#and then be a rich and arrogant hero | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moon-rivr · 6 months

Note

Hey, I’m not sure if you’re open or not, but I have a request that I thought would be hot!

So Miguel x vigilante! Reader. She’s not a hero, but if Miguel needs her then she will help him (is very opposed to it but does it because they used to be friends). Sometimes the two of them will fight, but they would never somehow hurt each other badly.

But one day she gets hurt by some arrogant hero (idk who, maybe a variant of cat woman or smth) and Mig gets PISSED! Like he grabs reader and looks at the other hero as if he was about to commit mass homicide.

And he takes care of reader, but he begins to get Dark! Cause he will not let her leave his house, he treats her like a godddess, will spoil her (idk) but then he will not allow her to call anyone. She also finds out that he called into her work and said that she will no longer be working there. And one day he comes back home and straight up proposes to her, saying how he wants her to be his wife and be his forever. He also begins to start saying how he knows that she likes the thought of him torturing others for her etc etc.

Thank you so so much!!! ~ ☀️

only one you need

pairing: miguel o’hara x vigilante fem reader

contents: some yandere themes, spanking, slapping (once), choking, unprotected p in v, breeding kink, degrading, orgasm denial, smidge of lore (not too important)

author’s note: i hope you enjoy and thank you for being patient with me <33 (i hope i didn’t mess this up 😓)

word count: 3.4K

You weren't a hero by any means. You were the Robin Hood of your community, stealing from the rich and powerful to redistribute amongst yourself and your community. The only thing that motivated you to continue taking beatings regularly was the fact that you knew you would starve if you didn't. Your job paid decent, though it wasn't nearly enough to cover your expenses living in Nueva York along with the cost of food.

You were heading back home after stopping a mob deal when you heard the watch in your pocket go off. It'd been weeks of radio silence and you'd assumed that Miguel simply found someone else to work with. While the two of you constantly butted heads over what methods to deal with your opponents, he was very dedicated to his work which made him tolerable to work with. You also had a preference towards helping him given that you cherished the friendship you had with him. The text simply told you to meet him at Earth-65, that it was an urgent matter to be dealt with.

The earth wasn't too different from the other ones you've encountered, though the streets seemed to be more empty than usual. You went up to the Empire State Building, a constant meeting spot in the worlds that you visited. "Hey Spider-Man, what's up?" You asked him, seeing that he was sitting at the ledge. "Took you long enough," he told you, pressing some buttons on his gizmo and his mask dissipated. You rolled your eyes, sitting down next to him as you waited for a brief of what you'd be doing here. "I called you over because of a villain here," he told you, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. "Ask me for my help with a ‘please’ and I might consider it."

He looked around like he was worried of someone overhearing before he turned to look at you. "Pretty please help me with this," he said, though you weren't expecting him to actually comply. "Okay, what's up with this villain?" You asked him and he stayed quiet for a moment as his lips pursed. "Basically the Kingpin from this dimension wants to repeat what the one from Earth-1610 did," he finally spoke up and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"So why not use the same strategy as last time?" You asked him and he let out a small growl at the mention of what happened. "That ended up in more harm than good if you don't recall and this Kingpin's working with the Hand. Apparently they're skilled ninjas or something like that, right up your alley," he responded and your brows furrowed in recognition. "Doesn't Daredevil usually deal with them in every universe?" You inquired, looking up at him. "Daredevil is Kingpin here."

You and Miguel discussed some strategies on how to deal with your little problem when you felt a gush of wind zoom right past you. Before you two had a chance to attack, the two of you found yourselves tied up in a rope. Your attacker came into view, resulting in none other than Felicia Hardy, and she came in close to analyze the two of you. "Well, you're much more handsome than the usual Spider-Man," she purred, stroking Miguel's cheek as she spoke. "Kingpin wanted me to send his regards, though he doesn't appreciate you two trying to stop him," she continued, stepping back once she finished with her observations. "Seems counterintuitive to help out the man who killed your father," Miguel spoke up, letting out a scoff.

Felicia’s eyes darkened for a moment before they returned back to normal, a smirk on her face. "I don't do things that don't benefit me," she simply said, looking down at the two of you. "So, do you choose to take the warning or continue with this little strategy of yours? The Hand will never let you even two inches close to him," she inquired, tapping her foot on the floor. Miguel took the chance to unsheath his claws, the rope falling on the floor. Felicia whistled, a circle of ninjas surrounding the two of you.

The two of you split up, defending yourselves against the Hand, while Felicia watched idly by the side. You got on top of her, planning to tie her up and ended up getting punched on the nose. You recoiled, your defenses weakened when you felt a sharp sting in your stomach. You looked down to see that one of the ninjas stuck a katana in you, the blood starting to pool on the floor. Miguel pulled the ninja off you and grabbed Felicia by her neck, dangling her as he picked her up. His talons unsheathed at his sides, a small growl coming up his throat as he opened his mouth, fangs ready to attack her.

"Miguel!" You screamed, holding your stomach as you tried to control the bleeding. You looked up to see Felicia, the fear evident in her eyes even though her stoic expression didn't show it. You couldn't help but feel a bit of guilty as you saw her for what she was in that moment. She was willing to do anything to get her father back, even work with the man that scorned her. Miguel turned to look at you, his eyes softening and his talons retreating as he set down felicia. Your vision began spotting up, and the only thing you felt was Miguel's arms helping you up before you passed out.

You woke up with the sun shining in through the curtains in a unfamiliar room before the events from earlier came back to you. You looked down to your stomach and realized that the stab wound was mostly healed, minimal scarring visible. You looked over to see Miguel walking in, holding a pill with a glass of water. "You finally woke up, how are you feeling?" He asked, handing you the pill and water. "Just a little pain. How long have i been out for?" You inquired, putting the pill in your mouth before gulping down the water. "You've been out for almost a week."

"Thank you for taking care of me, but I have to get back to my universe. I'm sure my job won't let me spend me any more time off," you told him once you finished up with the water, wiping your mouth. "You don't have to worry about that anymore, I called them to tell that you wouldn't be coming in anymore," he responded eerily calm and your eyes narrowed.

"Why would you do that, Miguel?"

"Because you don't have to worry about your financial situation anymore. You'll be staying here with me and I'll be taking care of you."

"But what about the people in my neighborhood?"

"I'll take care of their necessities."

You took a couple seconds to consider what he was telling you before nodding. "Okay, sure," you responded, folding your arms awkwardly. The concept was foreign to you, of having to depend on someone else for your financial needs. You'd been working to provide for yourself since you were able to, though you lived very minimally. "Did you manage to get Kingpin?" You asked, looking over at him. "I did, I got some of the other members from the Society to help me. I'm sorry for putting you in danger. The last thing i wanted was for you to get hurt," he responds, rubbing the side of his neck.

"It was just a little cut, I’ll be fine," you tried to downplay the situation, despite the fact that you felt a pain every time you moved. "I'll take care of you while you heal, okay?" He reassured you, kissing your forehead before he walked out of the room. You sat down on the bed as you tried to wrap your head around the situation, that you'd never have to work again or have to settle for the minimum. You began to accept the idea the more you thought about it even if you weren't too sure why Miguel was doing all this for you.

"Hey, Miguel? Why're you doing all this for me?" You asked him when you came out to the kitchen, seeing that Miguel was cooking something up for the both of you. "I care about you, even if I haven't really shown it through my actions. You're the only person I can really tolerate being around for extended periods of time," he responded, looking over at you as he set down the spoon. You helped him out by chopping some of the vegetables, glancing at him through the corner of your eye. “I took the opportunity to go to your universe to bring back some of your clothes. I hope you don't mind knowing that I went through your closet," he told you as he poured in the chopped vegetables in the soup he was making. "I don't mind, thank you for that," you responded, looking through the cabinets for some spices.

You felt your breath hitch as Miguel moved behind you, reaching towards the cabinet above you. He placed his hand on your hip for a split second as he grabbed the spices, pulling them out. You missed the touch as soon as he walked away, going towards the oven once more. You watched as he cooked, pouring in the oregano and thyme, keeping his eye on the container to not pour in too much. You excused yourself from the kitchen, going back into the bedroom.

You called one of the girls you'd been helping back in your universe, hoping that she'd been doing well in your absence. "What are you doing?" You heard from behind you, Miguel coming into the room. "I'm trying to call one of the people I used to help out back home, see how she's doing," you responded, looking back at him. He grabbed the phone from you, hanging up before sticking it in his pocket. "No more of that. The only person you need to talk to is me. I'm the only person that you need," he told you, holding up your chin as he spoke. "But I’m worried about her, Miguel," you tried to defend yourself but he wasn't budging on the subject. "I'll go check up on her tomorrow if that's important to you. But you won't be talking to anyone else. Like I told you, I’m the only person that you need."

Even though you should've ran for the hills after he told you that, you didn't mind only being with him and only spending time with him. He'd even given you an Amex card, telling you to spend whatever you want to your heart's content. Needless to say, your wardrobe ended up expanding into luxurious items and you bought more expensive jewelry. Miguel often told you how much he liked seeing you spend his money, how much he liked seeing you glammed up and just because of him.

Your relationship with Miguel continued to grow throughout the following weeks, the two of you ended up having dinners together and doing activities in the house. Though you had a longing to spend time with other people, you could appreciate that Miguel let you keep the interdimensional watch.

Miguel arrived from work late at night, his eyebags prominent as he stepped out of the portal. "Hey, how'd it go today?" you asked him, walking up to him to wrap your hands around him. "It was okay. I'm gonna go change into something comfortable and I'll join you for dinner," he told you, dipping his head to kiss your forehead. He walked away, retreating back to the bedroom to get changed and you headed into the kitchen. You served a plate for you both and set them down on the table, sitting down as you waited for him to come out.

Dinner had gone as usual, mostly just talking about what you'd done inside the house and him talking about what kind of creatures he'd encountered. Though you felt some sort of longing at being able to go to the streets and fight again, you couldn't help but wonder if your efforts were all just in vain after all. That no matter how much you gave it your all in the fights that you had, it wouldn't matter in the end and that made it easier to make yourself more comfortable just staying with Miguel. You were about to head upstairs after finishing up the dishes to get ready for bed before you were stopped by him calling out your name.

You turned around to see miguel on one knee and all the air in your lungs escaped as you saw the box he was holding. "Will you marry me?" The request was simple but his face told you that everything about the gesture was not. You could see the love that he held for you as he looked up at you and you couldn't help the tears that rolled down your cheek. You nodded quickly and went over to kiss him, rubbing the tears away from your cheeks. "I'd love to marry you, Miguel."

The union was at Miguel's house and the only people present were the priest and Peter B. Parker to authenticate the wedding. You had on a beautiful floor-length white dress while Miguel had on a black tux, the material fitting him snugly. "You may now kiss the bride," the priest told the both of you after the vows were done and Miguel placed his his hands on your hips as he kissed you. The priest left a couple minutes after that and Miguel headed upstairs to get the nice whiskey out.

You took the opportunity to make conversation with Peter, wanting to know more about his close friend. You were in the middle of discussing what Miguel was like at work with him when Miguel grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him. "I think it's time for you to leave, Peter. Me and my wife have some talking to do," he told him, his voice eerily calm despite how much his back had tensed up as he spoke. Peter congratulated the two of you once more before he left the house and Miguel turned to look at you, his eyes narrowed. "Run."

You felt your heart thumping as you hid underneath the bed and the only thing you could do was listen to Miguel's taunting calls. "Where are you, conejita? Don't you wanna come out and play?" He purred, his voice echoing throughout the empty house. (bunny) Miguel came into the bedroom, his footsteps shuffling around as he opened up the closet door and peeked inside before shutting the door. You let out a sigh of relief but that relief was short lived when your legs were pulled back, forcing you out of your hiding spot.

"Do you know what you did wrong, mi amor?" He asked you, his tone condescending as he held a firm grip on your chin. "I talked to Peter when I shouldn't have, I'm sorry," you replied, your eyes drifting towards the ground in shame. "Aht, none of that. Look at me," he ordered and you complied, looking up at him. "Tell me conejita, what do you think the adequate punishment for that is?" He inquired, his voice husky as he sat down on the bed, bringing you down onto his lap. Your throat bobbed as your mind ran blank and Miguel couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "You shouldn't have left it up to me, muñeca." (doll)

You let out a whine as his hand met the plush skin of your ass once more, the skin stinging from the amount of times he'd done this. "Count or we're starting over from zero," he told you as tears ran down your cheeks. "Ten!" You whined out, your pussy clenching against nothing as your juices coated his pant leg. "Can't even punish you because you end up liking it like the slut you are," he hissed, bringing his hand up to slap your other ass cheek. The two of you kept this up until he reached twenty and he looked down at you, his brows furrowing. "What's the color?" He asked, his voice taking on a light tone despite what he'd just done. "Green," you responded, getting up from the bed before Miguel took you in his arms with ease.

You were laid down on your back as Miguel took off his pants, the tip of his cock red as it glistened with precum. You spread your legs instinctively and he started to insert his cock in slowly, making sure to give you some time to adjust before he got started. Soon enough, his hips were snapping against yours with every thrust that he took and his hand went up to your neck, squeezing gently. "The only one you need and will ever need is me, understood?" He told you as he continued to abuse your cunt with his cock. You struggled to form words in your head so you moaned out in approval, only being met with Miguel's hand slapping across your cheek. "I need a verbal response, conejita," he told you, his hand returning back to the spot around your neck. "Y-Yes!" Your voice came out garbled as you try to conjure up the words and let out a soft hum in approval before he placed your legs against your chest.

"I think you like knowing that I would kill anyone for you. That I wouldn't let anything happen to you, mi amor," he told you, his voice coming out strained as your walls squeezed around his cock. The headboard slammed against the wall as he continued to thrust deep into you, his pace never faltering. You felt your orgasm approaching you quickly and your moans got louder, your hands gripping the bedsheets. The sweet euphoria of the orgasm never came, though, because Miguel pulled out his cock right as you were about to approach your peak. "You really think you can cum with that little stunt you just pulled?" He asked you, letting out a laugh before you had a chance to protest.

He pushed his cock inside of you once more in a swift motion, your hands gripping his forearms as he continued. "Please! Make me cum, Mig!" You pleaded, tears rolling down your cheeks. He leaned down, licking away your tears as he let out a small chuckle. "I will, princesa. You'll be begging me to stop by the time this is over," he responded, his hands on your hips as he pushed in deeper and faster. "You'll be so pretty when you're full of my cum. That's all you're meant to be, my pretty little wife and the bearer of my kids. Those tits full of milk and everybody will know just who you belong to," he told you, his hand coming down on your clit as he rubbed small, sloppy circles on your clit.

Luckily enough, he let you cum this time and your releases coated his shaft, providing him enough lubrication to slide in easily. He came soon after as he felt your walls squeeze his cock dry, his cum coating your walls completely. You'd expected him to stop right there but he continued to thrust inside of you, keeping that same pace from before. "I told you, you'd be asking me to stop by the time this is over," he told you with a smirk, bending down to kiss you as he placed your legs over his shoulders.

You were unsure of how many times you'd came by the time the night was over and all the thoughts in your brain had been turned into mush. Miguel pulled out his softening cock out of you, your plush walls stuffed with his cum after his multiple orgasms. He grabbed a cloth from the bathroom, cleaning you up gently so to not give you any more stimulation. He held you close to him as you came down from your orgasms, your breath returning back to normal. "Did I go too far?" He asked you gently, his hand rubbing small circles on your back. "No, it's okay," you assured him, pressing a small kiss on his cheek. "Te amo, esposa. Nunca te quiero perder." (i love you, wife. i never want to lose you)

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defectivevillain · 5 months

Text

tongues and teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reading (can be read as romantic or platonic)

reader's pronouns & race: unspecified, ambiguous

summary:

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in misguided arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.” “Chef Lecter?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Chef Hannibal Lecter is a world renowned chef praised for his innovative dishes. He’s won numerous awards and his restaurant, Hawthorn, reflects his talents. There’s something off about him, though. It isn’t until you’re seated in Hawthorn, a distance away from the door guarded by security workers and looking down at a breadless bread plate, that you begin to connect the dots.

word count: 6k | ao3 version

Warnings: spoilers to The Menu, canon-typical blood & violence, suicide, hanging

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is going to be an alternate universe, in which the characters from the Menu are replaced by those from Hannibal. Hannibal is the main chef and the reader takes the place of Margot. In this universe, we’re pretending that the dinner guests—many of whom are criminals in Hannibal—are not hardened killers, but rich consumers in the highest echelons of society. There’s an exact list of which character corresponds with The Menu dinner guests in the endnotes, if you’re super interested.

I have many different justifications for some of the choices I made while writing this, but I don’t want to bore you all to tears, so I’ll detail them in the endnotes. Just know that Hannibal and Julian (the antagonist of The Menu) have very different reasons and motivations for killing, which will impact the story

You’re not sure how you find yourself sitting at a table in Hawthorn, one of the world’s most exclusive restaurants, next to someone you can barely consider an acquaintance. Actually, you do know—you’d just rather not think about it. The boat ride over to the private island, the entirely unnecessary tour of the facilities, and the weirdly stringent rules governing your every move… You indeed remember how you got here. These occurrences all seemed outlandish and entirely otherworldly to you. This entire day has been nothing but a flight of fancy for those with more money than they know what to do with. Not for the first time today, you regret every decision that led you to step into the boat, walk along the sandy shores, and step into this cage of a restaurant.

Indeed, the space is nothing more than an enclosure. Everyone in the group seemed too excited about the upcoming meal to notice how the door promptly swiveled shut when you entered, sealing you into this urban nightmare of a building. You had turned over your shoulder upon hearing the door close, only to find several men in suits blocking the exit. A horrible feeling had settled in your chest. Whatever may come tonight, one thing is for certain: you are not supposed to leave. This may very well be your last meal.

You’re ushered rather forcefully to your table. Franklyn Froideveaux, the man who invited you, looks completely ecstatic. You berate yourself for accepting the invitation; in your defense, however, you weren’t exactly given a choice. You owe this man a favor, as begrudged as you are to admit it. You’d rather wash your hands of the scourge that is Franklyn Froideveaux as soon as possible, which is why you find yourself in Hawthorn tonight. This restaurant doesn’t accept single reservations—something Franklyn made sure to announce several times on your walk over. You should be grateful for this opportunity, Franklyn says every few minutes. Currently, he’s prattling on about the cooking utensils in the kitchen, and about some television series that he claimed to watch about the executive chef. You nod and hum at the appropriate moments, but your attention is elsewhere. Conversations fill the space, combining with clinking glasses to create a pleasant ambiance. At least, you suspect it is intended to be pleasant. However, you can’t help but see past the pleasantries scattered around you—especially when in the presence of such… notorious dinner guests.

First, there’s Frederick Chilton—self-proclaimed genius and institutional leader of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Next to him sits Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, another high-profile psychologist known for her numerous research publications. Dr. Alana Bloom is seated in the third spot at the table. From what you know, the three professionals are colleagues in the medical field and research partners.

Next is Freddie Lounds. You remember seeing her make the news for her self-published food review magazine, TattleCulinary. She sits with James Gray, another critic who is more well-known in the art world. Gray edits the journalist's pieces, and you can pick up on the underlying tones of superiority in their dynamic as Lounds dominates their conversation.

Scott Komeda sits at a table off to the side with his wife, Cheryl. Neither of them look too happy to be here. You can’t say you blame them; although, judging from their luxurious attire, they’re all too familiar with a rich dining experience. A sordid state of affairs, you might say, if they weren't absolutely dripping in wealth. It almost appears as if they’ve dined here before. You certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

Mason and Margot Verger sit at the table to your left. Rumor has it Mason is a cruel bastard. Since his rise to stardom, he’s been embroiled in many scandals—scandals that have dragged him into the courthouse, of all places. He is not a good person. Margot, his sister, sits next to him. Her shoulders are drawn tight, as if she’s on guard. You can’t find it in your heart to pity her—not when you remember her and her brother’s exorbitant wealth.

And, of course, Franklyn is sitting across from you. Truly, you’d rather be sitting here with anyone but him. Mr. Tobias Budge was supposed to dine with Franklyn instead—as the hostess so rudely reminded you several times—but he couldn’t make it. You wonder if Franklyn also has Tobias under his thumb; although, if he was able to escape this dinner, you suppose Tobias is in a much better spot than you are.

You allow your gaze to wander about the room. Everyone is preoccupied with speaking to one another or sipping the proffered wine. Upon first glance, there isn’t much that this group has in common. However, the more you look at them, the more you’re struck with one fatal realization: this entire group is enamored with greed. You can see it in the most minute of gestures—the roll of their eyes when they’re left waiting, the expectations they carry on shoulders that have never known burden or suffering. Indeed, it costs an excessive amount to take part in this dinner—this dining experience, Franklyn is keen to remind you.

Amuse bouche is served first. You stare down at the dish. It looks to be no more than two mouthfuls of food. You can’t help but huff a laugh from under your breath, which goes entirely unnoticed by Franklyn. He’s too busy sneaking pictures of the food—something the group was explicitly ordered not to do—and ranting about something pretentious.

As you stare down at your plate, you feel a prickling sensation rising up your spine. Unnerved, you turn around, only to find that a new addition to the kitchen is staring at you. It’s not just a new addition, you realize with growing horror, but the chef himself. You’re the first to break eye contact, as you tear your gaze away and focus on the appetizer. The man unsettles you.

Ultimately, you don’t end up eating the dish, so Franklyn takes it and eats it himself. Somehow, his behavior has grown worse since you first set foot on the island. You contemplate the thought for a moment, before you’re interrupted by a loud clapping sound. It makes your heart race out of your chest; startled, you turn around to find the chef standing in the center of the room.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” he says, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. “Today, you will ingest some of the building blocks of nature and, perhaps, even nature herself.” You take the gifted opportunity to study the man before you. Perfectly coiffed hair frames a sharp, angular face and mahogany eyes. An understanding smile is plastered on his face, yet malice curves his lips and sharpens his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You’re thrown out of your reverie by the light applause scattered about the room. Clenching your fists at your sides, you try to remain calm and turn back to face Franklyn. The cooks descend the stairs and serve you the first course. Once again, the dish you’re presented with resembles a display more than a meal. You pick around at it for a few moments before abandoning the thought.

If the first course is sparse, the second course is almost entirely empty of nourishment. Lecter’s description—an allusion to the privilege of the very guests sitting around his restaurant—is a warning for what lies ahead. The group will not be receiving bread, you realize as the cooks step down from the kitchen and fan out across the room. You have to suppress your irritation at the scene. Sure, you understand what the chef is trying to say. However, you get the feeling you’re not his intended audience. You’re not from the same world as these people. This is painfully present in the way Freddie Lounds tastes her dish, gushing about its distinct flavor profile. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from saying something stupid.

You’re anchored to your seat. Ultimately, you don’t belong here amongst these upper-class socialites, born with silver spoons on their tongues and privilege in their every movement; you feel like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

The third course doesn’t bring nourishment, but it certainly brings a host of other feelings. The chef’s anecdote about his childhood is disturbing—especially when punctuated by the dish he serves, chicken thigh with scissors stabbed in it. When the dish is served, you can’t bear to touch it. Thankfully, there is an accompaniment to the poultry: tortillas. The tortillas have engraved drawings on them, supposedly. You unfold the tortilla cautiously. To your disbelief, there are indeed intricate depictions on the tortilla. Your heart hammers in your chest as you look at the single tortilla you were served. It’s an exact replica of how you’re seated right now, except Franklyn is missing. His chair is pictured and there’s a dish placed on his side of the table, but the man is excluded from the image. Upon closer examination, you find his fork and knife positioned vertically on the plate. Dread courses through your chest as you recognize the nonverbal sign of a finished meal. This does not bode well for Franklyn.

Franklyn, seeing that your attention has been captured by the tortilla, moves to grab his own. His tortillas are engraved with sketches of him seated at this exact table, holding up his phone and sneaking pictures of the meal. The color promptly drains from his face. You’re about to ask him why he looks so disturbed when you hear several outcries from the tables around you. Each person’s tortillas are depictions of unsavory, humiliating truths. The three researchers are whispering hurriedly amongst each other. Mason Verger is glaring at Margot, as if the dish is somehow her fault. Mrs. Komeda is staring at her tortillas with wide eyes and her husband seems to be sweating. Suddenly, you feel as if you were spared from any potential humiliation and embarrassment.

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in unfounded arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.”

“The chef?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Franklyn’s preoccupation with his tortillas prompts you to look down at your own. You look down at the tortilla warily. Suddenly, you realize your picture has another meaning. It’s not just an omen for Franklyn, but for you, too. It’s a warning: this night is going to be a bloodbath.

The fourth course validates the trepidation settling in your chest. Chef Lecter allows a cook, Jeremy, to take center stage. Immediately, you know something is wrong. From what you’ve seen, Hannibal Lecter treats cooking as a performance. What performer would willingly let another take the stage? Unless… that other performer was the entertainment. Your suspicions are proven correct when you see Jeremy put a gun to his mouth and fire it off. You flinch at the gunshot, even though you’re expecting it. The guests around you scream.

The subsequent dish is aptly dubbed “The Mess.” There’s a significant resemblance to the human body, and the dish’s sauce looks like blood. You swallow hard, feeling rather nauseous. Franklyn rubs his hands together and begins eating, as if someone hadn’t just committed suicide before his very eyes. He is entirely unbothered and you’re sorely tempted to snap your fingers in front of his face.

You feel completely sick to your stomach. You grip the table hard, trying to keep yourself anchored to this horrible reality. A man died before your very eyes. You’re going to die tonight, surrounded by wealthy, privileged assholes. Bolts of pain slide through your fingers. Before the sensation can begin to truly burn, there’s a harsh grip on your shoulder. Hannibal Lecter, the chef, is looming over you. You flinch at the sudden touch and look up at him, while trying to regain feeling in your locked joints. There’s a buzzing sound in your ears. The chef’s eyes gleam crimson in the bright lighting. Franklyn lets out a weird squeal, clearly excited by the prospect of Lecter visiting your table. Unfortunately, the chef doesn’t have eyes for Franklyn. He’s staring at you hard enough for your skin to be lit with a phantom burn.

“How are you enjoying the meal?” Lecter implores, looking down at you. He’s rather handsome up close, you realize. You try to choke out a response, but Franklyn is quicker.

“It’s wonderful, sir!” Franklyn gushes shamelessly, “Truly exquisite-”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” the chef interjects, sending him a withering glare before focusing back on you. He raises an eyebrow ever so slightly at you. You’re scrambling for words, empty promises and compliments that will leave him satisfied enough to leave you the hell alone. Thankfully, you’re spared by the enraged scream of Scott Komeda. The chef’s attention is drawn away from you and you breathe a sigh of relief. Lecter clasps his hands behind his back and levels the man with an expectant gaze.

Mr. Komeda’s eyes are frantic and he breathes heavily. “Get me the hell out of here!” He screams.

There are a few beats of silence, before the hostess—Abigail, you think her name is—paces over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. She whispers something quietly to him, something that goes unheard by everyone else. Whatever she says, it must be suitably disturbing, because the man’s face pales significantly. Abigail’s grip tightens on his shoulder.

“Which hand would you like to lose, sir?” She asks politely. The placating smile on her face almost makes you second guess what you just heard her say. The man blinks at her in evident disbelief. His wife tries to pull him back, but security guards descend on the man and he doesn’t budge. “Left or right?” He does not answer.

“Left hand, ring finger,” Lecter announces, breaking through the tense silence that was descending in the air. You inhale sharply, nearly choking on air at the reminder of the dangerous man lurking near you. You had nearly forgotten his presence. Abigail nods and walks back towards the kitchen, returning with a sharpened butcher’s knife.

You avert your eyes, but the man’s scream is enough to inform you of what occurs. When you turn back, you find Mr. Komeda holding his bloodied hand. His ring finger rests on the elegant tablecloth. You very nearly vomit right then and there—just barely managing to avoid the urge by placing a hand over your mouth and turning away. Mrs. Komeda’s jaw is frozen wide-open, and everyone else seems just as nauseated as you. At least, everyone except Franklyn. Somehow, amidst all this chaos and madness, Franklyn is still eating. His unaffected ferocity unsettles you.

“Let’s get a breath of fresh air, shall we?” Lecter asks, before motioning for everyone to rise from their seats. No one seems to understand his question, in the wake of what just happened. After he repeats the question, the guests are quick to rise from their chairs. It is dangerous to try opposing the chef. You stand up and follow the group back through the entrance hall, until you step out the door and outside the building. The chef waits in the center of the assembled group, pausing for a few moments to let any stragglers catch up. Franklyn is still chewing. The researchers are whispering amongst themselves, and Mason looks two seconds from decapitating his sister with his own hands. You keep your eyes firmly on the ground.

“You will be given a forty five second head start,” he begins. Everyone stares at him in confusion. “You may try to run. After forty five seconds have passed, my staff will chase you down.” Lecter doesn’t finish speaking before Frederick Chilton is sprinting away. The chef huffs in amusement, not looking the slightest bit threatened. He turns to regard the rest of the group. “Your head start begins… now.” Alana Bloom and Bedelia Du Maurier exchange glances before running away. Mr. Komeda stumbles away, with Mrs. Komeda tugging him along. Freddie Lounds and James Gray run in opposite directions, foregoing the path straight ahead and diving through the trees and bushes. Margot Verger doesn’t hesitate to run away. Mason watches her go for a few seconds, before pursuing her. This leaves Chef Hannibal Lecter, Franklyn Froideveaux, and you. You turn on your heel, about to run alongside the exterior of the restaurant and behind the building. A loud clap interrupts your momentary escape.

“Stay.” You swivel back around, only to see Lecter staring you down. His eyes are glittering in the dark night. You bite the inside of your cheek. Of course, you could simply ignore his command. However, you know you’ll be caught by his staff eventually, anyway. Might as well spare him the chase, you think to yourself. You nod and take a step to break the distance between the two of you. Franklyn sends you an incredulous gaze that you pretend not to notice. “We will go inside.” Lecter doesn’t wait for your answer, instead walking past you and back towards the door. You follow after him apprehensively, wondering what he could be planning. Perhaps he will slaughter you and serve you as the fifth course. The thought makes you shudder. You step through the opened doorway and stop once you’ve crossed the threshold. Chef Lecter is staring at Franklyn with a bored expression.

“Not you,” he says, effectively dismissing the man. Franklyn, evidently embarrassed, steps back from the door. The attendant closes the door, leaving you as Lecter’s only dinner guest who is still in the building. The chef’s shoes click against the polished floors. You momentarily contemplate ducking down into a hallway, but you realize you don’t know the building well enough to ensure you have a fighting chance at escape. Lecter leads you through the kitchen and into another room, waiting for you to enter before closing the door behind you. The room is sparsely furnished.

“This entire evening has been meticulously planned,” the chef says, taking a seat. You move to do the same. “You are not according to the plan.” He doesn’t seem too troubled by the notion—it’s a mild inconvenience. You frown. Before, you had attributed the chef to be a person taking his grievances out on his guests—each of whom serves as a reason for his loss of love for his craft. You were wrong, you’re beginning to realize. Hannibal Lecter is doing this for his own amusement. The social commentary behind it all is certainly motivation for his actions, but he does not intend to offset the system—the fragile ecosystem of the high-end restaurant industry. He is utilizing it to cater to his desires. What exactly are his desires, though?

“Why are you doing this?” You decide to ask, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude.” It is not an answer to your question, yet it somehow provides you an explanation nonetheless. From there, the chef manipulates the conversation expertly, asking you all sorts of questions about your childhood, your adult life, your career… You’re beginning to feel unnerved, all up until he releases you from your pseudo-captivity. His attention has been recaptured by his staff, which you are extremely grateful for. His gaze felt as if it was searing through you. When you return to the dining area, you’re surprised to find the rest of the guests are already seated. They look tired, their hair messy and their clothing slightly rumpled. Just as you sit down, you’re immediately assaulted with tons of questions from Franklyn. They start off innocuous enough, but soon descend into an envious madness.

“Why would he want to speak with you?” Franklyn spits, stabbing at the remains of his meal. You watch as he shoves another bite into his mouth, seemingly immune to the positively disgusted glare Chef Lecter is pointing at him right now.

“Franklyn.” The chef is heading towards your table. Franklyn practically lights up upon the chef saying his name. Lecter steps impossibly closer, until he’s almost towering over your table. It feels as if he’s looking down on you—and he sort of is, from his position. You try to just breathe. His attention isn’t on you right now. “There’s something you haven’t told your friend here.” The chef’s tone is slightly mocking. His mention of you throws you for a loop.

You look to Franklyn, only to find that he’s steadily paling. Agitation itches beneath your skin as you try to rationalize what could possibly cause such a fearful expression. Lecter is nearly smirking from his position at your side. You grit your teeth and clench your fists under the tablecloth.

“What were you told about tonight?” Lecter prompts the man. Everyone is looking at Franklyn now. Even the kitchen seems to have fallen into an uneasy quiet. What could he have possibly been told about tonight? You’re not sure.

“Everyone would die,” Franklyn admits. There’s a ringing sound suddenly, and it takes several seconds for you to realize the sound is in your mind. Every thought almost seems to come to a screeching halt, as you try to come to terms with the unshakeable fact that Franklyn willingly attended this dinner, despite knowing he would die.

“And what happened to your original companion?” Lecter muses. “Who did you bring in Mr. Budge’s stead?” You don’t stay still for long enough to hear his next remark. There is a sharp knife lying next to your fork and spoon, almost as if this very interaction had been planned (if not for you, then certainly for Tobias Budge). Rage governs your every move, as you realize that Franklyn brought you here despite knowing you would die. This night was a death sentence, executed by Franklyn himself. Before you can contemplate the consequences, you lunge across the table in a fluid movement, before reaching out and cutting him. Before you can stab him, you’re roughly yanked backwards by someone. The knife slices at the skin on Franklyn’s cheek, and he screams loudly. You try to fight the person’s grip off, and it takes a few people to hold you back from Franklyn. When you see the shock and fear on his face, you’re filled with a cruel sense of satisfaction and vengeance.

“That is enough,” the chef remarks, slicing through the tense air with a simple sentence.

“Sorry, Chef,” Franklyn immediately replies, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Does the thought of falling out of Lecter’s favor really distress him so? Although, when you think about it, you’re not sure if he was ever in the chef’s favor.

The chef looks at you now. You don’t bother apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong. If you’re correct, Chef Lecter engineered that very interaction. You don’t regret lashing out at Franklyn, so you meet Lecter’s expectant gaze head-on. Eventually, he seems to come to terms with your resolve, because his attention falls back to Franklyn.

“Franklyn,” the chef starts. You see Franklyn nearly go limp at the prospect of Lecter using his name. You grimace. Something feels wrong here. Indeed, the chef’s next remark seems to be an omen. “You believe yourself superior to me.”

“No, Chef,” Franklyn is quick to say. The patrons around you are entirely silent. The room almost seems to buzz around you, ringing with unresolved tension. You think back to Franklyn’s hero worship of the chef, clumsily combined with his own attempts at thoughtful critiques.

“You have made a mockery of my craft,” Lecter continues.

“No, Chef-” Franklyn sputters.

“Now,” the chef breaks off, a glint in his eyes, “We will test your assertions. Come here,” the chef orders. Franklyn obeys and, once he’s in the kitchen, Lecter awards him an apron and ties it around him. Franklyn looks absolutely over the moon, but you see the gesture for what it really is: the final nail in his coffin. “Everyone, please step back. Franklyn will cook something for our guests.” A hollowed laughter echoes throughout the space as the cooks chuckle, before stepping back to let Franklyn have control over the kitchen.

What ensues is quite easily the most embarrassing and humiliating display you have ever been forced to witness. By the end, there are tears slipping down Franklyn’s face. You almost feel bad for him—almost. Your sympathy quickly fades to obscurity when you remember that he invited you here despite being told everyone would die.

When Franklyn’s dish is complete, there’s a renewed silence around the space as the chef takes a few steps forward and leans down to smell it. Chef Lecter motions for a cook to step next to him and gestures for them to taste the dish. The cook eats the food, their left eyebrow ticking up ever so slightly.

“How is it?” Lecter questions.

“Horrible, Chef,” the cook answers. “The lamb is undercooked, and the sauce is practically inedible.” They grab a napkin and wipe their mouth, before putting it in the pocket of their apron and stepping back to join the rest of the cooking staff in the background. The background is an apt term for the group—they are mere backdrops, accessories, to Chef Lecter’s performance.

“Do you see now, Franklyn?” Chef Lecter asks, an understanding smile on his face. All you can see is sharpened teeth and a crooked malice. “Guests must remain in the dining hall, just as cooks must remain in the kitchen. Take off your apron; you’re dismissed.” But Chef Lecter isn’t done yet. The moment Franklyn takes off his apron and holds it in a clenched fist, Lecter places a hand on his shoulder and leans in to whisper something to him. It’s incomprehensible to you, but you can still see the way Franklyn’s expression falls, before an eerie resolve sets his shoulders. Without explanation, Franklyn steps further into the kitchen and disappears from sight.

Things don’t end there, however. Lecter then calls your name, beckoning you to follow after him as he weaves through the busy kitchen with ease. The rest of the patrons are banished to return to their seats. You glance back at them for a moment, before returning your attention to the chef in front of you. Once you turn the corner and are out of view of the guests, the chef turns on you.

“Abigail was supposed to bring dessert,” the chef remarks. His gaze flits to the hostess behind you for a moment. You hadn’t noticed her presence. Lecter stares at you. “Fetch the barrel from the smokehouse. It is a key instrument for the next course.” You stare at him in disbelief. You desperately want to object, but you suppress the urge. Once you think about it, you realize you’re being given a golden opportunity: a chance to leave the restaurant and explore the premises. Perhaps you could find something to aid your escape. With that knowledge in the back of your mind, you accept Lecter’s request.

You nod and turn around, intending to retrace your steps. You’re walking into the kitchen when something enters your field of vision. You squint and take a step closer, eyes widening as you process just what you’re seeing. Franklyn is hanging from a noose, feet hanging limp in the air. There’s a horrible motley of bruises around his neck and his eyes almost seem to pop out of their sockets. Your eyes are inexplicably led to the bloody cut on his cheek. You take a deep breath and pretend you didn’t see anything, before heading through the winding hall and exiting through the door Lecter mentioned. When you reach the open air, you feel a new sense of tranquility and calm hit you. The night air doesn’t know of the pain and suffering inflicted tonight; its briskness seems to ground you to the present.

You manage to make it to the smokehouse and, once you find the barrel, you drag it outside. However, knowing this may be your only opportunity for exploration, you decide to look around a little. Leaving the barrel to rest near the smokehouse, you head towards the nearest building. To your surprise, the side door is unlocked. When you open it, you’re certainly not expecting to be standing in a living room. Upon closer examination, this appears to be a home—the chef’s, most likely. Abigail had mentioned that all the cooking staff sleep in barracks, which leaves Lecter as the only viable owner of this residence. You look around the space, unsurprised to find that it looks meticulously clean.

You look around a little more, finding a gleaming stainless steel kitchen and an elaborate dining room. There’s only one space that remains: hidden behind the wooden door that you’re currently staring at. You tentatively grasp the door knob and slowly twist it, only to find that it’s locked. You tug at the door again, only for the sound of footsteps to distract you.

You turn around, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest as you see Abigail standing a short distance from you. “No one is supposed to enter Chef’s personal quarters,” Abigail remarks, her voice hollow. There’s a dullness to her eyes that disturbs you.

You frown. “Why are you here, then?” You ask. She stills for a moment, clearly not expecting the question. A moment later, the hostess regains her composure.

“You were asked to fetch the barrel, because of my mistake,” Abigail recounts, eyebrows furrowing to let you know what she really thinks of that idea. She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes gleaming in the dim lighting. “But Chef never asked me to fetch it.” There’s a dangerous look in her eyes and a weapon in her hand.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment, Abigail is running at you; the next, you’re standing over her bleeding body. A knife juts out of her throat and it seems that she’s choking on her own blood. The light slowly leaves her eyes, until her form is terribly still on the kitchen floor. You take a shaky breath in, finding the effort rather laborious. It takes you several moments to come to terms with the fact that you just committed murder. Once you’re finally able to steel your nerves, you take the hostess’s key and walk over to the door. After twisting the key, the door swings open to reveal a hallway. You don’t make it more than a few steps into the hall before noticing a doorway to your left, barricaded by a steel door with a small glass window. Against your best judgment, you steal a glance through the window.

There are chains and sharpened tools lining the walls, metallic gleam burning your vision. A corpse hangs from the ceiling, flayed and mutilated beyond recognition. It isn’t even the thought of a corpse that frightens you. No, this corpse is different from the ones you saw in the smokehouse—this one isn’t an animal. The realization slowly sinks into your skin, sending your heart roaring in your ears. Human corpses hang from dangling meat hooks, in various states of mutilation.

You’re suddenly immensely glad you never ate anything. That chicken thigh served in the third course… was probably not chicken. You shudder. One thought triumphs over all others in your mind: you need to leave.

Afraid of what else you may find, you decide to turn back. You retrace your steps and walk back through the kitchen with bloody flooring and the empty living room until you’re outside once more. The walk to the smokehouse is quick, but once you grab the barrel, you’re reminded of how heavy it is. Your trip back to the kitchen takes longer than you’d like but, fortunately, Chef Lecter doesn’t seem bothered by how long it takes you to return. He only nods and instructs you to give the barrel to one of the cooks. Lecter’s attention is then taken elsewhere—as he still has a dessert to prepare—so you decide to take advantage. You know a way out now, after all. You have to wait for an opportune moment to access the outside door, since cooks are mulling about the kitchen near the exit. Eventually, you manage to find an ideal time frame for your escape and, with equal apprehension and anticipation, you walk over to the door. Your hand doesn’t even clasp the doorknob before there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Leaving so soon?” You turn around, dread prickling across your skin as you’re faced with Chef Lecter’s disappointment. You’re not sure you’ll make it out of this alive, after all. Every time you blink, you see yourself as the next course in this absurdly fanciful feast. The Unwanted Guest, the chef would probably call it. “The final course hasn’t been served yet.”

You manifest a confidence that you don’t necessarily feel. “I’m finished eating,” you assert. Beneath what you hope is a cool exterior, you’re panicking. You can’t think of an excuse that will permit you to leave. Lecter seems to recognize that, because he only arches an eyebrow at you. He is not threatened.

“You’ll miss dessert,” he remarks, a sad smile on his face. You know the gesture is nothing but an act, a performance put on for an audience of one. You bite the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself from doing anything rash.

“I’m not much of a sweets person,” you eventually say, when the torrent of noise in your mind manages to calm down. The kitchen continues to hustle and bustle behind you, providing a subdued background of sound. It’s not enough to drown out your fear.

“Stay,” Chef Lecter insists.

“I couldn’t possibly,” you answer. You need to think of something quickly. What could justify your departure? “My clothes…” You break off, motioning down to your dress clothes, which are now stained with Abigail’s blood and who knows what else. This is as good of an excuse as you have, but it just may work. Stained clothing is extremely improper, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this hellish night, it’s that Chef Lecter abhors rudeness.

It must only be a few seconds of silence before Lecter speaks again, but it feels like an eternity. “Very well,” the chef finally responds. Lecter reaches towards you, his hand frighteningly close to your hip, before he opens the door for you. It feels too good to be true. There’s no way you actually convinced him to let you go, right?

He’s still holding the door open. This isn’t a trick. As you stand in the doorway, you briefly contemplate staying to rescue the other people. You contemplate fighting back against this chef and his staff. The thought doesn’t last long—not when visages of the guests are conjured up in your mind’s eye—Mr and Mrs. Komeda’s annoyed, impatient expressions, Miss Lounds and Mr. Gray debating the integrity of an ingredient worth more than your very life, Franklyn eating while blood splatters, the researchers amicably discussing the lives of their patients over the very depiction of the chef’s own trauma, Mason Verger gazing at his sister predatorily. None of these people are worth saving.

“Thank you for the meal,” you murmur to Lecter. Somehow, it feels like the appropriate thing to say. It must be a good choice, because a small smile appears on the chef’s face. It’s a fleeting gesture, but it almost looks genuine.

“I hope to see you here again soon,” Lecter says. You don’t acknowledge that remark, instead turning on your heel and walking away. The chef’s ensuing laughter follows you and echoes in your ears, even as you board the ship and sail back to the mainland.

Character Guide Chef Julian = Hannibal Lecter Margot = Reader Soren, Dave, and Bryce, business partners = Frederick Chilton, Bedelia Du Maurier, and Alana Bloom, research partners Lillian Bloom, food critic = Freddie Lounds Tim, Lillian’s editor = James Gray Tyler Ledford = Franklyn Froideveaux Ms. Westervelt, Tyler’s original guest = Tobias Budge Richard and Anne Leibrandt, restaurant regulars = Scott and Cheryl Komeda George Diaz, movie star = Mason Verger George’s personal assistant, Felicity Lynn = Margot Verger Elsa, Chef’s right hand = Abigail Hobbs

Adjusted Menu (Appetizer) Amuse bouche: compressed and pickled cucumber melon, milk snow, and charred lace. (First Course) The Island: plants from around the island, seaweed, raw scallop served on a rock from the island (Second Course) Breadless Bread Plate: no bread, savory accompaniments (Third Course) Memory: house-smoked chicken thigh, served with scissors stabbed in the meat, along with house-made tortillas (Fourth Course) The Mess: pressure-cooked vegetables, roasted filet, potato confit, beef au jus, and bone marrow Franklyn’s Bullshit: undercooked lamb with inedible shallot-leek butter sauce

Justifications At first, I thought Abigail as Elsa was a stretch. Then, I remembered that Abigail helped source the victims for her father, Garret Jacob Hobbs. That led me to conceptualize an older Abigail—one who wasn’t afraid to embrace the cruelty that she witnessed all around her. She is rather similar to Elsa, especially in the sense that she longs for Hannibal’s approval (just as Elsa longs for Julian’s). Just like Elsa, she is delegated to the sidelines—forced to carry out the chef’s every whim without even a moment’s gratitude.

Freddie Lounds as the food critic (Lillian) just makes perfect sense. She would be a perfect food critic—entirely unflinching and brutally honest. The Komedas fit pretty well too, and I wasn’t even aware of their existence until I looked through the Hannibal wiki for characters to substitute. Mrs. Komeda—and her husband, by extension—was a frequent guest at Hannibal’s dinner parties, which bled rather well into her status as a regular at his restaurant.

Since Hannibal’s relatives aren’t exactly alive or easily accessible, I scrapped the whole alcoholic mother bit that Julian had going, and instead just kept the third course as a vague allusion to Hannibal’s childhood. The bit about having the males hunt and the females dine felt misogynistic (and also exclusive of people who aren’t exclusively male/female), especially without the context of Katherine and Julian’s interactions, so I just scrapped it. Now, everyone gets to run from a murderer! Woooo!!

Y’all, I did A LOT of research for this fic… so pls lmk if u enjoyed reading it !!!! <3

TAGLIST (hoped y'all don't mind I'm tagging you in this, but I figured you'd like another Hannibal piece): @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#defectivevillain #x reader #reader insert #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal nbc #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #the menu #the menu fic #fanfic #sorry for all the tags lmao

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linmeiwei · 3 months

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Deconstructing Mr Darcy

My favourite character in all Austen canon is Mr Darcy. Unfortunately, as soon as I say this, everybody is like

Because when I say this people think of this…

And this…

But that’s not why he’s my favourite character.

There is this famous quote by P.D. James in which she argues that Austen's Emma is like a predecessor of the detective novel, in the way that she sprinkles clues as to what's really going on with Frank Churchill.

And ever since, I've been reading Pride and Prejudice differently, because of course she does something similar there too.

Specifically, Austen constructs this elaborate character puzzle with Mr Darcy at its centre. Every time he and Elizabeth clash, throughout the novel, one of the central conflicts sparks up: what is Darcy really like?

Elizabeth’s early interest in him is often interpreted as sexual tension/latent attraction. I’m not saying this isn’t the case (you can argue about this). But what is evident is that her intellectual interest in characters is roused by him. Because, well, he really presents her with a tricky puzzle.

1) The mysterious man at the ball

When Elizabeth and her sisters go to the Assembly Ball at Meryton, remember, they go there to ogle Mr Bingley. He is the rich, handsome bachelor they hope to dance with when they get there.

But then they actually arrive and it’s someone else who has everyone talking. Mr Darcy. He’s the tall, handsome stranger who turns out to be much, much richer than Mr Bingley, and who gets everyone excited.

Who will he dance with?

Well, nobody because he’s like way too important to deign to notice any of them. He stoops to acknowledge that Jane, literally the most beautiful girl in the county, is somewhat pretty. But her sister is totally beneath his notice.

With this twist upon a twist, the author invites Elizabeth and the reader to abandon their first suspicion that he’s the hero and to consider him a little absurd instead. And this is a comic novel. By that point we have met multiple absurd characters, so we know this is what is to be expected from this story.

2) The cracks

The narrator hints that Darcy enjoys a good gossip with his friends and spends his free time dissecting the many ways in which the local women don’t interest him. Again, absurd, remember? Elizabeth is among the women he judges harshly, but as he sees more and more of her this happens:

So the reader is now invited to some irony which Elizabeth is not privileged to enjoy. But it’s all in service of the comedy, right? Because it’s more delicious for the reader to see the contrast of how much Elizabeth is wrong about what he thinks of her.

You, the reader, have a good chuckle with the author about this, don’t you? But while you’re laughing you’re MISSING A CLUE! And it’s right there: Elizabeth is wrong about Darcy. It’s lampshading the fact that she doesn’t really understand him at all.

3) The real deal

So then we get a little closer to Darcy. Elizabeth stays with him and his friends at Netherfield to nurse her sister. As Darcy continues to admire her, and as she continues to be oblivious, one evening he approaches her and this happens:

Again Elizabeth is wrong about Darcy, but here Austen adds another clue:

So… the guy who has the superpower of turning any normal situation awkward makes this super awkward situation… charming?

And then Austen adds some misdirection by immediately adding:

And we’re focusing on the irony that this guy is more enchanted with her the more she rejects him. And we’re a little amazed at how arrogant this guy is that he doesn’t see how much he is disliked at this moment. Almost as self-important and oblivious as Mr Collins.

And so we don’t see that… he’s nice? And I mean, an arrogant, self-important arse, as Elizabeth thinks of him, wouldn’t be nice at this point. He’d be wounded. He’d make it awkward. Importantly, he’d make it awkward for her.

It’s hard to get out of a situation like this gracefully. But he can. He knows how. He has that ability.

And this works as a bit of foreshadowing too, of course. Dancing and courtship are pretty strongly linked in Austen (and culturally in that era) and so his acceptance of her rejection in this manner lampshades his character as a lover.

But there’s so much more. That time at Netherfield is so rich in character studies, I feel like someone could write several PhD theses on that section of the book alone.

My favourite is the one that happens when Darcy and Elizabeth literally talk about characters. Miss Bingley asserts that Darcy is perfect, has no flaws. Elizabeth is delighted: this is just what she thinks Darcy thinks of himself.

Darcy says: No, I’m plenty flawed, thanks.

Elizabeth is curious now. Go on, oh prideful one, enlighten us mere mortals!

Darcy explains that he’s resentful, that he doesn’t forget or forgive easily.

Elizabeth has to admit that that’s a non-ridiculous answer. She’s disappointed, a little, because what good is that to her, since she wanted to have a good laugh at this expense? But he predicted as much and at the beginning of this conversation challenged her on this to preempt her making a joke of the whole conversation.

He wants to continue to be serious and this happens:

Again, Austen’s sleight of hand: when we first read this, it sounds more like Darcy is just a misanthrope who has a negative and pessimistic attitude towards people. That’s how Elizabeth hears it too.

But he tells us himself: that’s not what he means. Elizabeth (and the reader) is misunderstanding him. And he shows us, right away, by taking her jibe in good humour right then and there.

Multiple times, Elizabeth teases or attacks him, and he’s cheerful about it. He thinks it’s kind of funny. Bingley gets a shot or two in, and Darcy takes that on the chest too.

Austen manages to create this impression of him in the reader’s mind of a guy who is angry and prideful all the time, but when we review his actions, how often is this really true?

4) Darcy through the eyes of others

In many analyses, Elizabeth is blamed for being so easily taken in and so stubbornly mistaken in Darcy, but in all fairness, look at what she has to work with!

So much of what she learns about him is through other people, and so what she knows is filtered by their interests, skewed perspectives and compromised judgements. The fawning of Caroline Bingley and Mr Collins, the hatred of George Wickham, the deference of Mr Bingley, the lack of deference from Colonel Fitzwilliam, the way Charlotte views men, the way Jane always finds good things to say about anybody, her mother’s vulgar prejudice, all of it adds to a picture of absolute confusion. And the worst offender is Darcy himself, of course, because he stubbornly refuses to clarify anything about himself, partly because he can’t and partly because he just won’t.

Darcy’s stay in Hertfordshire culminates in this exchange, at the Netherfield Ball, between Darcy and Elizabeth:

5) Mr Darcy in love

Darcy really is a hard nut to crack, and in large part it’s because he makes himself hard to crack. The baseline here is pretty bad but it gets so much worse the more he loves Elizabeth and the more he is determined to hide from her.

Before, he just doesn’t care what people think of him. But now, he does care and he desperately wants them not to know that he has, annoyingly and embarrassingly, fallen head over heels in love.

Austen strings us along in this confusion until the absolute shock that comes with his proposal. Even though we as readers always knew more than Elizabeth did, and even though both we the readers and Elizabeth had tonnes of evidence and clues about Darcy and his real character, this twist comes as a complete surprise.

And because we, the readers, and Elizabeth, the protagonist, are surprised, we don’t notice another important clue. Darcy is also shocked. Like, we’re all sitting in this scene, aghast, amazed, shocked. We all came to this point following a trail of wrong clues, misdirections, misunderstandings and mistaken assumptions.

But what does this tell us about Darcy? Other than what he finally reveals through his letter, we learn that the entire time he thought Elizabeth:

Knew what she was doing, flirting with and encouraging him

Understood his prevarication

Expected a proposal

The poor man doesn’t come out of this looking good, does he? It makes him look really arrogant, self-important and big-headed. And to an extent, well, it is.

But there’s also another, kinder, reading to all this: that he’s someone who overthinks things.

There’s the conversation in Netherfield with Bingley where he deprecates those who do things rapidly as if it were a virtue. We know from other parts of the novel that he’s a bookish (he prides himself in his library), intellectual (he admires those who read), “clever” (in the narrator’s own words) guy.

Used to responsibility, used to being relied on to guide and advise people, used to solving knotty problems, Darcy approached his problem (loving a girl who is in every way beneath him) in the same way. He deserves a large portion of the smackdown he receives—no argument from me here. It does him good, later, as we all know. But when we revisit the novel, these deeper dimensions of his character become more apparent whenever we come to this moment: that Darcy’s flaws are not just the obvious ones here (pride, arrogance, lack of manners) but also shades of other traits of his.

6) A mystery to the very end

At this point, Austen begins to clear the mist a little. Darcy gets such a blow with Elizabeth’s rejection that our heart does go out to him, and then the letter explains so much, you begin to feel like he’s been wronged with our harsh view of him. We’re brought into his home, and so, slowly, we are shown that, yes, he’s sort of quiet and taciturn, and maybe his people skills aren’t exactly up there, but he’s actually quite nice, at least willing to try to be outwardly more friendly, but in essence he’s a kind person and a responsible landowner. Elizabeth begins to see that he’s rather attractive.

The reader and Elizabeth begin to thaw towards him. And then Lydia runs away, All seems lost. Wickham has been such a wicked force in Darcy’s life, Elizabeth has already tried Darcy to the edge of what any reasonable man would put up with and Elizabeth’s family exposes herself in the worst possible way.

What I love is that Darcy’s true character is always, always most visible through his actions. This mirrors the whole point of the novel of course: that we should pay attention not to impressions, superficialities (words) but to what people really are, and what they actually do (actions). So, Darcy doesn’t say anything, in fact he swears everybody to silence. He just does. He saves Elizabeth’s family in the most warm-hearted, generous and forgiving way possible.

Anyway, I could write books on this subject just because of how much there is to say, and this is but the tip of the iceberg, but I’ll leave off here. I just wanted to explain why I love Mr Darcy, the character, and why you should too. Not as a literary romantic hero, not as a literary crush but as a really interesting, beautifully written, complex character in his own right.

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #mr darcy #literary characters #literary analysis

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valeskawhore · 3 months

Text

IMAGINE:

An exchanged student from America! Coming to UA to fulfill the wishes from their father, Not wanting to be a hero what-so ever.

It doesn’t matter to you. Yes you’ve been born with a strong quirk but that doesn’t matter, that wasn’t your life’s passion!

But you’re father being the man he is,

Rich

Narcissistic

Arrogant

And needing their only child to be perfect,

Sets up a conversation with you and the one and only nezu, the principal of UA!

You don’t need to try out, you don’t need to pass any written exams, show off for anyone. Your father already took care of that and had you preform in your quirk space where you do all your training and recorded you and your strategies.

A/n: “I really wanna make a soulmate! AU with this, I’m think katsuki? Really angsty? My interpretation and hyper realism on how I think things would go down with his character in the anime? Not fan!bakugo but can!bakugo?

Lemme know what y’all think!!!!

You sat in front of the small little rodent who ran this pathetic hero training course. One leg crossed over the other and your chin in the palm of your hand as you stared out the window.

You had made no attempts to answer his questions or even look in his big eyes for all that matter. His cheery voice and attitude was enough to make you vomit alone. And you weren’t even going to mention his disgusting fashion taste.

A scar settled on the right side of his face. The only thing you could wonder was that someone luckier already beat you to the punch of wanting to scratch this rodents eyes out.

You continued to stare out the window, your mind caught in another world as your eyes blurred and your head ached. Something twisted in your stomach when you heard the ray mention your father. It snapped you back to reality.

Nezu sighed and took a sip of his tea, “Y/n L/n, if you really don’t want to attend UA then why are you here?” He questioned, with another sip, “You’re quirk is extraordinary to say at the least and even that is an understatement but I’m going to need some cooperation for this interview to work.”

I rolled my eyes and sat up with a sarcastic smile, “Sure, anything you need”

Nezu sighed nice more, and sat his tea cup off to the side.

“Tell me.. y/n.. why should I even let you into UA?” He wondered, “Element bending quirks are extremely rare, there’s so much you could do with them.. but I’m afraid there’s more people more enthusiastic than you to take your position, maybe even more qualified.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you into UA, an inspiring hero must act heroic even behind the scenes.”

My stomach dropped, but I slowly steadied myself. I stood to my feet and eyed the rodent down. I knew something like this would have to be pushed just a little bit..

“Principal Nezu.” I called out, he looked up at me.

“With the powers I have.. you even said it your self, they’re beyond powerful in todays society.” Nezu nodded and patiently waited for me to proceed.

My eyes darkened and so did the room around me as I gave a small smile. “And because of that, I’m going to ask you to rethink your decision” I slowly walked up to Nezu and placed my hands on the burgundy wood and leaned close to his face.

“Because with these powers.. I could either become the worlds greatest supervillain or the worlds greatest hero.. whether or not you let me into UA will determine it’s fate.” I smiled, my eyes sparkled with something .. insane. Before I pulled away and turned my back towards the door.

“I trust you’ll make the right decision. The worlds fate is in your hands.. but trust, I will make my father proud regardless” I winked.

Nezu gulped.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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shutit-haha · 8 months

Text

Rocker Bakugo/Manager reader

Rocker Bakugo who everyone labels as cocky but you simply say arrogant. There's videos that have gone viral of you correcting people during interviews saying he's only like this because he knows what he can do. This is how you gain your popularity as his manager.

"Now you're quite cocky aren't you?" The grey haired man leans forward onto his desk.

"No, he's not." You speak up from where you sit next to Bakugo on the dark green sofa.

"But he is," the man corrects you.

"No, he's not." You've taken on a more stern tone, "anytime Katsuki has ever told me 'I don't need you to teach me' he goes and proves that in fact he doesn't need my assistance. He's very talented and has been since a surprisingly young age, do I wish he was nicer yes, every one does. He's arrogant only because he's aware of how talented he is." The interview was cut short after that, security escorting your crew out. This is how you accidently make your mark.

Rocker Bakugo who has a ton of groupies but doesn't really care. As his career starts to rocket, he appears more and more in public with hickeys on his shoulders and chest. At first there's speculation of it being from wild fan, however it's all from you. Gotta make your claim on your drummer boy.

Rocker Bakugo who sits you on his lap and tries to teach you how to play the drums. He wraps his hands around yours, has you pick your favorite song and the two of you learn it together. When ever he has free time (which includes the five minutes he has before showtime) he'll sit you down and have you practice.

"Let's see," he pulls you down onto him.

"I'm not there yet," you're all bashful and shy like the other fan girls. You're not really musically inclined, you dabble sure but negotiation's are your world.

"Yeah you are, come on play." He doesn't grab onto your hands this time, forcing you to play on your own.

"How was that," you're eager for his validation.

"Certified drummer baby, might take my job."

"Don't gaslight."

"'M not."

One day he pulls you on stage for an encore. He gets up from his stool, sits you down instead and has the whole band play your favorite song as a live concert.

Rocker Bakugo who plays dumb when you're talking about laws and contracts. You know full well he understands what you're talking about. When everything was young; your relationship, careers, and ages, the two of you went to get your degrees together.

He'd help you study and was one of the top of your class. You both walked the stage together. Fast forward and his degrees just sitting there in his studio while his eye candy of a manager takes care of everything for him.

"What's that," he ask interrupting you when you use a 'big legal word.'

"Katsuki," you whine.

"What? I'm fuckin' confused explain it to me."

"You understand, I know you understand."

"Brain's melted from all those guitar riffs love, nothing in here but music notes."

"Kat," you swat at him.

"Alright fine, like when that sexy voice of yours explains it to me."

"We're not in college anymore."

"Wasn't that long ago."

Rocker Bakugo who slays at guitar hero and has the drum version. When he's pissed he plays, you come home and find him just jamming the fuck out. He's broken the game once or twice it's a pain in the ass to pay. The damn rich boy even owns the arcade version, bakusquad comes over and plays it all the time.

Rocker Bakugo who has to have your validation. (We all know he has an inferiority complex.) Who gets off stage all sweaty and shit, has that smug ass grin on his face. Still without fail always finds you and is like "how'd I do?"

"Sexy as fuck."

"Yeah," he's breathing heavily in your neck. His arms are limp by his sides, muscles sore.

"Yeah," you push his hair out of his face.

Rocker Bakugo who had everyone convinced you were just some girl. You were always with him, even when recording most people kind of just assumed you were some accessory. You always love the reactions you get when you're introduced as his manager.

Rocker Bakugo who people assume doesn't actually love you. The two of you always appear standoff-ish and scary. However this is only because you're always on alert when the two of you are with new people. You're polite but that bubbly personality of yours completely fizzles away. You're his no bullshitting manager and nothing else during those times, all work mode. There's a rule about no PDA as a way to keep up your image and reputation.

It's such a huge contrast from how the two of you are on livestreams and what not.

Rocker Bakugo who low-key has a mommy/daddy kink, and loves your praise. You're unafraid of telling him when's messed up or needs to rehearse something again. And well your boyfriend's learned to swallow your critique. This means that when he does do something perfect the first time he expects you to hang it up on the fridge.

"Again," you're leaning up against the wall on the opposite side of the room. The darkness of the rest of the space makes you seem barely there, you're like a phantom.

"Again," he growls back at you. The rest of the group is watching with open eyes weary of what is going to happen next.

"Are your muscles cramping?"

"No."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," his voice gets louder.

"Thirty?"

"No," and louder.

"Am I overworking you then?"

"no," and louder.

"Well then do you think you can play it right this time?" Your words make everyone in the room wince, except for your boyfriend. His jaws clenched biting the words he so desperately wants to shout.

"Yeah," he barks at you.

"Good," you lean back against the wall adjusting your shoulders for comfort. "Again."

Rocker Bakugo who fights with you sometimes. "What kind of contract is that," he snarls at you.

"Katsuki what you're asking me for doesn't exist."

"Then make it happen."

"It doesn't work like that, this is difficult."

"It always is."

"Oh don't give me that, you know damn well this is hard. Actually I bet you don't, I bet you haven't even looked at it." You scoff shaking your head, "you're bitching to me about something you know nothing about."

"Bullshit," he spats.

"Yeah ok."

"And what was that shit during practice," his hand is flat on your desk. Your study smells like him and you're not quite sure how you feel about that. It's like he's invaded your space.

"That shirt during practice was me trying to make you better."

"Yeah right," he sneers putting his other hand down on the desk.

"Not everyone's got it out for you Katsuki." You rise from your seat so that you may now stand behind your desk. "You know what Dyna-mighT I can just pack up and leave. I mean you wouldn't want to sleep next to a greedy traitor." You walk out from behind your desk, "you poor fucking cash cow," you glare at him. "I loved you before all of this, when we were broke fucking high school kids."

"Not true."

"Yeah because your mommy and daddy had money to back you up." You point to yourself, "I didn't have that though. I went out on a limb because I believed in you, I took a leap of faith because I trusted the net would appear. This," you bring your finger down onto your desk, "is my income. We don't have to love each other but I am not losing this job."

"Because you made me right, you made me want I am now." He's snarling at your back, you're only a couple steps away from the door.

You snort, "you made yourself. You're really fucking smart, and your gorgeous too but FUCK do you let your insecurity get in the way. And it's my fault for making your ego bigger, this wasn't all you. Go through those records and try and tell me I haven't done some crazy shit for you. Go through documents, interviews, concerts, post, look and compare old contracts."

"Bullshit, I know people that can do better."

"Than go find them," you wave him off.

"You're just a fucking manager-"

"And you're just a fucking cash cow," you slam the door behind you.

#x reader #bakugou katsuki #rocker #drummer boy #manager #Rocker Bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #argument #highschool sweethearts #headcanon #insecurity #mutual praise #protective

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skynapple · 1 month

Note

Hi! Sorry to bother you but could you tell us (me) the plot of Love and Deepspace? I've seen a lot of tiktoks and tumblr post about the main 3 💦voice lines💦 but now I'm really interested about the plot of the game. I've only read about a Caleb dying in an explosion, Zayne seeing mc die in every timeline (?) and Rafayel being a Lemurian but I still don't know the contexts. I'm asking because I can't spend money on the game so I have no idea. Thank you in advance!!!

*cracks knuckles* Alright Anon.

This story is SO, so rich and deep and I can't even begin to cover it but I will try to be as thorough yet brief as I can for people who are interested!

TL;DR:

In a futuristic earth, the audience plays as a new hero in a world of alien invaders. When a sudden tragedy occurs, the world is revealed to be far darker than previously thought, and evil forces seem to be at play behind the scenes. Seeking the truth, our protagonist begins to investigate on her own.

On the outside, the story is about a heroine's journey, and also the internal struggle in seeking revenge and how far she'll go to find answers.

It's really about time loops, alternate universes colliding, and how far will you go for the one you love.

I'm going JUST off the main plot here not the myths or too far into the side stories and trying to avoid the in-game jargon:

About the three love interests in order of proximity to her:

Zayne:

Her childhood friend Zayne is introduced early on as her primary care physician and cardiologist. They spent 8 years apart and only recently reconnected. At this point in the story, he is the one she's closest given that history.

He is outwardly stoic but cares deeply not only about the MC but about people in general. This is widely noted by the hospital staff and patients you encounter.

He has an ice power that he uses sparingly and it's currently unknown whether or not it's because he doesn't have total control over it or because it causes him pain or...?

Secretly good at random things like he studied how to peel an apple perfectly in one go

Is shown to be very thoughtful. Always keeps candy around for MC (and his patients!) (they both have a sweet tooth problem)

Speedran med school (he's 27 good God)

Was a combat medic before taking up his current hospital residency

Plot-wise: he knows the most about MC's heart disease and a little about the evil forces who might be seeking to capture her? To me its obvious he may know a lot more than he lets on but he might be withholding to protect her

Xavier:

Xavier is introduced as a mysterious fellow hunter and colleague who is very powerful. They have odd run-ins and she's initially suspicious of him until his employment and position are confirmed by her supervisor, who seems to trust him greatly. Xavier is very knowledgeable about the antagonist's group (Onychinus, lead by the antagonist named Sylus) and what they are seeking. Proximity wise, he's her work partner and upstairs neighbor but it's unclear how much MC trusts him yet in the current plot.

Many things hint to him having lived a long, long time but his age is unconfirmed (he has mentioned he's around 23)

Has a light superpower, in that he can weaponize and control rays of light. Can also teleport.

Is probably definitely an alien

Has a secret alter-ego as a superhero vigilante called "Lumiere"

Is often shown needing to sleep to recover energy and finding out why killed me dead

Obviously knows more than he lets on

He's a bit standoffish with MC at first but this is revealed to be because he can't let her know too much and it's made clear he's very protective of her and shows up often to rescue her

Has a playful "play dumb" side

Rafayel:

Rafayel is a renown artist who is currently living in the same city. He's introduced as somewhat rude and maybe even arrogant. Because of his wealth and popularity, he's targeted by no-gooders and the MC is sent to investigate. She ends up being coerced into being his personal bodyguard-for-hire, in exchange for some information. Rafayel, too, knows more than he lets on and its clear very quickly that he is no ordinary artist. At this point, while they are friendly it's clear that he might be the person she trusts the least (just because she knows the least about him at this point and it's so, so obvious he's hiding a lot).

His paintings are implied to have occasional hypnotic abilities

Is obsessed with the ocean

His special power is fire and it can't be put out by water

Is older than MC

Its revealed to the audience but not MC that he is a Lemurian from the ancient and long gone civilization under the sea (not actually a merman but can and does take the form of one)

Has a strange work partner that may or may not be related to Onychinus but either way he's definitely involved in the underworld somehow

Initially comes off bratty, whiny, and demanding, seemingly thinking only of himself. Overall very over-dramatic

Has a lot of faith in MC for seemingly having just "met her"

Lore-wise: his backstory is very, very deep, tragic, and intriguing where you learn the brattiness is somewhat of an act

The Myths:

Each love interest has an equivalent "mythical" story self, either long, long in the past, long in the future, or simply an alternate world altogether. There's no official word yet on whether they're all connected, or if the myths truly happened. The myths at least add layers and layers to the love interest's personalities and interactions with the MC, at least in showing their deep care and also how they conduct themselves in different circumstances. In each myth, the MC is known to either be romantically involved or wanting to be romantically involved with the corresponding love interest. In all of the myths, the MC has the same heart disease. All the myths have tragic endings.

Rafayel: a former sea god

Xavier: an immortal prince

Zayne: a cursed demigod

About the MC:

The version of her in the main story was adopted by her grandmother-like figure (but no confirmation of true relation) alongside her adoptive brother, Caleb. They fit into the mix for only a brief moment in the story and both die tragically early on in an explosion. This being the event that shakes her world and sets her off on her journey to seek truth of what secrets her grandmother may have been hiding.

Can reincarnate

She's shown to be headstrong, determined, diligent, and a little mischievous.

Her superpower is "resonance" which. I'm still... a little lost on what that means altogether. We do know that she can "connect" and "enhance" other things so in the gameplay by "resonating" with the love interests' powers she can enhance their abilities and make them stronger and maybe even mirror them(??). Don't quote me on this. Anytime she does something I'm like "okk?? I guess she can do that now??"

Her heart is Broken™️ in that she has some kind of disease that only exists in that world. Something struck her heart in a catastrophe when she was young and is now just... lodged itself in there.

Whatever is lodged in her heart is what the evil group (and literally everyone) is seeking.

It's somewhat obvious in the plot that her power is actually going to be crazy OP and strong and that "Only She Has The Power To Save Us All" type of trope

Has a mischievous side

When she wants something, come hell or highwater she's gonna get it

Currently does not have feelings for any of the love interests in the main plot

There you have it!

There's so many layers, so much to uncover, but the main plot is relatively simple so far. The gameplay is fun, and easy. Apparently its similar to Genshin Impact but I've never played that so I can't say!

There's a ton of content on Youtube so if you ever have more questions pls pls bother me I will be glad to send a link or explain more things! My brainrot is spinning so bad.

#madi plays lnds #anonymous #ask #love and deepspace #l&ds #lnds #lads #lnd

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pizzaqueen · 1 year

Text

I've had this scene in my mind of Eddie encountering Steve’s dad at the hospital post S4 for a while but I didn't know what to do with it. I've written it up, anyway, and I'm posting it here instead of letting it languish. Maybe I'll do something else with it one day?

Just over 800 words, warnings for being in the hospital, I guess and maybe being a little angsty

The first time Eddie meets Steve’s dad, it’s at the hospital, after everything. He’s seen Steve’s dad before, of course he has, everyone knows the Harringtons. But it's always been from a distance, and Mr. Harrington has always seemed arrogant and out of touch.

Eddie waits until Wayne is asleep in the chair beside his bed to get up. Between the shit he's hooked up to and the tightly bandaged wounds, it's not easy, but he needs to do this.

He pulls back the edge of the curtain dividing his bed from Steve’s, then pauses. Steve is lying there, dark circles under his eyes, unconscious and pale and looking less like one of the heroes from Eddie's stories and more like a boy who's seen too many awful things, given too much of himself to them.

Guilt wells up beneath the cotton wool feeling of the painkillers that have been pumped into him. It’s not because it’s Eddie’s fault, but Eddie’s here, on his feet, and Steve isn’t. He will be, though. He has to be.

There’s a vague memory playing in Eddie's mind of Steve carrying him out of that fucking place, Steve's breathing labored, his arms strong but trembling. He'd barely made it out of there before he'd collapsed to the ground with Eddie still in his arms. Everything goes kind of dark after that.

Eddie’s about to step forward, say something—thank you, would be a start—even if Steve can’t hear him, but then he notices that Steve isn’t alone. There’s a man sitting by his side, in the twin of the crappy plastic chair Eddie’s uncle is hunched over in on Eddie’s side of the curtain. He’s wearing a gray sweater and he’s got a sweep of dark hair that looks like he’s been running his hands through it and his nose is the same sharp line as Steve’s.

"Jesus Christ, Steve," he says, voice small and broken, "what the hell did you get yourself into?" His hand rests by Steve’s on the stark white hospital sheet, his pinkie finger hooked over Steve’s.

Steve’s breathing is deep and steady and Mr. Harrington chews on his lip, watching Steve so intently he doesn’t seem to have noticed Eddie standing at the corner of Steve’s bed.

After a few minutes, Mr. Harrington sucks in a deep, shuddering breath and says, "C'mon, slugger, you gotta wake up before your mom gets back from terrorizing the doctors, okay? You know how much she worries…” He trails off, looks away, puts his head in his hands.

And Eddie knows he shouldn't be watching this, but he's frozen. If he ever spared a thought for Mr. Harrington, it was just to think of him as some rich asshole Eddie didn't give a shit about. He has no idea if he's a good dad or even a good person but, right now, Eddie feels bad for him. It makes him miss his own dad and then he feels guilty about that, too. Wayne is right there, sleeping by Eddie's bed because he didn't want to leave him alone and he's a better dad than Eddie's father ever was.

Mr. Harrington makes a small frustrated noise and Eddie finally comes back to himself. He goes to turn away, but, as he does, his foot catches on something and the sound is small but it's loud in the hush of the hospital room.

Steve’s dad looks over, brow furrowing.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, “I wanted to… Sorry.” He shakes his head, which makes it spin. Or maybe it’s the whole room that’s spinning. “I’m Eddie,” he says, and he doesn’t know why. “Munson.”

“The boy wanted for murder?”

“No, I— I hope not.” Eddie breathes out and it feels harder than it should be. “That wasn’t… I didn’t…” His legs feel weak and he should just turn around and go back to bed but he keeps talking: “Steve, he— Saved me.” And it’s only part of what happened and it’s more complicated than that but it’s the truth.

“He—” It looks like Steve’s dad doesn’t know what to do with that and then Eddie’s legs give way and the only thing stopping him from falling is Steve’s hospital bed. “Whoa, hey,” Steve’s dad says, pushing himself to his feet, “you should, um…”

“Dad?” Steve’s voice is croaky and confused. His unfocused gaze slowly moves from his dad to where Eddie’s slumped by his bed. “Eddie? You’re—” He coughs, then winces, and his dad forgets all about Eddie.

“Steve,” is all he says, leaning over his son, hand hovering.

And then there’s a hand at Eddie’s elbow, guiding him away. "C'mon, kiddo," Wayne says, "you shouldn't be up," and he gently helps Eddie up onto the bed.

On the other side of the curtain, there are voices—Steve’s dad, a woman that’s probably Steve’s mom, doctors—but it’s quiet on Eddie’s side. Wayne is there, awake now, watching as Eddie finally lets himself fall asleep again. At least he knows Steve’s awake now. And he’s not alone.

#steddie #Eddie munson #steve harrington’s parents #Steddie fic #I wrote this up in <an hour to get it out of my head finally #I feel like I should add a warning for Steve’s dad being not an asshole🤣#not a great time to post but I’m going to talk myself out of it if I don’t hit post now lol #also idk if I should tag this Steddie but if I ever did anything with it it would be Steddie so…#pizzaqueenfic #seriously though this scene has been in my mind since almost just after S4

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barry-j-blupjeans · 11 months

Text

People didn't wander aimlessly through the woods like they used to. For a good while there, neither Edward nor Lydia had had to leave Wonderland for advertising. Someway or another, a poor hero or party would stumble through the Felicity Wilds and get drawn into Wonderland for their own various reasons— fame, riches, glory, all of the above. Word of mouth, of course, was to best way to advertise. But once you've killed someone, their icky flesh body started decaying much too fast. It was hard to leave the Felicity Wilds in a timely manner and still look enticing enough to lure people back in.

But this year had been rough. Maybe they scared away too many folks— Edward had to be honest: having the body he was possessing crumble to literal dust in front of the crowd he was advertising to hadn't been the best way to sell the glory of Wonderland. And letting people actually leave Wonderland was a no-go. They had learned that rather quickly.

So they were back to the basics. Magicking up their spectral forms into something appealing (though, with the lack of Suffering, it was getting quite hard to keep it together. Thus, why they could only go out as a pair.) and drawing unsuspecting forms deeper into the Wilds, straight into Wonderland. The old one-two, conversationally speaking.

And people just didn't wander aimlessly through the woods like they used to! So when Edward finally found their first catch of the day, it was important that he didn't slip right through their fingers.

"Oh," Lydia said, seeing the man not a second after Edward had. He could already hear the note of arrogance in her voice. "Oh, he'll do beautifully."

Indeed, the man looked like a perfect victi— ahem. Guest. He was human, older in age, so they'd have much more memories to draw on. He played the part of a worn-out traveler quite well. Mussed hair, and a worn, heavy satchel that jingled with every step he took. It was too quiet to be coins, but the white-knuckled grip he had on the strap of it told Edward it was something much more valuable than he could guess. His pants— though quite an unusual style, but who was Edward to say, having been dead for so long— were stained with mud. There was a bit of blood against one corner of his shirt, where the fabric had ripped.

But to be so steely with determination still? To walk through the Felicity Wilds alone and still be going strong? Edward did have to agree. Wonderland would suit this man perfectly.

"Long way from home, friend?" Edward asked. His form materialized next to a tree and he proceeded to lean against it. The man turned, startled. There was a crack in his glasses. Lydia appeared behind the tree, peeking out at the man as if she had been there the whole time.

"You, uh, you could say that," the man said.

"You're very brave, going through the Felicity Wilds alone," Lydia said. "Are you on your way to somewhere?"

"I'm, uh—" the man hesitated, looking between Lydia and Edward uncertainly. He seemed to be deciding on what to say. After a second, he continued with, "I'm looking for a place called Wonderland."

Bingo. Better than bingo, actually. Edward glanced at Lydia. They shared a grin.

"Wonderland, you say?" Lydia said, hand over her chest.

"You— I'm gonna hazard a guess and say you're familiar with it?" the man said.

"You could say," Edward said. "and what brings you to Wonderland, if I may ask?"

The grip the man had on his bag tightened. The object inside jostled, gently ringing again, and Edward felt inexplicably drawn to the sound. He could tell Lydia was, too, but they both refrained from showing. It was never a good look to be desperate or over-eager.

"I have… an artifact," the man said, slow and carefully choosing his words. "Of— of immeasurable magical power. And I was told that no one who goes into Wonderland ever, uhm, ever comes out. That's— This needs to be somewhere that no one can reach but— but they know they can try. It's— it's gotta be wanted. It's— it's—"

Searching through people's memories was a tad harder outside the walls of Wonderland, much less when they were this low on visitors. Still, Edward reached out with his magic, carefully slipping into the man's mind.

The world was ending. And then it wasn't. And then it was, again, and again, and again. It was a rush of information— much more than Edward had seen in the oldest elves, let alone a middle-aged human. Memories flew by fast enough that Edward couldn't catch any in his hands. A red haze was settled over the entirety of it all— Edward could see it clear as day.

The man was a lich.

This made things… much more interesting.

"Say no more," Lydia said, holding up a hand. Edward blinked himself back into the present, trying not to let his face show any surprise. "Lucky for you, we just so happen to know the way to Wonderland."

"For what price?" the man asked.

"What, you don't trust us?" Lydia said, pulling off a pout Edward had the displeasure of seeing her practice. At the man's face, they both laughed a little.

"I must say, I admire a man with a touch of hesitation," Edward said. "But we'll lead you with no extra charge. If this object is truly that important, then I say getting it to Wonderland is our highest priority, Barry."

"I never told you my name," the man said.

"You didn't have to, darling," Edward said. "Running a fortress in the middle of the Felicity Wilds lets you pick up a few things here and there."

"You—?"

"You'll have to excuse him," Lydia said, "My brother loves a dramatic reveal."

Edward could feel fire running through his veins, a pull in his chest leading them straight back to Wonderland. Lydia's cool and pleasant face broke in a way only he could see through— one victim would have been enough for a while. But the possibility of more was too savory to resist.

"We'll set off now," Lydia continued, "and we'll be there before dark."

"Now," Edward said as Lydia set their pace and the man stumbled after them. "Tell us more about this artifact."

#barry bluejeans #edward and lydia #taz edward #taz lydia #taz balance #taz #mine #ise cube writing #enjoy !#i've got many thoughts about the animus bell and how it ended up in wonderland #and this is One of them ldfsdf #i could probably write this like. 8 different ways sldfsdf

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fu66sun · 6 months

Text

telepath; 이동혁

001 |

wc: 1,410

on a chilly autumn evening, the library was the spot for a silent but intense standoff between you and haechan as you tried to study for your looming midterm exam. the library's vibe was peaceful, filled with the subtle rustling of pages and the occasional whispered conversations.

discontentment had been building within you, making you irritable. your hair was unruly, your clothes felt uncomfortable, and even the sound of haechan's breathing was enough to make your blood boil.

haechan, could you please keep your music down? i'm trying to focus here—you whispered, irritation evident.

haechan was not in the best of moods either, whether due to your presence or his ongoing struggle with a particularly vexing problem. he shot back — what's your problem, y/n? i can't study in complete silence. and don't tell me you've never heard of headphones.

you continued in a hushed tone

—haechan, i don't mind if you listen to music, but your taste is atrocious, and it's loud enough for the entire library to hear. have some consideration for others.

haechan's patience was wearing thin, and your talent for getting under his skin was apparent. — my taste is atrocious? that's rich coming from someone who probably listens to elevator music and taylor swift.

—you know, haechan, elevator music is more sophisticated than whatever noise you're playing. this is a library, not your personal concert hall. besides, dude, what does taylor has to do with any of this?

a smirk played on haechan's lips as he added with a hint of sarcasm —oh, i'm sorry, i didn't realize you owned the place. maybe you should run for library monitor of the year, y/n.

the tension in the library escalated, and with renjun nowhere in sight to mediate, you raised your voice at him.

—that's not the point, haechan! the point is, you're being disruptive, and it's making it impossible for me to study. you're impossible, haechan! this is why i can't stand you. you're always so inconsiderate and arrogant!

haechan, not one to back down from a challenge, responded with equal fervor— and you're so uptight and bossy! you act like you own the place.

the library's hushed atmosphere had been disturbed by the verbal showdown between you and haechan. your personalities clashed like two storms, temporarily sidelining your study session and adding a touch of drama to an otherwise quiet, book-filled setting.

when renjun finally made his entrance into the library, it was like a scene straight out of a cartoon. you know, the kind where the hero comes in to save the day. and believe me, you needed some saving.

he just strolled in like he owned the place, as if he hadn't noticed the boiling tension that was about to reach its climax between you and haechan.

but here's the thing, renjun might have looked chill on the outside, but you could see it in his eyes - he knew something was up. he took a quick scan of the room, and his gaze landed on you, locked in a fiery verbal duel with haechan. it was like he had walked into the lion's den, and boy, did he always have a front-row seat to the show.

now, you've got to understand, the library was supposed to be this sanctuary of silence and concentration. but with you and haechan going at it, it felt more like a battlefield. your voices clashed with the hushed whispers of the other students, and the tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

renjun broke the silence. — hey, what's going on, guys? — he asked, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you and haechan. it was like he had a sixth sense for detecting conflict when it came to you and decided to intervene before things got out of hand.

you were the first to spill the beans.— haechan and i were just, you know, having a disagreement about his music. it's just too loud, and he doesn't seem to care.

haechan's face shifted from annoyed to more neutral as he responded — yeah, and y/n here thinks she's the queen of the library, telling everyone what to do.

it was like renjun had waved a magic wand or something because suddenly, the argument cooled down. haechan reluctantly agreed to turn down the music, and you gave a little nod, agreeing to wear headphones. renjun had brought some much-needed zen into the room.

with the music at a more tolerable level, renjun took a seat at your table, and you got back to studying. the library got back to being quiet, just the usual soft sounds of flipping pages and whispers.

in the days following your heated argument in the library, you couldn't help but stew over your frustration with haechan. the clash over something as seemingly trivial as his music had escalated into a bitter argument that had left you seething. it was a constant reminder of your conflicting personalities and how much you disliked haechan's behavior.

as you sat in a quiet corner of the campus courtyard, you couldn't hold back your feelings any longer.

renjun — you began, a note of exasperation in your voice—i've been thinking about our little trio with haechan. to be honest, i don't understand why we even hang out with him. i mean, he's impossible. i don't even consider him a friend, and... i think i might even hate his stupid guts.

renjun looked at you with a mixture of surprise and concern.

—hate is a strong word, y/n. why do you feel this way?

you leaned in, frustration evident.

— it's not just that one library incident. it's everything about him. it's the debates, it's the constant need to comment on everything i do or don't do. he's so inconsiderate and arrogant. he's constantly pushing my buttons, and I can't stand it. I thought college would be a fresh start, a chance to meet people who are different, but I never expected someone like haechan.

—i get it, y/n. haechan can be a handful, and he's definitely not everyone's cup of tea. but, he has his good sides too, you know?

haechan's expression hardened at renjun's sudden interest in the topic—hate, huh? well, i can't say i'm a big fan of her either.

renjun was taken aback by haechan's response.

—what do you mean, you're not a fan of her?

haechan sighed, leaning back in his chair.

—i don't know, renjun. there's just something about her that really pisses me off. she's so uptight and bossy. it's like she thinks she owns the place. i don't doubt that she's a good friend to you. but I can't stand the way she tries to control everything and act like she's better than everyone else. it's like she's always looking for reasons to argue with me.

now that you and haechan knew how much you hated each other, things seemed to cool down a bit. you didn't want anything to do with him an neither did you. at least the rest of your first semester was a little bit calmer. yes, you did hang out with each other, but never exchanged words, or looks, or anything at all.

you were now, simply, classmates.

at the beginning of the second semester, haechan would be assigned a new roommate, chenle. it was safe to say that you were initially skeptical about how this would pan out.

the three of you already knew chenle because he was in some of your previous classes. you'd exchanged several conversations and were no strangers to one another. that's why you couldn't help but wonder if their personalities would clash, much like yours and haechan's had in the past.

but, over time, something surprising happened. you noticed that haechan and chenle began to bond over shared interests. and they even shared their experiences going to the same stupid high school.

surprised by the seemingly quick development of their friendship, you and renjun decided to give it a chance. and slowly but surely, chenle was almost all the time with the both you.

chenle had a naturally partying persona. he would always brag about this bar near campus, insistin that the four of you should go. and most of the time he would end up convincing haechan, but never renjun or you.

however that would change now that the school was closing down for winter vacations and everyone had to go home for the holidays.

taglist yayy: @sunflowerhae @sundamariis @yesohhsehun @hcheach <3<3<3<3 hope this meets your expectations ahhh

#haechan #nct #nct dream #nct haechan #haechan angst #haechan au #haechan x reader #haechan smut #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck x reader #haechan x y/n #lee donghyuk x y/n #i just love that they hate each other #i hate them too #and you will hate me too

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