#putting that tag on my post makes me shake

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. 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 boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I love writing toxic people.

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!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“Mr. Hansen--” You begin, choking on your error, “Lloyd, my flight--” 

“Christ, I told you, cancel it. I’ll add the difference to your next check,” he grits under his breath. 

You plant your feet, shifting despite your effort as he keeps his grip on your hand. He turns back with a grunt. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks. 

“No, what are you doing?” You throw back. “What the hell is going on?” 

“First, watch that sweet mouth of yours. Second, we’ve been through this, Pixie pie. You just need to play along,” he keeps his voice low and peeks over his shoulder. “Loosen up a bit.” He loosens his hold on you and runs his hand up your sleeve. “Hm, I guess I shoulda told you to dress up a bit.” 

“What?” You look down at your black cotton tea-length dress. You chose it for comfort but it’s not entirely frumpy. The ribbed stockings might not add much to the attire however. 

“Just...” He grabs your shoulders and nudges them back, “push the chest out a bit.” 

“Ugh,” you clasp onto his wrists, “stop. Okay. I’ll stay for dinner but I can’t miss my flight--” 

“You have to,” he argues. 

“You realise this is wildly inappropriate,” you say. 

“Do you really expect anything different?” He tweaks a brow. “You’re staying. I’m not doing this alone. I put it off for a decade already--” 

“Jesus--” 

“No blasphemy either,” he lets go of you and presses his finger to your lips. You growl and shove his hand away. 

“I want a bonus, a big bonus--” 

He hushes you and waves his hands. He leans back and once more looks over his shoulders. “Later. We’ll deal with numbers in private. Right now, you need to come meet your in-laws.” 

You squint at him. It’s an act, you remind yourself, but something about his commitment to it makes you uneasy. You know better than to believe a word that comes out of his mouth but there’s a degree of earnestness in him that’s unsettling. 

“Baby, please, don’t look at me like that,” he steps closer, “I need you to look at me like I’m the second coming, okay? We’re madly in love, you and I.” Your eyes widen and he sighs, “okay, you’re not scared of me.” 

You neutralise your expression and blow out a long breath. You shake away the tension and shrug. It’s as good as you can do. 

“Here,” he grabs your wrist and turns, guiding your arm through his, “just smile pretty for me.” 

He hooks your elbow with his and urges you onward. You steel yourself for the room of strangers as their voices drift through the archway.  

You enter the front room and quickly scan the space; there’s a large-mouthed hearth, lit and draped in evergreen and berries; a long cream sectional, a matching duo of armchairs, and a chaise in the same shade; a low glass coffee table with a golden perch and a console table in a similar style along the wall crowded with bottles and crystal; an area rug in a smooth white with patterns in dulcet beige and rich butterscotch; and the low din is cast by tea lights daintily set around the space in glass holders and candelabra. 

More pressing than the decor are the bodies that fill the room. You recognise Ransom as he speaks with an older woman with short white hair and thick-framed glasses. She wears a red pantsuit with a gold blouse. Very festive. 

You glance over at Lloyd and take him in fully. You hadn’t paid much attention for the whirlwind all around. He wears a pair of evergreen slacks and a sweater with a reindeer's face on the front. He wouldn’t even let you put tinsel on your desk but now he’s dressed like a kid in a holiday parade. 

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” a tall blonde woman approaches with a glass of pale wine in hand. You try not to look with concern at her rounded middle; it sticks out starkly as her long limbs are thin and lithe. “A very grim Christmas indeed.” 

“Lillian,” Lloyd faces the woman about his own height. She has his eyes and his lips. You assume their relation before he declares it. “My sister, Pixie,” he gestures to her carelessly. 

“Older sister,” she preens and rests her hand on her swollen stomach. Your eyes flick away from the crystal in her hand. 

“By about thirty-one seconds,” Lloyd scoffs. 

“Oh, sweetie, it’s non-alcoholic,” she swirls the wine in her glass, “she’s so tiny and quiet.” 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, “it’s nice to meet you.” 

She laughs, “oh, so polite. Entirely not his type.” 

You try not to react. You agree. You know the women that Lloyd really likes. You’ve screened their calls until they just give up on getting a second date. 

“Believe it or not, Lil, you’re not everyone’s type,” Lloyd retorts. “I think your ex-husband would agree. The second one too.” Lloyd lifts his chin and looks around, “is the third here or are we on number four?” 

“Lovely,” she spits. “Love you too, brother.” 

He shakes his head and draws you away from her. She raises her brows and her glass and sips. You let him take you away. You already despise most of these people. The room radiates with derision. Your family might have some grudges but there’s a general air of good will. 

“I need a drink,” he mutters. 

You gladly follow him to the table. He pours himself a tumbler from the boxy decanter. He sighs as he picks it up but stops himself from drinking. 

“Well, help yourself,” he says. 

You hesitate but not for long. You need something if you’re going to get through this. You pour yourself some chardonnay and sidle away from the table. You check your watch as you raise your glass. 

“Don’t fucking worry about your flight,” he hisses under his breath. “If I’m not getting out of this, you aren’t either.” 

“But why?” You ask behind the glass. 

“Not right now,” he warns and nods at another figure as they approach. “Uncle Benson.” 

“Junior,” the man returns. You drink your wine and don’t comment on the epithet. “Where’s the old man?” 

“Where he always is,” Lloyd replies. 

“Mm, and this is...” the older man looks at you pointedly, dipping his chin to do so. 

“Pixie. My fiancee,” Lloyd answers dully, almost deflating. 

“Benson,” the man offers his hand, “but a pretty girl like you can call me Benny.” 

“Benny,” Lloyd repeats to himself in confusion. 

You shake Benson’s hand, “um, thanks, nice to meet you.” 

“Mm, very nice to meet you,” he lifts your hand and smushes his lips to your knuckles. He clings to you, petting your hand. “You’re gorgeous, what’re you doing with this lump?” 

“Uncle,” Lloyd drones. 

“Adorable,” Benson inches closer, “my inheritance is bigger than his, among other things.” 

“Alright,” Lloyd snatches your hand away from him, “go have some water, Benson,” he growls, “think you’ve been into the brandy.” 

“I’d like to get into something else,” Benson snickers. 

You almost laugh, despite your disgust. You’ve heard that line before. Lloyd puts himself between you and the older man. “I think that’s why Carolyn filed the papers, huh.” 

“Oh, you little twat,” Benson snarls. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to disappoint her on your own.” 

Lloyd tuts and shakes his head as the man lumbers off. He turns around and drains his glass. It’s strange, seeing him in his natural habitat; he’s not so ‘alpha’ here. 

“Let’s get the rounds over with.” He grumbles. 

Your wine lasts you through the introductions. Two more uncles; Carter and Linus, along with their wives, Andrea and Angela. Then the full-blooded aunts; four of them, Raquel, Shanna, Beatrice, and Lana. All of them tall, blonde, and bold in their own way. Then a batch of cousins you can’t keep sorted; Ransom and his mother Linda, among them, with no explanation as to the rest of their tribe. 

Lloyd pours himself more whiskey. You abstain from a refill and stand near the wall, observing the wilderness of entitled trust-funders. It explains so much yet inspires so many more questions. You never expected Lloyd to be the dark horse. 

“Lonely?” The timbre startles you along with the twisting pinch on your ass.  

You yipe and snag the attention of several sets of eyes around the room, not least of all Benson, drooling over another snifter of dark alcohol. You swat Ransom’s hand away and face him amid the row of laughter. Despite the airs they put on, your audience is more amused than appalled. 

“Where’s your prince, huh?” Ransom asks. “All that whiskey and...” He holds up his index then lets it go limp, “don’t think it’ll be a very peppy after party, sweetheart.” 

You sniff and cross your arms. These people are at least consistent, grossly so. It makes you wonder why Lloyd was so insistent that you watch your mouth, especially when you’ve never stooped to his level before. 

“Is it much of a party if there’s only one attendee?” You counter. 

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “what?” 

“Nothing,” you shake our head. You don’t need to explain the joke. Besides, this is all fake. Don’t let it get to you. 

“So, how long did he wait to put that ugly thing on your finger?” Ransom asks. 

You shrug, “long enough.” 

“Did he do the whole schtick? Get down on one knee? Put the ring in your wine glass?” He prods. 

“I’ll let him tell the story,” you say. 

“Hm, never knew a woman so unexcited about a wedding,” he snorts. 

“Maybe I’m just unexcited by my company,” you back away as his hand jiggles at his side. You eye his fingers, wary of another pinch. 

“Fine, marriage is boring anyways. What’s his favourite position? I always figured he lets the ladies do all the work,” he snickers. 

You stare at him. Not quite as offended as annoyed. You could ask him which hand he uses but you are not letting Lloyd drag you that low. Why are you even letting him put your through this? 

“Hugh,” Lloyd appears and slides his arm over your shoulders. 

“Little L,” Ransom retorts dryly. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd sneers as you resist the urge to shrug him off of you. 

“Where were you then? Leaving your woman all on her lonesome,” Ransom rubs his fingers together subtly and you scowl at him. 

“Broke the seal,” Lloyd deflects. “What do you care? You wanna hold it next time? 

“Hands are too big,” Ransom cackles. 

“Speaking of,” you pipe up. “The bathroom, where would that be?” 

Lloyd clucks and looks down at you, “down the hall, opposite the kitchen.” 

“Thanks,” you carefully slip away from him, “I’ll be back.” 

“Wait,” Lloyd catches your arm and pulls you back. “Not without this.” 

He leans in before you can react. He bends to press his lips to yours and you can’t repress a surprised squeak. He purrs and the vibration makes your skin crawl. What on earth?! 

You part and ignore the stares you can feel all around. Not just from Ransom but the rest of the room. What is he doing? That’s so embarrassing. 

You force a smile, “uh, be back.” 

You spin and scurry away. That room, those people, are suffocating, and Lloyd, not least of all. You hide in the bathroom, locking the door, and you take the moment of stillness to think. Big mistake as it all starts to set in. 

You drove all the way here under false pretenses. It’s believable that Lloyd would forget to bring the gifts. That tracks but this? The whole pretending to be engaged? What is his game? Is he really trying to impress anyone or is he torturing you? Why? 

You can’t figure any of it out. You gave up trying to understand your boss ages ago, you suppose you should do the same with these people and just get through this. For all your trouble, the food better be fucking delicious. 

You let yourself out of the bathroom and flatten against the door as you nearly collide with another person. Lillian nearly stomps right over you as she holds her stomach and rushes down the hallway. She lets out a sigh. 

“Oh, are you done in there? I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Um, yeah, all done,” you sidle away from the door. 

“Could I trouble you for some help?” She asks. “This thing,” she pats her stomach, “I can get down but I can’t get up.” 

“Hm?” You furrow your brow in confusion, “help?” 

“We’re both girls,” she giggles. “And we’ll be sisters soon enough, won’t we?” 

“Um.” 

“You know, a pregnancy at my age, I really can’t strain myself,” she explains. 

“Oh, er, I guess--” 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she nudges you back into the bathroom. You have no choice as she heard you through. 

You stare at the wall as she slams the door and hustles over to the toilet. She pulls up her white dress and turns to sit, her silhouette a blur in your peripheral. You flick your eyes to the ceiling and bounce on your heels. 

Her stream flows out and fills the tense silence. She sighs. 

“Thank the lord,” she groans. “I swear, the little twerp is right on my bladder right now.” 

“Mm,” you nod and glance at the door. 

“I knew we should’ve gone with a surrogate,” she sniffs. “A piece of advice, when he puts one in you, make him suffer.” 

“Puts one...” you blink. “Um, I don’t...” 

“I mean, he’ll have to start trying as soon as the wedding night,” she laughs. “He’s getting up there. His swimmers won’t be as fast, will they? And the way he drinks, they’ll be too groggy to know which way is which.” 

“Um, we’ll worry about the wedding first--” 

“Enjoy it. Once you’re tied down, it’s not very much fun,” she says as she tears of tissue. “Alright then, darling, I need you.” 

You do your best not to see all of her. She reaches for you and you get close. You pull her up to her feet and she squeezes past you to the sink. You look at the toilet and shut the lid, flushing it with a push of the button. She washes her hands with a hum. 

“You’ll be so adorable when you’re big. Like an overstuffed teddy bear,” she chimes. “He’ll love that. He always did hate feeling small.” She twists off the faucet and dries her hands. “You must make him feel like the man he wishes he was.” 

You just look at her. You have no true reason to defend Lloyd, but because she’s so smug it irks you. You look her in the face, even if you feel ridiculous having to look up. 

“Well, he can piss on his own, so I think he’s just fine,” you step around her and swing open the door. The silence that follows you is the only satisfying thing about that night. 

[boobilby]

Joe hills be apon ye

[dandelion-roots]

No matter what you do, you just can't shake him off, can you, Chūya?

[lyrics: Florence + the Machine | id in alt]

EDIT: I made a whole ass janky animatic to this song, enjoy!

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some (late) holiday photos of the boye~!

[crabussy]

I want to take a bite out of someone's arm but I'm too shy

[inkykeiji]

>.<

[scattered-winter]

the funny thing about being aro is that I am genuinely afraid of being alone for the rest of my life, but if anyone even STARTS to imply that it's because I'm never gonna have a joyful and fulfilled life without a romantic partner it makes me so mad I see red

[faggotwalkwithme]

GUYSS CHECK THIS OIT ARE YOU SAEEIGN THISSS

[goofyjelly]

I may be a tiiiiiiiiiny teeeeeensie weensie little bit obsessed with a TV show. Again.

[fromtheseventhhell]

reading some of the comments from your "sansa and arya are their own characters" post that supposed sansa fans are going irate over, and omg!

first it's sansa is ned 2.0 and arya is cat 2.0, but now we've got "only jon has any meaningful connection to lyanna" they're are absolutely obsessed with making sure everyone perceive these characters as the one-dimensional tropes as they do🤣🤣🤣

finger-wagging arya fans about how they're soooooo above the stark sisters drama (yet suspiciously have to mention their (1) sansa/lyanna pleading connection lol) and then coming in cold with fourth grade reading level analysis and getting affronted when no one's mind is blown by it.

All I can do is laugh cause they literally couldn't make a single cohesive, consistent point if their lives depended on it. They just throw out whatever fanon is most popular that week in their echo chambers and pray they don't have any run-ins with canon lol. That person was such a clown for jumping into the comment with "Uhhhh Ned actually compares Lyanna and Sansa so" like it was a gotcha and then pretending they don't care about the "fanom drama" once they got corrected. Same thing with the rest of the circus in my replies; I ask them for books quotes to support their claims, it's crickets. I ask that person why they even commented on my post if they were so above fandom drama, it's crickets. They're so used to acting like they own the fandom that they can't handle the slightest pushback (or even seeing a post they disagree with 😂). That's why they block and repost screenshots instead of actually engaging or jumping on posts in pairs, they're scared of people calling out their nonsense.

[cubedmango]

assuming from the previews (where yutaka touches his cheek instead of his lips) that drama minoru went for the cheek kiss instead and . i might be the only person who will ever think this but i appreciate that so much thank u to whoever wrote that change 🙏

[rt-lots]

hiii um i wrote a hypnospace outlaw thingy... ive never shared my writing before so i am VERY nervous and i dont know how common this'll be 4 me but ya 👍

au where zane n corey paul r in the same school and also friends... in a mildly gay way

just fyi this isnt my usual writing style. unless you like it then actually i write like this exclusively and also all the time

word count is 1275 hope u likey 🙏

Zane has never heard of a tuba cover before. To him, it sounds pretty freaking stupid.

The tuba is not an instrument Zane has ever had any conscious thought about. To him, it's solely a background instrument for nerds in band to play at school assemblies. It's not really music- not like sick-as-crap electric guitar, bass or drums. It's the instrument you take out for marches, raising school spirit, and looking really lame.

Corey Paul, of course, feels differently.

The tuba is a beautiful instrument, both in sound and aesthetic. He likes how the gold tube wraps in on and around itself, almost making art with its function. It looks purposeful, because it is, and that air of maturity makes for good art. Corey also likes the sound of the tuba. He'd never really been an outgoing kid. His voice cracks under pressure or when he laughs too much and he's never had anything important enough to say with confidence. The tuba, though, is loud by default. Its sound is rich and deep, filling the room and demanding your attention. Corey likes that; he likes that the tuba knows what it wants, and both looks and sounds good doing it.

Zane's never really had much of a reason to give a crap what Corey thinks, though. They're friends, sure, but they both know where their interests lie. Corey had once tried bridging the gap by asking Zane if he could tuba him a song for his game, but quickly shut that down after being laughed at in his face.

Point is- it was fine. Corey could be a class clown comedian with an ugly instrument and Zane could be the X-Slayer game developer with all around superior tastes. Neither needed to change the other's mind.

…Which is why Corey's next move confuses him.

Corey stops Zane after his last class, doing that thing he does where he bounces on his heels in excitement. Corey and Zane have a schedule of hanging out every Thursday after school, and it's Monday, so he's not expecting him to come barreling into Mrs. Patterson's classroom, wheezing with excess energy, like he was rushing to see him. He doesn't expect Corey, someone usually so uptight about his personal space, to eagerly grab his shoulder, either, but he does that too, and it isn't terrible.

Through the breaths of an unathletic teenager who just ran down two flights of stairs and through a hall, Corey explains he has a surprise for Zane, something he's been working really hard on, and he just finished it so he has to come see it right now. Although confused, Zane doesn't have any gripes with this, and he tells Corey to just wait a minute for him to pack his things and he'll come see. Corey's hand retreats from his shoulder like a wounded animal, but he's still smiling as he says OK.

Zane thinks it's gross Corey's taking him to the Band Hall, otherwise known in his mind as Nerdface Central, but he reminds himself that Corey apparently worked hard on something for him, so he should hold back on any unsavory comments- just for a little bit.

Corey leads him to the center of the hall, up an elevated stage platform and to a white soor on the left. Zane feels some apprehension going in, like Corey's just asked him to walk straight into a teacher's lounge, but Corey opens the door and holds it for him, and the gesture is so homey that it'd feel wrong to do anything other than walk straight in.

The room past the door is significantly smaller, and seems to be some kind of closet. The room is entirely cleared out save for a small speaker, Corey's tuba case on the ground, and two chairs around it. Given that the chair furthest from him is right behind the tuba case, Zane assumes the other chair is for him, and slides his backpack off his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground before he sits in his seat.

The door shuts behind him and Corey hurries over to the speaker. Zane asks him what's the surprise but Corey unsurprisingly tells him to be patient. There's a small MP3 player attached to the speaker, and Corey fiddles with it some before pressing play. No sound comes out, but Corey doesn't seem alarmed, instead simply reaching down to his case and setting up his Tuba. He gently hauls it up into his lap and adjusts it accordingly, ready to be played. Zane feels a weird sort of antsy about it, and asks Corey again why exactly he's here. This time, Corey just smiles, and answers: "I found a Nothing Left For Me instrumental online."

Suddenly, the music starts.

Zane would recognize that intro anywhere, even when scraped to just its fundamentals. The realization is sudden, but interrupted by the deep tone of Corey's tuba. Zane almost can't hear the music over the tuba at first, but he's quick to notice how the instrumental and Corey's playing interact with eachother; they're meant to be the same song

Corey is playing him a tuba cover of Nothing Left For Me.

That sentence is about the lamest string of words Zane can possibly think of, but it really doesn't feel that way in the moment. Zane knows about Seepage- everything about Seepage- and he knows they don't post tutorials on how to play tuba covers of their music. For Corey to be playing a cover of Zane's favorite song, for him, on the freaking tuba, he'd have to have come up with the composition himself.

Usually, when receiving a gift, Zane doesn't feel much beyond a vague sense of hype and excitement. But imagining Corey listening to Nothing Left For Me for hours, reimagining it in a medium he could replicate, just to play it for Zane? He feels… flattered, which isn't a feeling he's used to.

A part of the back of Zane's mind is still arguing whether or not he likes this gift. Throwing Seepage's electric metal awesomeness into the ringer only for it to come out the end of a tuba should be a disgrace to Seepage itself, it says, and Zane agrees… just only in theory. Because maybe Corey didn't just listen to the song, maybe he had an understanding of what made it so awesome to Zane in the first place. And maybe that's why it manages to sound pretty good- even with a tuba.

Zane honestly didn't realize Corey liked him that much. As much as his cool punk persona was totally based in reality, he'd never had all that many friends. Not close ones, anyway. He hung out with dudes, they hung out with him, and that was about the end of it. None of his other buddies would make him a gift, nevertheless perform it for him. Does this mean something, then? Had Corey put nearly as much thought into this as Zane is thinking he did? The confrontation of this sudden fondness is confusing, and Zane doesn't know much of what to do with it.

Conveniently, of course, the music stops then, leaving a small bit of silence where Zane isn't totally snapped out of whatever train of thought Corey's sent him on. Corey either doesn't notice or doesn't care, and simply moves the interaction along with a "So? Did you like it?"

Zane looks Corey in the eye, past his square wire frame glasses and dorky grin. He smiles, all teeth, and a quick laugh escapes him, entirely gratitude and nerves as his ears burn a little behind him.

"Dude, you're really good!"

[bardengarde]

Every now and again I'd like to post my takes on the Trapper vs BJ debate, but I won't because I value my sanity and because I love both characters for different reasons- why do they have to fight???

[pizza-feverdream]

There is SO much charactering going on right now YOU don't even KNOW

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

River Song 🤝 Selina Kyle (Reevesverse)

world-hardened women who are often misunderstood both in- and out-of-universe and are not, in fact, femme fatales in a foundational sense despite acting as such for their own purposes and/or necessity