead as you claw at the back of his shirt, “put me down. Let me go! Mom! Dad!”

Lloyd chuckles as the whirring of a drill reverberates through the house. He ignores your struggles as he comes downstairs. He is entirely unbothered by your resistance.

“Don’t tire yourself out, sunshine. Daddy can’t hear you over his work and mom’s already passed out by the pool.” He angles you through the front door, “besides, this isn’t about them. This is you and me.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #the gray man #the grey zone

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