#supercilious woman

[hurthermore]

»»------► 𝙰 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 (18+) - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚎𝚗

✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗𝚎 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚘 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚒𝚟𝚎 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚡 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎 ✦ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚎𝚗 ✦ 𝙰𝙾𝟹 ✦

Pairing: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗!𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝚂𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘.

Word Count: 𝟹.𝟽𝚔

Warnings: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕

𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐, 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 :( 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝚅 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝚅 :𝙳

𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 <𝟹

Alastor remembered ever so vividly the first time he had ever laid his cold, dead eyes on you; in the warm and lively environment of a not so legal establishment, made specifically for get-togethers among the not so ethically rich and somewhat influential individuals. A high end speakeasy. 

He had arrived there for appearances only, being much more accustomed to the speakeasy his dear friend Mimzy ran to partake in illegalities during the prohibition. He had found this particular speakeasy too elitist and supercilious for his liking, contrasting the down to earth and humble joint he was accustomed to. It was undeniable that the distinct place he currently inhabited would be a rather good spot for a hunting grounds, despite his distaste for it; the rich were filled to the brim with evil, rooted right down to their cores, a target would be identified and located within these walls, ever so easily.

But he hadn’t been brought here on his own that night. No, his coworkers had indulged, coerced him into making an arrival in this specific establishment tonight, merely on the basis of hierarchy; to build and climb it to gain a better standing in respect and business opportunities among the wealthy. Which meant a victim was unlikely; it could, would draw attention, suspicion onto him. He needn’t familiar eyes to perceive him in case they were able to expose what he truly was; a murderer.

So he yielded, only to find himself with a few fingers of rye in his glass, being left at the bar as his coworkers from the radio station mingled among the ossified wealth. And as he leaned against the counter, watching the vibrant atmosphere, Alastors attention could only be directed onto the lit up entrance as a woman walked through ever so gracefully; you. His entire body became stiff, his teeth gritting in his smile as his heart rate pulsed in an erratic rhythm; he swore he witnessed an aura of light behind you as you ambled in the building, your arm linked with a man whose presence seemed to dim that very light you carried with you. The same man that he would soon learn was your husband.

He didn’t know what was drawing him into you at first. Undeniably, you held a beauty that he had never witnessed before, almost as if you were mere fiction; a gemstone that possessed a rarity like no other, a true one of a kind. But Alastor had seen many a beautiful women before in his lifetime; despite none of them being able to hold a candle to the light you radiated or the sense of emotion you inflicted within him, the point still remained. It didn’t cohere in Alastor’s mind what was happening; what feelings he was experiencing, the ones that had never occurred to him before, but he knew he felt a pull, a want to be in your presence, to intrude in it and embellish within it.

At first, he considered if he had a strange desire to kill you; he had only ever ended the lives of those who were ill intentioned, never having the inclination to harm someone of innocence before. But the only thing he could relate those unknown emotions that bloomed within him, the ones directed purely at you, was the similarity in emotion he attained when snuffing out the life of another. It was so different how the emotions function, behaved, but the thrill he attained from murder was oddly similar to the pump in his heart as he looked at you.

Yet as he considered puncturing his hatchet into you, ending your life before soaking in your blood and consuming your flesh, a tug of disgust and guilt doused him. He didn’t like the imagery of the light being taken from your eyes, but he also didn’t appreciate how many new emotions you were bringing out of him; he had barely glanced your way, and for some strange reason, you were able to sink your claws into his chest and fiddle with every hidden feeling his heart had either cast away long ago or simply never uncovered.

Despite having the desperate urge to bask in your presence, no matter what his intent was, he waited for his chance to approach you as the older man; the one that was much older than you, possibly a whole decade older, whom you entered the establishment with wouldn’t leave your side, clinging to you as he showed you off like you were a piece of delectable meat. Nor would he stop touching you; stilling his grubby hands all over your body as you visually showcased discomfort from his touch. 

It oddly agitated him, being forced to simply watch as another man touched you up; a strange sensation of envy coursing through him as he was forced to witness the engagement. Alastor could only observe as you continuously drank glass after glass of Gin Rickeys, clearly attempting to ease the situation you were enduring as the older man enforced his presence onto you. Your eyebrows constantly furrowing ever so slightly as a sense of hate began to etch into your features ever so slightly.

Maybe it was time for Alastor to interfere.

But as his long legs began to stride towards you, you had managed to slip away from the older man, only to push your way through the crowd and towards the darkness of the restrooms. Thinking on his feet, Alastor ordered a quick glass of Gin Rickey, the only drink you had consumed that night, intending on offering it to you as he stalked you; not comprehending that it was inherently wrong as he followed your elegant and slightly stumbling form towards the ladies room, and as he waited for you to exit the restroom, he leaned his back against the wall.

Why was he doing this? Going out of his way to stalk a belle, a lady of all things; it was extremely out of character for him, not knowing exactly what was compelling him to seek out your presence, but he knew he craved it; more than he craved to carve his hatchet in the bodies of his victims. 

Sighing in frustration, Alastor hit his head on the wall he leaned against intentionally, truly considering if this was the correct choice of action; approaching you as you were alone, in the darkness of the back of a speakeasy, planning on offering you a drink of liquid that would inevitably make you more intoxicated than you already were.

Perhaps not.

So why couldn’t he get his body to leave?

Why did the thought of not having the opportunity to speak with you crush his innards uncomfortably so?

As he began to stare into the glass that held your giggle juice, he deeply contemplated the whole ordeal, and before logic could embed within in him, you had stumbled out of the restroom, and despite how ditzy the alcohol had made you and had formed a stumble in your step, you had managed to gracefully waltz through the door, your form ever so slightly more relaxed from when you were with that man. Without truly registering how close your form was becoming; he could only hitch his breath as he took in your appearance from a closer view. 

You were truly more beautiful up close.

He couldn’t look away, even as he pushed himself off the wall, he simply couldn’t pull his gaze from you. He was so entranced that he hadn’t realised how close you had truly become until you had bumped into him ever so slightly whilst you attempted to walk back into the main hall of the speakeasy. And even though you had hardly stumbled back from the bump, Alastor, without thinking, had automatically reached out for you, gripping his grip around your bicep in his free hand to balance you; to prevent you from potentially falling.

Hadn't you seen him?

The electrical shocks of something he couldn’t describe only flowed through him as his stomach flipped; a queasy emotion floating through him from simply touching you, an oddly pleasant sensation. “I'm so sorry…” You had slurred, your soft spoken and elegant voice forcing his blood to pump through his veins faster; he wasn’t sure if he liked this or not, didn’t know if he enjoyed how you had made his heart race to this extent.

Staring at you, keeping his smile intact, just as always, Alastor held back the glass he had attained just for you; one that kept all its liquidised contents within even when you had bumped into him; he had a good balance, had to for his not so morally correct hobbies. “Don’t apologise my dear! It was my fault for being in your way!” He held up his usual facade, the charming and sought after personality he had accumulated over the years of his life; a mastery of manipulation to gain favour of his fellow people. 

Holding out his hand for yours, you accepted without even thinking about it, zero hesitation; dangerously trusting for someone you had never met. Perhaps it was simply from the alcohol you had intaken. “Such a pleasure to meet you, dear,” He had spoken with a smooth seduction rolling from his mouth without realising it. “The name’s Alastor! And yours?” His face leaned in ever so slightly as he awaited your introduction.

As he heard you relay your name to him, slipping the word through your lips, he couldn’t help but feel entranced, captivated, by not only how you spoke, but how beautiful your name was, how stunningly soft it rolled off your pink tongue; how it emerged a fluttering within the chambers of his heart. He allowed his own larynx to mimic your name back to you, finding himself becoming warm from simply vacating the word that belonged to you.

He didn’t miss how you had tensed ever so slightly as he repeated your name back to you; no, he was too observant to allow anything, even the most subtle of actions to bypass him.

So you liked it when he spoke your name.

Noted.

Originally, Alastor truly wanted to offer you the drink in his hand, but with how tipsy you already were, he didn’t think it appropriate to sink any more alcohol into your system; he wondered if you’d even remember this night from how out of it you were. So instead, he moved his arm to snake along your arm before holding onto your shoulder, unintentionally pulling you in; an action he had subconsciously enacted. “You seem a tad tipsy my dear, perhaps we should sit you down?” He said, as a guise, imbedding your thoughts with intent to help, which he oddly wanted to, but he wouldn’t deny he just simply wished to experience what it would feel like to hold you close, even on a subliminal level.

You were so small compared to him, the crown of your head standing at the height of his shoulders, your body so frail compared to his. If he truly wished it, he could snap you in half right here, right now. Swinging down the alcoholic beverage he had intended for you to consume, he attempted to alleviate not only the strange thoughts he was experiencing, but the emotions coursing through him as he pulled you in. 

Why did he oddly crave to smother you as you stood there; almost leaning against him?

It made his chest constrict, a feeling he still wasn’t certain of; not only its meaning, but if he had actually enjoyed the pang of emotions. Yet before he could truly analyse how he felt as he held you, you spoke up, agreeing to his suggestion of getting you somewhere to sit.

You’re lucky he didn’t wish to kill you; you would be a far too easy catch.

For some reason, the next words you spoke shattered everything he had accumulated over the span of a simple evening; all the raw undignified emotions that had coursed through him and his entirety, all to crash down from a simple sentence.

“My husband would kill me if he saw us.”

He took it figuratively; the killing, not being registered as a literal statement, but as an exaggerated one. Yet that’s not what inflicted the pieces within him to shatter, no, it was the fact you were wed. It made complete and utter sense to him though; a beauty like you would obviously be snatched up at the shortest notice, but the thought of you loving another man truly broke something inside him.

What was wrong with him?

He didn’t wish to submit himself into feeling such things.

Apart from your beauty, what was enforcing these emotions onto him? Was he simply blinded by looks, or was there something more, something hidden underneath that he had yet to decipher?

Reflecting, Alastor could only deliberate that it was for the best; having such strong emotions, especially ones that had been enacted simply by looking at you, it wasn’t sustainable. He was a cold hearted killer, one who hadn’t truly cared for another being since the passing of his mother; mixing you into his life, he couldn’t see it working out for him positively. 

His attention was fixated back onto your physicality as you tilted your face up to meet his gaze. Every little detail of your face to be memorised within the depths of his psyche for a lifetime, forcing his breath to hitch yet again; a newly found habit he was unsure of.

Why couldn’t he decide whether he hated or loved how his breath hitched whenever you looked at him?

Before he could truly study the contents of the depths of your irises, a grating masculine voice bellowed throughout the establishment, one that had surprisingly roared over the music of jazz and swing that played ever so loudly; a voice that called your name.

He couldn’t shake off how it pulled on his heartstrings as your face began to contort from one of relaxation to perturbed, how the corners of your lips downcast as your eyes glinted with an emotion he had only witnessed once before in his entire life among the masses of people he had met.

It was the same glint that glimmered through his own eyes whenever he was in a state of murderous intent.

For some reason, that tiny little glitter of desire for death that shimmered in your eye made everything he had felt prior feel like nothing. 

All his emotions felt like they were on overdrive.

A sense, a want to entirely not only consume you, but be consumed by you doused him, instilling an intense want of attraction and infatuation within him.

His grip on you tightened ever so slightly as you tried to leave his grasp, to make your way to the voice that called for you.

He didn’t want you to leave.

But as quickly as his grip tightened, he released you, and with how easily you brushed away from him, it was obvious you hadn’t noticed.

It took a lot within him to not follow you, to not call back out to you as he watched you slowly leave his presence; but you stopped, only to turn around to look at him once more, your lips moving ever so subtly with another slur.

“You have a really pretty smile, Alastor.”

Something simply clicked in his head; the way you walked away from him, the way you had turned around just to compliment him despite seeming on edge; the way your eyes had glinted with the same expression of murderous intent, the exact same one he found himself experiencing so many times.

He knew now.

He wanted to consume you.

But not in the way he consumed his victims; no. He craved to consume you in a completely new way that had never registered in his mind before. He wanted to consume who you were, to consume your essence, the emotions you had to offer, the figurative heart that held your expressions of love and desires, the murderer within you that could oh so easily be pushed into action with just a little push.

He wanted it all.

And most of all.

He wanted to see you kill.

The desire to see you soaked in the blood of another human, splattered in organs with lust in your eyes was all he could imagine, all he could perceive as your form slowly stumbled away. He wanted to ravish you; not only in that scenario, but even now.

He wanted you entirely, but would you want him?

Unlikely.

Yet the way you expressed such murderous intent as that masculine voice had called for you, he wondered, hoped that it was your reaction to the man you had said who held your hand in marriage; if so, perhaps pursuing you wouldn’t be as taxing, as difficult as he had once believed.

And the way you had tensed as he himself had spoken your name back to you had him believing you felt something to him, even if that was delusional thinking.

Perhaps he had a chance; if only he could confirm one thing.

Despite trying desperately to hold himself back from following you, he couldn’t contain himself; couldn’t control his actions as his footsteps began imprinting against the ones you had just indented with your heels into the carpet below, inevitably stalking you once more as you reentered the lively main hall of the speakeasy. It took all but a second to spot the beauty you radiated as he stalked back into the room, merging himself in with the crowd as he continued to watch your every move; he couldn’t help but notice how your demeanour became much more stiff and formal as you began to approach the man you had entered the establishment with.

Glaring, Alastor could only crave to snuff out the life from that disgusting man, especially as his fingers began to wrap around your waist, squishing the fat of your hips before smothering your face with a kiss that you attempted to avoid.

It was plain to see that this man was your husband.

It was the first time Alastor had felt a need to kill without explicitly knowing if his victim was a person of malevolence; unlike before, where he was unsure of his emotions towards you, this was explicitly clear to him, he truly wished to end the man who had acquired ownership of you. 

He wished to be in your husband’s place; but with love glimmering in your eyes and not hate. The wrath and pure envy that poured throughout him internally as he endured watching your husband’s grip on you was inordinate. 

He wondered how you would take it if he murdered your husband; would you be disgusted just as the rest of society, or would you thank him, only to run into his arms?

The latter was clearly mere fantasy.

Yet as he continued to observe you as you interacted with your husband; your facial expressions much more clearer from this distance, he noticed that murderous glint yet again.

So it indeed was your husband who brought that out of you.

But why?

Why would you be married to a man you clearly detested to the point of desiring to murder him?

It wasn’t clear to Alastor as to the reason, but for some reason, his smile tightened at the new glimmer of information he had just obtained from merely watching you; and as he contemplated on how to truly attain you, it registered that to actually capture you entirely was to make you accept his murderous tendencies before you had even realised them; you had to accept him before knowing what he was. 

That meant encouraging you to end the life of the person who emerged that murderous intent out of you.

You had to kill your husband before he could truly attain you.

This was good; good intel, and the thought of having you covered in your husband's blood oddly had his own blood rushing to places he wasn’t ready to acknowledge nor entertain.

He never even knew he could feel such emotions in his heart, let alone the lust that began to douse him from mere thoughts and fantasies.

You were truly an enigma; bringing out every emotion out of him, even ones he had never experienced before, and he hadn’t even truly basked in anything you had to offer yet.

It was ridiculous, in a way.

Pathetic.

Yet he liked it. Liked the thrill, the unknowing of emotions that coursed through him, it was exhilarating, even so far as to exceed the thrill and emotions of killing.

Who knew he would find someone he could potentially be with?

Not him.

But with the addition of how susceptible you seemed to murder, he knew you only needed but a push, just a little tiny nudge to finally enact such an intimate act of violence; which not only meant you would most likely accept his own murderous tendencies, but it meant that most likely, he wouldn’t have to resort to locking you away in his cellar.

Blinking at himself rapidly, he wondered where the thought came from; the thought of locking you away.

A truly dangerous thought.

But one he found not exactly hating if the need arose for it.

Despite his train of thought, he continued to watch you, observe you; disliking how much it affected him that you failed to notice him hidden within the crowd, but also enjoyed being able to perceive you without your knowledge.

He continued to do as such, perceive you as you kept on drinking before ultimately, your husband began tugging you from out of the establishment; your steps more inconsistent and sluggish than before, and Alastor could only continue to stalk you, even when the night cold outside air hit his face like a ton of bricks. 

He continued to stalk you.

Even when your husband shoved you into a car before getting into the driver's seat, which was not only irresponsible, but angered Alastor on a level like no other; your husband was putting you in danger by drunk driving. Yet he couldn’t fixate on that currently; not when his intent was to follow you, so he rushed to his own car despite his own intake of alcohol, only to follow the car you sat in.

And only when the car he followed entered the estate of your home did Alastors stalking cease to exist.

For that night at least.

He had gained the information he needed now; your residency.

𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗!<𝟹 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛/𝙾𝙲 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑<𝟹

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

@cherry-cola-100 @hana-en @undrgroundtheme @roxxie-wolf @mutifandomkid @gentle-aesthetic-bby @itsmskeisha @k1y0yo @d34dl0ve @reikamasama @taygirl24 @alastorssimp @ieatcocoa @tremendoushearttaco @spottypug @bishiglomper @marcysbear @zazamagicaldonut @little-slyvixen @wendigonamecaller @schiz0preniczz @trippoverrt @reader3 @kittyandbluey @xinhar @sol3chu @yuckypuppie @forest-knights @ivebeenthearchersstuff @feellaaya @babesway22 @straows @blobin456drawz @saccharine-nectarine @blakeaha @nishayuro @impulsivethoughtsat2am @zarabethe @petrichorvzlia-blog @burninupa-star @alastorsaries @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @rapturenyx-blog @charlottemorningstarsdarling @witchykitten @luv4th3m @iiotic @dark-mark @acefluxanomaly

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 1)

Prologue | Chapter 2

Content Warning: Soft, safe, unwilling vore

Word Count: 2.1k

------ Chapter 1: A Typical Royal Dinner ------

Six years later… 

Crown Prince Ronny, the adult heir to the throne, sat down at his usual spot at the table, on the right-hand side of his father, the king. King Richard claimed his rightful place at the head of the table, and Princess Bianca, the youngest by about two years, sat across from her brother Ronny. The king’s personal guard Ajax, his shadow, stood discreetly off to the side behind his seat, ever watchful. 

Ronny, dour as always, glared at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. He scoffed superciliously and removed his gloves for dinner, folding them neatly on the table. He was rescued from having to converse with his loathsome family members by the servants, who came in balancing plates loaded with vittles. Ronny sat in a gloomy silence as Chester, the royal food taster, checked each entrée for poison. He curled his lip with mild disgust when he was given his portion: prime rib, sautéed swiss chard, and scalloped potatoes, with a human dressed in a light sauce. 

Bianca had a similar reaction, poking and prodding the tiny woman on her plate with her fork. The woman winced, but stayed silent and didn’t try to run, knowing the consequences of resisting giant royalty would be far more gruesome. “Daddy, when are we going to get more humans? It’s been a while since the last tribute.” 

King Richard wiped his lips daintily with a napkin as he gleefully swallowed the human on his own plate. “Hmmm… it’s been a while, hasn’t it? We are certainly overdue for some fresh meat.” 

The giantess princess perked up. “If so, can you order some little men this time? Pleeeeeease? Ladies are fine and all, but they’re all we ever get, and I want a handsome boy to play with…” She pouted, scraping her fork with an obnoxious screech on her dish. Her human repast covered her ears and grimaced. Ronny rolled his eyes. 

The king gave his daughter a knowing smirk and chuckled lightly. “I’ll see what I can arrange, my darling.” He picked up his knife and cut into his meat, which leaked blood onto his plate. 

Ronny shook his head and dug into his own meal, flicking the human carelessly off his slab of prime rib. He didn’t understand his father’s obsession with tiny maidens, or his sister’s fascination with miniature men. Why couldn’t she be normal for once and content herself with an attractive giant instead? Humans were fine for eating, when he was in the right mood, but otherwise Ronny found them to be gross vermin, clambering around with their wiry legs like bugs. Distracted by his thoughts, he failed to notice his tiny female side dish had crawled off the edge of his plate. He put a bite of meat in his mouth, and his face puckered with detestation.  

“Ugh!” he groaned, spitting the offending meat back onto his dish without concern for decorum. “Nasty!” His face turned purple with rage. “Bring me the royal chef!” he bellowed. The servants scrambled to obey. Soon enough, the obese chef rushed into the dining room, huffing and puffing with the effort. 

“Yes, Your Highness? How may I best serve you?” he asked nervously, wringing his hands and picking at his blond mustache. He was sweating profusely, his skin ruddy with exertion. 

“Bucky!” Ronny roared. “This food isn’t fit to serve to a dog! The meat is cold in the middle and saltier than the sea! Dumping a mountain of salt on such a bland cut doesn’t improve the flavor, you cretin! I’m a prince, and I deserve only the best, not this offensive rubbish!”  

His temper flared as he got worked up into a frenzy. He stood up out of his chair and gesticulated with his hands aggressively. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cook, you worthless piece of shit! Just look at these vegetables! Wilted strings reeking of too much garlic and swimming in watery juices! And these potatoes! Unpalatable texture, lumpy and uneven, tasteless paste! Unacceptable, reprehensible slop!” 

He picked up the plate and hurled it against the wall with all his might, shattering the porcelain and staining the wall and expensive carpeting with juices. The servants hurried forward to clean up the mess in a hush. Nobody was especially surprised by his tantrum: The servants were accustomed to unhinged outbursts from the royal family. Ronny ignored them and continued to verbally berate the chef, who pointedly stared at his feet. Ronny shoved his finger into his fat chest as he ranted in his face, spitting and swearing. After several minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs and frothing at the mouth, Ronny finally cooled down, dismissing the silent chef with a contemptuous wave of his hand. His face changed from pink back to its usual pasty shade. He crossed his arms petulantly and slumped in his chair. 

“Good job, Ronny,” King Richard praised, grinning wide. “Sometimes you need to put the commoners in their place and make them fear you.” He chomped down on a bite of meat, clearly enjoying his meal despite his son’s scathing condemnation of its quality. Ronny shrugged, still scowling. The servants, so inferior to the royals as to be invisible to them, cleaned up his mess in the background. 

Bianca was unperturbed by Ronny venting his spleen, continuing to toy with the human on her plate as she ate the food around her. Eventually, she got bored and lifted the poor woman up by her leg, studying her wriggling with a cold inquisitiveness. She lowered the tiny woman headfirst into her mouth, licking her face and closing her plump lips around her torso before slurping her flailing legs inside with the rest of her body. She sucked on the delicious morsel for a while, shuffling her from one cheek to the other, before sending her off on a trip to her stomach with a hearty gulp. 

She watched as the servants flitted anxiously back to the table, bringing with them a sumptuous feast of roasted partridge and yams for the picky prince. He sulked as the royal food taster sampled each portion and cleared the food for consumption. The servants backed away, sweating nervously as Ronny tasted the partridge. The bratty prince raised an eyebrow and grunted, but didn’t complain. The tension dissipated among the servants and they disappeared into the background again, relieved not to be on the receiving end of another explosive fit. 

“Hey, Ronny, what happened to the human in your food?” Bianca queried.  

Ronny shrugged as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “Fuck if I know. She probably ended up as a red stain on the wall.” 

King Richard frowned. “What a waste.” He gave Ronny a stern look. The aura in the room subtly changed, as if the air itself chilled. “Don’t squash your humans so carelessly, Ronny. They are valuable, and we can only extract so many without them revolting against us.” 

Ronny stiffened. “Of course, Father,” he mumbled, casting his eyes downward. “I won’t do it again.” The king assumed a milder expression, accepting his words, and the mood lightened again. Ronny repressed a shudder. 

“I never understood why you don’t just conquer the human kingdom, enslave the populace, and farm them,” Bianca remarked, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t that make more sense? Then you can have as many as you want.” 

The king sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed the humans that are here for a long time tend to lose their unique flavor and vitality? That’s because, if they’re not fed and cared for well, and they grow sad, they become frailer, weaker, and less appealing to the palate. That’s why over time we need fresh tributes, and why I usually dispose of them, when they are no longer of any use to us for our personal pleasure.” 

He licked his lips as he finished the last bite of his dinner. “I prefer my humans to be free-range, so to speak, and of high quality. That standard of health isn’t possible if they were all forcibly imprisoned. Happy humans also multiply in greater numbers, which is even better for us. Let them have their silly little kingdom, go about their lives, and exist in blissful ‘freedom.’ As long as they give us our rightful share and don’t complain, I will be content.” 

He inserted his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a small, trembling woman. “Of course, as you know, not all humans go stale! I still have my favorites, like my cute sweet little Millie, now don’t I?” He grinned roguishly and nuzzled her with his nose. 

“Y-yes, of course, Your Majesty! I would never want to disappoint you!” the poor creature squeaked, out of fright rather than affection. Ronny looked away, repulsed by the display. He hated his father’s distasteful perversions and could hardly stand to watch. Bianca stared at him with jealousy, wishing she had a tiny man to kiss and pet and play with. King Richard always exclusively requested maidens as tribute, and she was fed up with his selfishness. She was used to always getting what she wanted, so the fact that she couldn’t have one irritated her to no end. 

The servants cleared the dirty dishes off the table and brought slices of cheesecake for dessert. King Richard removed a small vial from his pocket full of a glowing blue potion and dripped a drop onto Millie’s head. Her face paled with dread as her body absorbed the substance, a magical anti-digestion fluid that would keep her unharmed inside his stomach. He pressed her into the soft dessert with his index finger up to her shoulders. She turned her head away from him, and Ronny spotted quiet tears glistening on her cheeks. The prince switched his attention to his own dessert and ate in silence, ignoring the display.  

King Richard scooped up Millie with his fork and licked the sweet filling off her body, chuckling at her small whines of discomfort. He gently enveloped her in his mouth, humming with delight. After slopping his tongue all over her and sliding her against the inner walls of his teeth, he took another bite of cheesecake and rolled her around with it, sucking it all up with pleasure. He continued in this manner until he finished his entire slice before finally gulping down the small lady. 

Ronny hastened to excuse himself from the table, grabbing up his gloves. As he lifted them, he noticed an abnormal weight inside, caused by a small, shivering lump. He flipped the glove and dumped its mystery contents out on the table, only to discover the food human that he thought he’d thrown across the room was hidden inside. She tumbled out and landed on the hard surface with a splattering of sauce. 

Ronny glared at her, then at his fancy gloves, soiled inside with sauce. “Ugh! Look what you did, you filthy little rat! These gloves are ruined!” He flung the gloves away, his dark eyes flashing as his white-hot wrath returned with a vengeance. The woman’s eyes widened and she cowered before the giant man looming above her like a mountain. She had already narrowly escaped death when he smashed his dinner plate against the wall; she knew what he was capable of with his volatile temper. 

The giant prince slammed his fist on the table next to her, startling her to her feet. Even standing up, she was shorter than his stacked fingers; he could easily crush her in his grasp like an insect. Her legs turned into useless rubber beneath her as she comprehended the futility of resisting and collapsed to the table. Ronny unclenched his fist and grabbed her up, raising her close to his face. 

“Vile, foul worm,” he grumbled as she whimpered helplessly in his hand. “I’ll make you pay for that.” He knew humans hated to be eaten, so he shoved her into his mouth and swallowed her hard, sending her straight to the fleshy prison in his midsection. King Richard grinned with approval as he observed his son. Ronny stormed off in a huff, stomping on his gloves and kicking them to the side on his way out. 

He clomped down one of the many stony corridors of the castle, fuming with irritation. He could feel the human fighting inside his gut as she was jostled about by his rapid steps. That idiotic human deserved her punishment. Those gloves were custom-made, based on the measurements of his hands, and now he’d have to order a new pair from the royal tailor. Such an inconvenience! 

Chapter 2

#vore art #soft vore #safe vore #unwilling vore #unwilling prey #g/t vore #gt vore #giantess vore #giantess #giant #tiny #g/t fearplay #g/t art #macro/micro #vore writing #vore stories #vore story #v0re #v.ore #v/ore #female prey #male pred #female pred #endosoma #v0r3 #size difference #my art #my writing

[p1nball-c0la]

i saw your post about the essay you wrote on the gayness in great gatsby, and im doing a similar thing. im wondering what parts you quoted because to me it’s more the vibe rather than any piece of text. thanks!

Happy to provide! I'm trying to not miss anything here, so my apologies for the ultra-long post. And trust me, this is a very long post. I went through all 137 pages. This is likely far more than you wanted or needed, so. Whoops on that front. But I digress. Without much further ado, textual evidence of The Great Gatsby's (mostly Nick's) queerness and where to find said evidence within the book!

The PDF I'm using, found through a single google search. The wonders of a lack of copyright!

Chapter 1

Nick, immediately asserting his Gatsby bias; "Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn." (5).

When describing Gatsby; “If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him.” (5).

Nick eyeing up Tom and also being a little afraid of him; "Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body — he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage — a cruel body" and "His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor..." (8).

Nick finding Jordan Baker, the most androgynous woman around, attractive (Which, while not inherently queer, as a mostly gay man I've found that masculine women and feminine men tend to be a hit with queer folks. Do with that what you will); "I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, smallbreasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet." (11).

Chapter 2

Nick being kinda grossed out by Catharine; "The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eye-brows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face." (25).

Nick's opinions on the McKee's (Take note of Mr. McKee's description-describing a man as "feminine" pretty much meant nothing but gay when Fitzgerald wrote it. Trust me, he would have known the connotations); "Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man... there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he was most respectful in his greeting... His wife was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible." (25).

Nick doing something that could be described as tender; "Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists clenched in his lap, like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the remains of the spot of dried lather that had worried me all the afternoon." (30).

I implore you, read the final few paragraphs of chapter two. Nick 100% sleeps with Mr. McKee. A taste of that; "… I was standing beside his bed and [Mr. McKee] was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands." (31).

Chapter 3

Nick, upon receiving an invitation to Gatsby's party (The 2013 movie had Tobey Maguire stress that 'No one had ever been invited to Gatsby's' with the exception of him. Do with that what you will); "I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform of robin’s-egg blue crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning with a surprisingly formal note from his employer: the honor would be entirely Gatsby’s, it said, if I would attend his “little party.” that night. He had seen me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it — signed Jay Gatsby, in a majestic hand." (33-34).

A quick aside about the party and Gatsby symbolism; as my English teacher so fervently pointed out, Daisy wears white to symbolize purity/innocence/some other million dollar word. If we are to believe that Fitzgerald painstakingly planned out that symbolism, then this line about Nick's party attire, "[I was] dressed up in white flannels" (34) should have some significance to it, right?

Nick, unaware he is talking to Gatsby, immediately feels better upon talking to him; "It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked around and smiled. 'Having a gay time now?' she inquired. 'Much better.'" (38).

And of course, this gem—Nick, instantly smitten by Gatsby's smile; "He smiled understandingly — much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced― or seemed to face― the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey." (39).

Nick being anxious and a little fixated on a shoulder touch from Gatsby, Gatsby practically planning a date out; "Rather ashamed that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, I joined the last of Gatsby’s guests, who were clustered around him. I wanted to explain that I’d hunted for him early in the evening and to apologize for not having known him in the garden. 'Don’t mention it,' he enjoined me eagerly. 'Don’t give it another thought, old sport.' The familiar expression held no more familiarity than the hand which reassuringly brushed my shoulder. 'And don’t forget we’re going up in the hydroplane to-morrow morning, at nine o’clock.'"

Nick, about Jordan, then very quickly saying something that very much sounds like the closeted experience when you're in an unaccepting environment; "I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires..." (47).

Chapter 4

Gatsby, picking up Nick for what I will only call a 'Discreet meeting between two close male friends'; "Good morning, old sport. You’re having lunch with me today and I thought we’d ride up together." (50).

Nick, paying a strange amount of attention to Gatsby's stance, and describing it so... yeah; "He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American — that comes, I suppose, with the absence of lifting work or rigid sitting in youth and, even more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games." (50).

Another interlude; According to my literal teachers, Gatsby's car is supposed to be a euphemism for his penis. I'd censor this, but hey, this book is about affairs. Anyways, this fact makes this sequence very funny to me; "He saw me looking with admiration at his car. 'It’s pretty, isn’t it, old sport?' He jumped off to give me a better view. 'Haven’t you ever seen it before?' I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream color, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hat-boxes and supper-boxes and toolboxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of wind-shields that mirrored a dozen suns." (50).

Nick, falling in love with the way Gatsby speaks; "Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them — with his smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. My incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming hastily through a dozen magazines." (52).

Nick being not okay with Gatsby being not straightforward with him; "'Look here, old sport,' said Gatsby, leaning toward me, 'I’m afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car.' There was the smile again, but this time I held out against it." (56).

Wolfsheim talking up Gatsby to Nick; "'Fine fellow, isn’t he? Handsome to look at and a perfect gentleman.' 'Yes.'" (56).

Nick literally settling for Jordan—Note how Nick describes Jordan as 'wan'. Jordan is, almost exclusively, the only one described as wan. Remember this. Anyways, Nick settling; "Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs, and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan, scornful mouth smiled, and so I drew her up again closer, this time to my face." (62).

Chapter 5

Gatsby inviting Nick to Coney Island way too late at night; "'...Let’s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.'" (63).

Wow Nick. Interesting way to describe Gatsby. That's. That doesn't seem fond no not at all. No but why does 'glaring tragically' sound. Yeah; "Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes." (66).

Nick describing Gatsby; "He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room." (69).

OH COOL GATSBY YEAH JUST INVITE YOUR ROMANTIC INTREST AND YOUR 'VERY GOOD CLOSE MALE FRIEND' OVER TO SEE YOUR HOUSE YEAH; "'I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,' he said, 'I’d like to show her around.' 'You’re sure you want me to come?' 'Absolutely, old sport.'" (69).

Gatsby searching for approval from Nick; "'My house looks well, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “See how the whole front of it catches the light.' I agreed that it was splendid." (69-70).

Gatsby saying he keeps his house 'full of interesting people' (however, Gatsby has only invited Nick, honestly); "'I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.'" (70).

Nick, very sure Daisy couldn't possibly be right for Gatsby anymore; "There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams — not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion." (74).

Chapter 6

Nick tells us of Gatsby's truth, of the name James Gatz. Note that Nick is the one person Gatsby trusts with this. This quote us of little importance aside from me telling you the fact only Nick knows of his past; "He was a son of God — a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that — and he must be about His Father’s business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen-year-old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end."

Nick once again fixated on Gatsby's smile; "I suppose he smiled at Cody — he had probably discovered that people liked him when he smiled." (77).

This isn't important this is just funny to me; "...in the course of gay parties..." (77).

Nick once again not being that into the women around him; "The girl addressed was trying, unsuccessfully, to slump against my shoulder."

Nick immediatly defending Gatsby from Tom's accusations; "'I didn’t hear it. I imagined it. A lot of these newly rich people are just big bootleggers, you know.' 'Not Gatsby,' I said shortly."

Nick really hating that Gatsby won't give up Daisy and wishing that somebody could just replace her in his mind; "Perhaps some unbelievable guest would arrive, a person infinitely rare and to be marvelled at, some authentically radiant young girl who with one fresh glance at Gatsby, one moment of magical encounter, would blot out those five years of unwavering devotion."

Nick staying late because Gatsby asked him to; "I stayed late that night, Gatsby asked me to wait until he was free, and I lingered in the garden..." (84).

Nick trying to hint that Gatsby should start looking into new people for romance. Perhaps someone in the present. Y'know. Like a writer. Just shy of thirty. With the initials N.C. Y'know. Here's the quote; "'I wouldn’t ask too much of her,' I ventured. 'You can’t repeat the past.'"

Nick wanting to say something to Gatsby; "For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever." (86).

Chapter 7

Nick really liking Gatsby; "I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before." (99).

Nick, concerned about losing 'men to know'. He doesn't mention women; "Thirty — the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know..." (104).

Nick, lying; "I disliked him so much by this time..." (110).

Chapter 8

Intriguing of you to say 'come home' and not 'go home', Nick; "I hesitated. 'You’d better come home and

get some sleep.'" (112).

Nick embodying every lovesick gay; "I couldn’t sleep all night... Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby’s drive, and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress — I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about, and morning would be too late." (113).

Hey remember how I said Nick pretty much only describes Jordan as wan? Yeah here's Nick describing Gatsby that way; "'Nothing happened,' he said wanly." (113).

Nick essentially being annoyed that Gatsby doesn't want to romance him now; "I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without reserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy." (114).

Nick not leaving Gatsby; "I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work, but it was more than that — I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away." (118).

Parallel between Nick and Daisy; "'I’ll call you about noon.' We walked slowly down the steps. 'I suppose Daisy’ll call too.'"

Nick's complement to Gatsby; "'They’re a rotten crowd,' I shouted across the lawn. 'You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.'" (118).

Nick lying. You don't dedicate a book to a guy entitled 'The Great' with his name and 'disapprove of him'; "It was the only compliment I ever gave him, because I disapproved of him from beginning to end." (118).

The smile, again; "First he nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we’d been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact all the time." (118).

Nick again being a concerned lovesick gay; "I called Gatsby’s house... I tried four times..." (119).

Sounds rather wishful, Nick; "I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t believe [the call] would come, and perhaps he no longer cared."

Chapter 9

Nick being basically haunted; "...his protest continued in my brain: 'Look here, old sport, you’ve got to get somebody for me. You’ve got to try hard. I can’t go through this alone.'" (126).

Nick upset at everyone who isn't Gatsby; "I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all."(127).

Nick describing himself as a close friend of Gatsby to Gatsby's father; "'...Were you a friend of my boy’s, Mr.—?' 'We were close friends.'" (128).

Tom Buchanan being cruel as usual, drawing a direct parallel; "...He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s..." (136).

And that's it! All possibly queer quotes from Gatsby. Again, I apologize for the length.

#the gay gatsby #the great gatsby #great gatsby #gatsby #natsby #nick carraway #jay gatsby #jordan baker #gay #queer

[honorhearted]

@thvnkpink

It was going on week two since Barry Seville had shown his face. The man was quiet, introspective, and preferred to keep things close to the vest, but he wasn't irresponsible. The fact he hadn't phoned in even once proved to Ben that something was amiss -- Barry would have told him, had he decided to go chasing after a lead -- so after breaking into his partner's house and discovering it empty? Well...he'd done the only logical thing, and decided to open up an investigation of his own.

Upon further inspection, inside the front door by Barry's keyholder (conveniently missing the keys) was a bright red matchbox, sporting the R.ialto's logo in striking cursive letters. As a bit of a loner, Ben hadn't ever frequented such an establishment, but he'd certainly heard rumors. Barry had never struck him as the type... But in the world of h.omicide, he knew all too well how appearances could be deceiving.

With the matchbook weighing heavily within his palm, Ben entered the glitzy club and was immediately overwhelmed by cigar smoke, sultry jazz music, and the stench of promised debauchery. His shoulders instantly tensed, if only to make himself look smaller, unavailable, and wholly uninterested in whatever offer might be thrown his way.

Instead, he made a beeline towards a gentleman mixing drinks at the bar. "Excuse me," Ben said, sliding the matchbook onto the counter. "Does this belong to your establishment?"

The man lifted his dark, supercilious eyes and appraised him scornfully, the corner of his mouth quirking in bemusement. "You can read, can'tcha?" he asked, adding a bit of vermouth to his concoction. "The sign's out front."

Ben's smile grew tight. "Yes sir, I can read -- but times change. I want to know if this is a recent product of yours, and not a dated one."

The bartender harrumphed. "Yeah, it's recent." Mixing his drink with the shaker, he spared him an impatient look. "You want something or not? I've got plenty of patrons here, buddy."

Pursing his mouth, Ben reached inside his pocket, then slid a picture of Barry across the counter. "What about him?" he asked. "Did you see this man within the past two weeks?"

Cocking his head, the dark-haired man leaned forward and sniffed, then nodded once. "Uh-huh, sure did. Kind of a wise-ass, but he more or less kept to himself. Except for Sandie. He seemed pretty interested in talking to her."

Ben perked up at that. "Sandie?"

The bartender nodded. "All the guys like talking to her though," he clarified.

Trying not to appear too eager, Ben pressed, "And where can I find her? Is she working today?"

"Rain or shine," the man said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "She's the petite, pretty one -- the blonde -- over there in that booth. Though you'd better hurry, 'cause she's meeting a client."

After thanking the grumpy bartender for his help, Ben grabbed Barry's picture and made his way through the laughing, cigar-smoking patrons, his heart in his throat once he stopped directly in front of the woman -- this Sandie, who apparently had visited with his friend. Despite his distaste towards venues of this nature, Ben couldn't deny that the blonde had quite ethereal, striking eyes...large, dark, fathomless.

"Um...hello," he stammered. Brilliant. Already off to a rousingly good start. With a wince, he went ahead and slid into the seat across from her, his hands clumsily depositing Barry's photograph onto the table. "Your friend back there said you met with Barry Seville," Ben began, finally anchoring a bit of command to his voice. "I'm leading the investigation into his disappearance. Would you mind if we spoke for a few minutes?"

#thvnkpink #a missing link #v: modern au #//OKAY don't feel free to match me cuz i went on and on #cuz i'm excitedTM lol #and also sorry about the random periods but i always do that for starters #so my starter doesn't appear in any random searches lol

[thestoriesthatweweave]

2 and 4 for the wip ask game🤲🤲

Thank you for playing!!

2: To Topple Cities and Countries

This one of the two fics that are being published. Since it's up to chapter 3 on ao3 I'll share a snippet of chapter 4! Ouyang siblings reunion, feat. Zhu and Xu Da

He and Zhu were left alone and undisturbed for a few wonderful minutes, and then there was another knock to the door of the study. "What is it this time?" Zhu asked, with actual annoyance in her tone.  "It’s me, Little Brother," Xu Da said, sticking his head in the doorway. There was a vague shadow behind him, coming up to about his shoulder. "I’m sorry to disturb you, but, Big Brother Ouyang, while I’m flattered that you apparently think that any charming woman must be looking for me, I’m fairly certain Madam Song was asking for you." He moved to the side, at this point, and the face of the woman he’d brought with him was revealed. Ouyang was on his feet, with no memory of standing. His lips were numb. "Big Sister." Third Sister’s face crumpled. "Zhi-er," she said, and stumbled towards him. 

4: uncles of the year award

I tend to give my fics actual titles fairly soon into the drafting process (even if those titles may not necessarily stick), so this one is pretty early stages, in that it's half an outline and a few scenes in a trench coat masquerading as a draft.

It's a canon divergence AU that combines my "Esen has slept with at least one of Ouyang's female relatives" agenda with my desire to see Ouyang interact with Esen's daughters.

Looking at them, crouched together, Ouyang's hand on the girl's wrist, it was impossible to miss the family resemblance. It was less in the features themselves - Esen's imprint on the girl was strong - and more in the expressions: Esen's mouth curled in Ouyang's supercilious grimace, Esen's eyes and Ouyang's haughty look. The sight made Baoxiang feel vaguely queasy. "I need to kill the Great Khan," Ouyang said. "If I don't, your father's death will have been for nothing. I will let you kill me, after." "Maybe we shouldn't encourage the seven-year-old's homicidal tendencies," Baoxiang said, with very little hope of being heeded. The girl, at least, did turn her head to look at him, glaring balefully. "I'm ten. And what about you, Uncle? You two plotted against my father together." "Oh, absolutely, I'll let you kill me if you ask nicely." "He's a dishonorable man," Ouyang said, which was a bit rich coming from him. "I didn't plot anything with him."

#ask game #my writing #the radiant emperor

[igiveupmiss3]

Formative Ignominy

Barry stared at the wall miserably as WPC Sheila Leigh chatted happily into her radio, crouching just a few yards away, her dark nyloned knees pressed closely together, her black uniform skirt pulled tightly across her bottom and thighs. Yes, to make matters worse, the policewoman who had arrested him was unbearably shapely and sexy. Sheila laughed into the radio. “Yes, one delinquent prisoner please, Sarge,” she was saying, “I’ve cuffed him and made him kneel and face the wall to try to get him to realise stealing cars has no future.” Barry frowned sullenly at this female superciliousness. He had enough of that from his teacher, his mother and his older sister - now even the cops were birds, he reflected, determined to make his life as ignominious as possible. He glanced over at the policewoman who had caught him in the act of breaking into a car, arrested him and then bound him. He wanted to hate her so much for humiliating him like that, but with her slim tight jacket, her absurd but cute checkered white-and-black hat, and above all, her grey-black tights, he just felt completely aroused by her. He pulled on the cuffs. No, they were tight and secure, and, to his shame as he took in the curves of the hunched woman constable one more time, the sight of her just made his arousal all the more embarrassing…

Sources: Alamy Stock Photos and pic provided by LadyCopFan on DA

#prisoner #cuffed #policewoman #arrested #man handcuffed by woman #male prisoner #humiliated male #male shame

[yesstaffnurse1]

Staff Nurse Pryce

Everything had simply fallen apart. I scarpered from the main residential floor where the guys found themselves struggling with both nurses and visitors intent on apprehending them. I figured if I sneaked down the back stairs, which I knew about from when I was casing the home on behalf of the gang, I’d be well away from the mayhem and in my car to the coast before anyone even noticed I was missing. But as I fled across the deserted seminar room corridor towards the exit I suddenly found my way blocked. Staff Nurse Pryce, smiling superciliously, stood right in front of the door through which my escape and freedom beckoned. I pulled up short, eyes wide with surprise.

“I knew you were a bad ‘un from the off, Charlie.” the nurse told me calmly as I desperately looked to right and left, seeking a different way out. “I thought you would probably take the back route, so. I thought I would wait here for you - just in case!” I glared at the woman. “You better get out of my way, nurse,” I threatened bravely, “or I’ll…” Nurse Pryce just smiled. “Or what?” she mocked. “I’m not convinced I couldn’t take a little scrap of a man like you anyway. But even if you could overpower me, knocking a female nurse to the ground won’t go down well in court at your trial!” I clenched and unclenched my fists in impotent fury. She was right of course, I could hear the wail of the police sirens heading to the nursing home already. I was trapped. “Curse you!” I flung at my smug female tormentor in anguish and frustration as she confidently walked towards me to grasp my limp arms.

*

Later, as Nurse Pryce walked me across the carpark towards the cars with the flashing blue lights, my wrists tightly tied together behind my back, the witch couldn’t resist one last jab of sarcasm. “I guess you and your gang were really good at the planning, just useless at the execution.” she laughed. “Like most men really!” I felt too humiliated by her effortless and single-handed capture of me to even try to make a reply…

Source: Nurses Uniforms and Ladies Workwear on Flickr

#nurses #prisoner #strong women #man tied up by woman #capture #intruders captured by nurses #burglar captured by nurse

[hanzajesthanza]

toruviel appreciation post

Edge of the World, Pt. VI, description:

The elf standing over Dandelion had black eyes and raven hair, which fell luxuriantly over her shoulders, except for two thin plaits braided at her temples. She was wearing a short leather camisole over a loose shirt of green satin, and tight woollen leggings tucked into riding boots. Her hips were wrapped around with a colored shawl which reached halfway down her thighs.

The elf leaned over Geralt. She had long lashes, an unnaturally pale complexion and parched, cracked lips. She wore a necklace of carved golden birch pieces on a strap, wrapped several times around her neck.

He saw Toruviel lurch to her knees, blood pouring from her nose and mouth. The elf wrenched the dagger from its sheath but gave a sob, hunched over, grasped her face and dropped her head between her knees.

Edge of the World, Pt. VI, Dandelion's lute:

Toruviel turned to him with an angry grimace on her cracked lips. “Musician!” she growled. “A human, yet a musician! A lutenist!” Without a word, she pulled the instrument from the tall elf's hand, forcefully smashed the lute against the pine and threw the remains, tangled in the strings, on Dandelion's chest. “Play on a cow's horn, you savage, not a lute.” The poet turned as white as death; his lips quivered. Geralt, feeling cold fury rising up somewhere within him, drew Toruviel's eyes with his own. “What are you staring at?” hissed the elf, leaning over. “Filthy ape-man! Do you want me to gouge out those insect eyes of yours?” (...) The elf nodded. From her saddlebow, she took a lute, a marvelous instrument of light, tastefully inlaid wood with a slender, engraved neck. Without a word, she handed the lute to Dandelion. The poet accepted the instrument and smiled. Also without a word, but his eyes said a great deal.

Time of Contempt, Ch. 1:

Toruviel leapt to her feet, seizing and belting on her sword, and poked Yaevinn in the thigh with the toe of her boot. He had been dozing, leaning against the wall of a hollow, and when he sprang up he scorched his hand as he pushed off from the hot sand. ‘Que suecc’s?’ ‘A rider on the road.’ ‘One?’ said Yaevinn, lifting his bow and quiver. ‘Cairbre? Only one?’ ‘Only one. He’s getting closer.’ ‘Let’s fix him then. It’ll be one less Dh’oine.’ ‘Forget it,’ said Toruviel, grabbing him by the sleeve. ‘Why bother? We were supposed to carry out reconnaissance and then join the commando. Are we to murder civilians on the road? Is that what fighting for freedom is about?’ ‘Precisely. Stand aside.’

Lady of the Lake, Ch. 10:

The elves came closer. They looked even worse than the horses. Nothing remained of their pride, of their hard-earned, supercilious, charismatic otherness. Their clothing–usually even on guerrillas from the commando units smart and beautiful–was dirty, torn and stained. Their hair–their pride and joy–was dishevelled, matted with sticky filth and clotted blood. Their large eyes, usually vain and lacking in any expression, were now abysses of panic and despair. Nothing remained of their otherness. Death, terror, hunger and homelessness had made them become ordinary. Very ordinary.

An elf woman with long, dark hair caked together with congealed blood stopped her horse right beside the wagon. She sat in the saddle leaning over awkwardly, protecting an arm in a blood-soaked sling around which flies buzzed and swarmed. ‘Toruviel,’ said one of the elves, turning around. ‘En’ca digne, luned.’ Lucienne instantly realised, understood, what it was about. She understood what the elf woman was looking at. The peasant girl had been familiar from childhood with the blue-grey, swollen spectre, the apparition of famine, lurking around the corner of her cottage. So she reacted instinctively and unerringly. She held out the bread towards the elf woman.

The invalids on the wagon, until then petrified and frozen in their tracks, suddenly twitched, as though animated by a magic spell. Quarter loaves ofbread, rounds of cheese, pieces of fatback and sausage appeared–as if by magic– in the hands that they held out towards the elves. And for the first time in a thousand years elves were holding their hands out towards humans.

and her depiction in hexer, which i love, as they included her raven-black hair:

#toruviel #the witcher #the witcher books #character descriptions in the books #c: toruviel #gordeev as always nails the fucking outfits and details