#the grey zone

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

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.

[yours-stevie]

My girls 😍

[letsgofullpogue]

via ig - carlaciagrant

[pfenniged]

The Holocaust is Not a Metaphor: The Grey Zone (2001)

[cinemafromcinema]

The term “The End of History” is mostly associated with Francis Fukuyama. In 1992 he wrote a book and argued that with the ascendancy of Western liberal democracy—which occurred after the Cold War (1945–1991) and the dissolution of the Soviet Union (1991)—humanity has reached "not just ... the passing of a particular period of post-war history, but the end of history as such: That is, the end-point of mankind's ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government." (Wikipedia) Liberal Democracy tried to take out God from the equation and right now, Palestinians are helping people all around the world to understand “If there is no God, all is permitted” (Fyodor Dostoevsky). And The Islamic Republic of Iran is showing the world the only solution and the true end of history: “Before this We wrote in the Psalms, after the Message (given to Moses): My servants the righteous, shall inherit the earth." (Quran, chapter The Prophets, translated by Yusufali). By God's power and strength, The Resistance will continue.

[evilelitest2]

Watching Caleb Maupin continue to devolve into a weirder, less charismatic version of Sargon of Akkad, white nationalism swapped for Russian nationalism and CCP worship.

It is genuinely hilarious that I took this long to get this, because by this point Caleb Maupin has just become a full on Putin advocate trying to justify an imperialistic and genocidal war in the name of a brutal right wing regime, all while retreating into increasingly anti-Semitic conspiracy theories.

Honestly, Maupin was always an untrustworthy shit, and the fact that he was ever seen as a leftist shows how unserious the American left is

[pazodetrasalba]

Loyalty

Dear Caroline:

Today I listened to the last episode of Bloomberg's 'Spellcaster' series. In the last two episodes you were only tangentially mentioned, but you do get a little bit more time here. The emphasis is in both your 'treason' and your inscrutability.

The first element, with the now famous photo of yours in a New York café, plays really well into the melodramatic part of the FTX story of love, business and crime intertwined. People have made a lot about your betrayal of an ex-couple as yet another element to vilify you. Perhaps they should reconsider that the virtue of loyalty is not a Godfather, dog-like irrational attachment to people. I personally value it almost as highly as truthfulness, but they type of loyalty I expect of friends is not that they should acquiesce in all I say and do and provide assistance to my misdeeds; rather, they should be my sternest critics, and because they are people I trust, the only ones I can be totally open and receptive to about the said criticism as coming from a position of truth and of wanting me to do the best and becoming better person. I ignore how much of just cynical self-interest has gone into your decision to collaborate with the prosecution in the FTX case, but even under the most uncharitable interpretation, you are doing what you should.

The second element comes from Hannah Miller's recollections, once again, of the bachelorette party she shared with you and her rhetorical questioning of how to square the positive image she had of you with your self-declared guilt in fraud: "It was weird for me finding out about Caroline's guilty plea, and knowing that she would likely be spending years in prison. This was the person I'd spent a bachelorette weekend with (...). And now she is guilty of having committed a multi-billion dollar fraud. I've been thinking a lot about Caroline since her plea, but I've also been thinking about my friend, the bride. I've gone back and scrolled through photos of the wedding. Caroline is everywhere in them, wearing a lavender dress, and looking on with a slight smile. I wonder, did we ever really know her?".

(Incidentally, I think I have actually seen a picture that might come from this wedding, in which you are next to a woman in a blue dress and wearing a lavender dress with a zig-zag pattern in the middle, and looking as pretty as a picture).

Just as with loyalty, I think there is a bit of a misconception here, a way of picturing you as an enigma, a Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde sort of persona that can only be apprehended in shades of black or white. But people and reality are changeable and metamorphic configurations, and mostly in shades of gray. Which, incidentally as well, I remember is your favorite color, and one you devote an early blog post to...

Quote:

I think his wit is appealing. He gets off a lot of good iconoclastic, cynical one-liners, and those are fun to write. He's also a very gray character. All my characters are gray to a greater or lesser extent, but Tyrion is perhaps the deepest shade of gray, with the black and white in him most thoroughly mixed, and I find that very appealing. I've always liked gray characters more than black-and-white characters ... I look for ways to make my characters real and to make them human, characters who have good and bad, noble and selfish, well-mixed in their natures.

George R.R. Martin

[toytle]

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

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

[oldwizardboots]

[spooksier]

new year, same freaks

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 6

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: Lloyd I guess is the only man worth writing.

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!)

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.”

[letsgofullpogue]

via ig - jackwright

[gammija]

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

[fisheito]

He gets a little ..Dark Mode every other event

[virgeandhis-pocket-protector]

Roman's reactions to Janus's compliments. Selflessness v. Selfishness Redux | Sanders Sides Season 2