#Monsters Inc: The Series

[disneytva]

Much like the "Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure" artbook, Disney TVA made a "Monsters At Work" artbook for employees only. ⚙️ ⚠️

The artbook features desings, props, character desings, storyboards and background art from the first two seasons.

[astralbondpro]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc. 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Hansen,” you trill into the foyer, “I have your breakfast.” 

You ease shut the door behind you and pause to kick off your kitten heels on the mat. It’s one of those days your boss has decided to work from home but it doesn’t make your day any less jam-packed. You wait for an answer, not that you ever get one, and proceed. 

You go to his office and find it empty. You frown. You leave his breakfast on the oval island in the kitchen and bounce around to the bottom of the stairs, “Mr. Hansennnnn.” 

Nothing. You check your phone. By chance, had he changed his mind. Is he at the office waiting for his organic egg white wrap with spinach and feta? You don’t see any new emails or missed calls. You hum and teeter in indecision. You don’t go upstairs.  

You tap on Mr. Hansen, listed under your favourites, and put your phone to your ear. You wait and hear the distant ringtone. The line goes dead as the call is dismissed. You sigh and try again. What is he up to? The same thing. He declines your call and you shake your head at the echo of the curtailed ringtone. 

Fine, you can wait for him to come home. Sometimes, you feel like you’re looking after a spoiled child. He reminds you of your baby brother and how your mother would struggle to get him out of bed for school. Rami was always such a brat. 

If he takes a while, you’ll reheat the wrap in the air fryer. You surpass it and enter the laundry room. You put the dryer on fluff to refresh the load the maid left in there and pace around impatiently. You go through the RSVP requests for Mr. Hansen and decline those you know he’ll roll his eyes at. 

The dryer finishes its quick tumble and you fold the delicates into the waiting basket. You finish and carry the aromatic clothes out through the kitchen and to the bottom of the stairs. Again, you chirp up after Mr. Hansen. 

“I’m coming up with your laundry, sir,” you warn as you get no answer. 

You warily begin the ascent as you clutch the handles of the basket. You peer around the hall and continue on down towards the left. Slow, shuffling steps towards the slightly ajar door at the end. You go to set down the load by the door frame and the door swings open abruptly. 

“Missie!” Lloyd grabs you and pulls you inside as you squeal. “There the fuck you are.” 

“I called--” you choke as he keeps a hold of your arm and drags you across the bedroom, “sir, your breakfast is downstairs--” 

“Missie, shut up!” He snarls as he urges you on and you scramble to keep from tripping.  

He shoves you through another door and your hip hits the frame with a thump. You rub it as he lets you go and you turn to face him as he follows you in. The space is made brighter by the four bulbs under glass shades that shine over the mirrors. You reel as you try to steady yourself after his sudden seizure. 

You realise he’s in no more than a pair of silk black boxers, if you can call them that. They’re short enough that they barely touch his thighs. His thick muscular thighs. The elastic clings to his equally firm torso and you try not to show your discomfort. 

“Sir, what’s going on?” 

“Do you see it?” He turns and pulls a small round mirror closer as wiggles his upper lip. The mirror is attached to a bending arm and tilts all around. “Missie, tell me I’m seeing things.” 

He grabs your shoulder and points to his mustache with his other hand. Amid the sandy brown cluster of neatly trimmed hair is a single silver strand. It’s not very obvious unless you’re looking for it. 

“Uh, your mustache?” 

“The goddamn grey!” He snarls and shakes you, “this is all your fault.” 

“What?” You squeak, “my fault?” 

“That goddamn cake! Forty-six? Like you’re rubbing it in my face,” he lets you go and turns back to the large mirrors, leaning in to push out his upper lip with his tongue. He growls, “I hired you to lessen my stress so why the fuck is this--” He faces you again and points at his mustache, “happening?” 

“Sir, um, well, you could pluck it--” 

“Fuck off!” 

“Dye?” 

“Shut up! You stupid bimbo,” he snarls and crosses his arms, leaning against the marble counter, “I don’t need your stupid ideas.” 

“Yes, sir,” you nod, “ but, er, why... what did you need? I could bring your breakfast up--” 

He looks at you so sharply you swallow your question. He curls his lips and huffs. His eyes crawl down your body and he angles his head coyly. 

“You pull with that ass?” He scoffs. 

“Excuse me, sir--” 

“You heard me? Lotta of chubby chasers? Feeders? Weirdos?” He says. 

“Sir,” you resist a frown, your cheeks trembling, “that’s... not work.” 

“You’re on my dime, I’m asking, so it’s work,” he insists. He drops his chin and looks down at himself. He flexes his chest, “I know damn well you’re not getting grade A meat like this.” 

You avert your eyes and sniff, “sir, I’m single and not looking but I appreciate you asking.” 

“Ugh, are you always so annoyingly happy?” He sneers. 

“It’s a nice day, sir. Bright out. And you know, a lot of women would say that grey makes you more distinguished,” you suggest, “now your mustache matches your head.” 

His eyes dart back to you and he stands straight, “what?” 

“Well, er...” you gesture vaguely up, “you know...” you touch your temples. His are shaved but you can still see the lightness there, “er, nothing, sir. I’m just uhhhhh rambling. Anyway, I will go warm up your wrap--” 

He blocks you, jabbing you in the stomach as he corners you in the bathroom, “I don’t have gray hair.” 

“Sir, you don’t, I’m colour blind.” 

“I don’t,” he insists again. 

“No, sir, no greys.” 

“I fucking don’t,” he barks and turns to the mirror once more, touching the sides of his head. His eyes are fiery in his reflection and scale over to you again, “get the fuck out!” 

“Sir,” you smile and cheek twitches. Oof. It isn’t going to be an easy day. 

[jojo-schmo]

Hang in there, Tylor Tuskmon…. You’ll find your purpose in this world…

[sembaze]

[haphazardhare]

Guess what I have been watching and rewatching at a normal rate

[queer-cartoons-quotes]

alastor: i can be your father figure

charlie: that's nice Al, but I already have a father figure...

charlie: and that's is my dad.

[villainboygirl]

Loki and Sylvie:

Victor Timely:

Loki 2x03 in a nutshell

[shyduckmiracle]

Poor clemmy was just waiting for Zef to come back but got jumpscared by a glowing merfolk not even 10 seconds after LMFAOO

[monstars-incorporated]

If I had a Nickel for every time a Heroic Offspring of an Elderly Villain appeared in the sequel TV Show of a popular Disney Movie I would have two Nickels

Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice

[pandathug]

MY MAN'S TYLOR WAS FRAMED!!!

[disneytva]

Walt Disney Imagineering Announces Monsters Inc Land At Disney's Hollywood Studios, Monsters At Work Easter Eggs Likely To Be Featured

It’s laughter they’re after when a brand-new land themed around Pixar Animation Studios’ “Monsters, Inc.” franchise comes to life at Disney’s Hollywood Studios at Walt Disney World Resort. 

The news was shared during Horizons: Disney Experiences Showcase at D23: The Ultimate Disney Fan Event. Disney Experiences Chairman Josh D’Amaro, with a little help from Disney Legend Billy Crystal, took to the stage to reveal plans to build a living, breathing, and not-at-all-scary “Monsters, Inc.” inspired area where you’ll be able to stroll the streets alongside some of your favorite monsters. 

Picking up after the events of Pixar’s beloved film, humans have now been invited to visit the world of Monsters, Inc. — and the monsters need laughter to power the city and keep it running smoothly. But it’s not a true visit without the factory itself. You’ll be able to see the sights, hear the laughs and zoom through the building just like James P. Sullivan (a.k.a. Sulley) and Mike Wazowski — via a door! Yes, a door. If you’ve been dreaming of riding through the door vault since the movie was released in 2001, you’re not alone — Josh has been thinking about this, too. “The first time I saw Monsters, Inc., all I wanted to do was ride on one of those doors like Mike and Sulley,” he told the crowd. “You’ll go into the factory and experience the first suspended coaster ever in a Disney park. Remember in the movie how those claws grab the doors and hoist them up into the air to take them away? We’re doing that, too. And you’re going along for the ride.”

Concept art showcases that some easter eggs of the Monsters At Work series will be featured on the land

📸Laughing Place

[james-p-sullivan]

Monsters Inc - Issue 1, December 12, 2012

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc. 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After a quick Google and a few reviews, you decide on a brand. You pick a box off the shelf. It should do the job as long as you apply it properly. You’re not so worried about yourself. 

Something drops along the edge of your vision and you peek over. A man walks away ignorant of the card left behind. You hurry to scoop it up. 

“Excuse me, sir, you dropped--” You click to a stop in your heels as he faces you. You smile as he mirrors your expression. “Peter!?” 

“Hey, Missie.” His brown eyes beam back at you. “What are the odds?” 

“It’s been so long. Um...” you look down at the card then wiggle it at him. “You dropped this.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” 

He accepts the card with a dimple in his cheek. You look at it and realise it’s nothing special. Just a loyalty card from Roasters. It is a great shop. 

“Haven’t heard from you since the paper. You said you’d keep in touch.” He shifts his stance so another customer can squeeze by. 

“Yeah, uh, I meant to. I’ve been really cruddy at keeping up. Work is so busy and--” 

“What’s that for?” He quickly redirects as he points at the box in your hands. “You dye your hair? Wouldn’t guess it.” 

“Oh, no it’s for... my boss,” you giggle. 

“Your boss. Right. I’m sorry, what exactly do you do now?” 

“I’m a PA. My boss is just demanding. That’s all. But it’s good pay and it keeps me on my toes.” 

“Ah, I left the paper too. Started my own photography business.” He explains. 

“I saw that on Insta! I follow you. Your stuff is so good.” 

“You follow me but you don’t message,” he crosses his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout. You rattle the box in your hands. You don’t want to be abrupt but you really can’t keep Mr. Hansen waiting too long and you still need to grab shampoo. 

“We should catch up. How about dinner? What are you doing tonight?” Peter asks. 

“Oh, er, nothing.” 

“Great. How about Zak’s? That old sandwich shop near the paper. I remember your fave; the spicy italian with extra pickles.” He grins triumphantly. 

“Sure, that sounds awesome. Just... send me a message, okay? I gotta get back to my boss.” 

“Sure, don’t let her work you too hard,” he steps out of your way. 

“He,” you correct him. “It’s not hard work, just a lot.” 

You sweep down the aisle and grab a clarifying shampoo on your way to the checkout. Even just a few minutes is too long for Mr. Hansen and in his state, you don’t expect him to be any calmer. All you can hope for is that the remover works out. 

Back at the office, you measure your dread. It won’t be that bad. You can fix this. Maybe. You grabbed some dye too, hoping maybe you might be able to even everything out after. 

You drop your purse on your desk and flit over to Mr. Hansen’s office. You knock and hear him groaning from inside. As you enter, he’s bent over his lap, holding his head. He sits up so fast his chair teeters. He faces your chirpy greeting. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you sing, “I got everything we need.” 

“Why the fuck are you so cheery?” 

As you look at him, like really look at him, you find it hard not to laugh. He really does look awful. He’s not exactly your type but he isn’t too bad most days. The black dye just washes him out. He looks like Dracula if he was in a 70s adult flick. 

“So, we need to wash your hair. I figured we can use your sink. I even grabbed a towel.” 

“You think of everything, don’t you?” He hisses. 

“Sir, I think we can fix your hair.” 

He scowls and stands. He shakes his head and slinks to the en suite bathroom. You follow with the bag of goodies. He looms with arms crossed as you put it on the counter and unpack. 

“You can put the towel around your collar to keep the remover from dripping. Tuck it in to--” 

Before you can finish, his shirt is half unbuttoned. You turn to unbox the remover and peel the seal of the bottle as you quiet. Whatever’s easier, you suppose. He hangs his shirt on the back of the door and comes back to you. You get a glimpse of his chest hair in the mirror. 

“Alright, erm, bend over the sink and we need to wash your hair. How about you put the towel over your eyes--” 

“I can handle it.” He snatches the towel and folders it over his forehead and eyes. He bends over the sink. His broad shoulders strain as his muscles tighten. “Don’t fuck up my hair.” 

You want to tell him you don’t think it can get worse but you know better. You take one of the paper cups from the stack and crank on the faucet.  You feel the temperature before you fill the cup and carefully pour it over his head. You wet all the strands and squirt shampoo onto his hair. You lather it up, scratching his scalp with your nails. 

“Mmmph,” he purrs as your work away. You smile. He’s a bit like a cat. Cranky but manageable. 

You rinse his hair methodically. You make sure not to get any near his face as you use your hand to redirect the water. When you finish, you help him cover his hair with the towel. 

You roll in his chair from the office and have him sit. You rub the moisture of his hair with the towel and drape it around his shoulders. You pull the gloves on and mix up the remover in the bottle then take the comb out of the box. You go to Mr. Hansen as he sits, looking despondent. 

“It fucking reeks,” he wrinkles his nose at the odour. 

“I did warn you but once we rinse it out, you’ll be good as new.” You comb his hair back, then forward, and pull out a thin section. You slather it on precisely as you work through the strands. 

As you pay close attention to your task, you feel the tension ease from him. When you get through the longer pieces on the top of his head, you push the back again. You use your gloved fingers to do his sides, rubbing in the remover on the buzzed stubble. As you do, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 

Well, it’s better than him being angry. This might be the most relaxed you’ve ever seen Mr. Hansen. 

[annon-guy2]

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