#〘 GUEST ✦ MARGOT. 〙

[emmania]

MMMMMMMMMM

[tuttle-did-it]

Murder, She Wrote, ‘Threshold of Fear’ Guest stars

Margot Kidder (Superman 1970s-80s films, of course, Amityville Horror, Barnaby Jones, To Catch a Killer, Tales from the Crypt, Maverick (1994 film), Burke’s Law, The Outer Limits, Law & Order: SVU, Smallville, The L Word)

Herb Edelman returns (he’s in 10 episodes total. Also in The Odd Couple (1968), The Golden Girls, Mission: Impossible (TV), Ironside, The Partridge Family, Love American Style, Diana, Maude, Happy Days, Barney Miller, Ellery Queen, California Suite, Trapper John MD, Cagney & Lacey, The Love Boat, Matlock, St Elsewhere)

David Lansbury returns (he's in 3 episodes, including this one.) Nephew of Angela Lansbury, Law & Order, Sex & The City)

Cynthia Nixon (Sex in the City show, movies and spin off; Early Edition, The Outer Limits, ER, Law & Order SVU, Law & Order: Criminal Intent, 30 Rock, Hannibal)

Whitney Rydbeck returns (he’s in 3 episodes including this one. Character actor - ST:TNG, M*A*S*H, Cagney & Lacey, Simon & Simon, Sisters, Grace Under Fire, 3rd Rock from the Sun, Living Single, Party of Five)

9.16, Episode aired Feb 28, 1993

[kazz-brekker]

i still think it was kind of a missed opportunity not to include more of margot, alana, and their kid in the second half of hannibal season 3. could have been an interesting parallel with will–he uses the family he's gained as a shield against his past with hannibal, but margot and alana's relationship, especially their son, wouldn't even exist if not for their interactions with hannibal. plus they could have done something about how francis dolarhyde only targets happy families and how they fit into that. idk it's just a thought.

[thewallofclaire]

re: i think margot kidder in trenchcoat (1983) could work as jyn erso? idk.

[rwpohl]

madame legros, michael kehlmann 1968

[sansaorgana]

— THE FAVOURITE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — As Feyd-Rautha's favourite concubine, your position is threatened after his affair with Lady Margot.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Once again I couldn't help myself and created some twisted & toxic dynamic between Feyd and The Reader full of mind games and scheming lol 😏 Thank you @little-diable for "letting me" to write this story. 🌹 I reached out to her after getting this request since she has a similar (and amazing) fanfic – "Guilt".

WARNINGS — Reader is some sort of a slave/servant, harm to Lady Margot and her child mentioned, mentions of sexual activities including non/dub-con (no actual smut)

WORD COUNT — 3,520

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE FAVOURITE

Being Feyd-Rautha’s favourite concubine made your position on Giedi Prime secure. Coming from nothing and having no drop of noble blood flowing in your veins, you ended up with a luxurious bedroom and your own team of servants. Baron Harkonnen allowed this arrangement only because of the little agreement between you and him – you were to spy on his nephew and your servants were doing the job when you personally could not. The stench of schemes and lies surrounded the fortress like a thick fog.

So, when your lover didn’t come to you after his own birthday party – even though you were waiting for him all dressed up and prepared – you wanted to know why. Your servants came back to you quickly, bringing you the news of Feyd-Rautha spending the night in a guest wing. In the bedroom of Lady Margot Fenring, to be exact. A known Bene Gesserit sister.

Concubines had no right to be jealous. They knew their place. Noblemen couldn’t marry a random woman they favoured just because of some sort of affection or sentiment. They had to keep their options open in case a political union would be proposed. And apart from that, noblemen had their responsibilities when it came to the Bene Gesserit order and their own plans and schemes. You knew enough to have a feeling what Lady Margot wanted from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. To secure his bloodline.

Concubines didn’t exist to secure bloodlines – unless the circumstances were desperate. But usually, concubines existed to bear bastards.

You tore your dress off of your body, removed the jewellery and let it fall down on the cold, black marble as it shattered. The servants watched with terror in their eyes as tiny pieces of gemstones scattered all over the floor. You told them all to leave but they were petrified. So you yelled, you gave an order. And only when you were left alone, you allowed yourself to lay on your bed and cry.

You had sacrificed nearly everything to be in this position. Losing the title of Feyd-Rautha’s favourite concubine meant death to you. You knew what he was doing to the toys he was getting bored of. In fact, you often encouraged those acts. Now, you had to face a threat of becoming the next tossed aside pet.

You were finishing your breakfast when Feyd entered your chambers without a word or a knock upon the doors. He was the only person allowed such entrance and all your servants stiffened at the sight of him, bowing their heads and taking a few steps back. You decided to ignore him as you were sipping on your beverage and staring at the large painting on the wall in front of you. It was a landscape from your homeplanet. Or rather, how it had used to look like before The Harkonnen invasion and occupation.

As a little girl, you had been taken with others to Giedi Prime and forced to become a servant. Your hair had been shaved, the back of your neck tattooed with a Harkonnen sigil like you were a slave. Slaves died like flies on this court. Befriending the young na-baron had been your only chance of survival. And once you both had been old enough, the friendship developed into a romance. But sometimes, when you were forgetting yourself – too drunk on your own influence these days – you would touch the back of your neck and trace the tattooed mark. You had long hair again, covering it from the world. But you knew it was there. You were only a servant that had been promoted because of a spoiled boy’s whim.

“I have news for you, pet,” Feyd-Rautha stood above you with a proud smirk, showing off his black teeth.

You continued to ignore him and it made the smile turn into a frown.

“What is it?” He asked but you still refused to lay your eyes on him.

“I know where you were last night,” you finally decided to address the matter as you lazily leaned back on the chair and looked up at his face. He snorted at you.

“Not the first time I spent a night with another woman. Having a title of my favourite whore means that you are one of many – not the only one,” he reminded you and your jaw clenched at his choice of words.

“Not every night is your birthday. And not every woman is a Bene Gesserit witch,” you stood up angrily. “And I am not a whore.”

“Concubine is only a nicer way to put it but you’re big enough to handle the truth, pet,” Feyd was angered, you could sense that. But he was still amused by your little tantrum.

“Leave us,” you ordered to the servants and they bowed down before walking out of the chambers as fast as possible.

“What do you expect me to say? That I’m sorry?” Feyd’s voice was full of contempt as he observed your pacing around with squinted eyes. “I am not tied to you by any word nor oath.”

“What did she want?” You asked him and he shut his mouth. “She wanted to secure the bloodline, did she not?”

Feyd did not say anything and that was an answer for you. You nodded and walked away to stand by the window and gaze upon the cityscape of Giedi Prime. 

“I didn’t have a choice. And I probably will never even see that child. They mean nothing to me and will never be recognised as my heir. What does it matter to you?” Feyd tried to explain himself awkwardly as he sat by the table and put his feet up on the surface in a careless manner.

“Did she use The Voice on you?” You turned around to look at him with a furrowed brow.

“Yes,” Feyd nodded, looking away. “Does it change anything?”

“It changes everything to me,” you approached him to stand behind and put your hands on his tense shoulders. “They keep using you. Your uncle all this time, now her. And you just shake it off and pretend it’s no big deal but it is, Feyd-Rautha. Have you ever been able to make your own decision? Even choosing me as your favourite had to be accepted by The Baron.”

“Don’t pretend to suddenly care about me,” Feyd barked at you. “You’re spying on me for him.”

“Because I have to,” you whispered.

“And I have to do some things, too, which makes us fair,” he shrugged his arms and you let your hands fall to your sides again. You watched him reach for an orange as he began to peel it slowly in silence.

He was right but it was not enough for you to know that he was right. You were still raging inside; filled with jealousy and betrayal even though you had no right to feel these things. Swiftly, you reached out for a short knife that Feyd always carried by his waist. He was so relaxed and trustful around you that his reflexes didn’t catch on your actions. 

You pressed the tip of the blade to the back of his neck, the exact same spot where your tattoo was.

“I wish I could mark you as my own, too,” you whispered and he only chuckled, not fearing the knife at all.

“Do it then, pet. If that brings you relief, that is,” he dared you. “The pain will be welcomed.”

“I can’t do it,” your hand shivered as you lowered it.

“Then don’t threaten me with empty promises,” Feyd barked as he turned around rapidly and grabbed your wrist. He twisted it painfully, making you drop the knife as you hissed out of pain. “I don’t belong to you,” he reminded, his voice cold and sharp. You winced at the pain shooting up your arm but refused to show weakness.

“And I don't belong to you either,” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger and hurt you had been suppressing. “If I am to live here my whole life like a slave, kill me then.”

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at each other with hatred and passion as the tension crackled between you two like electricity. Finally, Feyd released your wrist with a dismissive shove, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference.

"Fine," he spat. "I am to inherit Arrakis and you are not coming with me. Stay here and rot, find yourself a new Master or leave, I do not care," he informed you and left your chambers just like that.

You were still standing there, petrified, as you blinked a few times before the meaning of his words made sense to you. He was abandoning you… but you couldn’t blame him. You showed weakness of your jealousy and that was something concubines were not supposed to do. Instead of playing your cards right, you snapped. And now there was no turning back from that mistake.

Your privileges were not gone overnight but everyone could see that something was wrong. While Feyd-Rautha was preparing to leave for Arrakis, you were not preparing at all. Your servants were nervous since their position depended on your own. And you were trying to work on a plan to be back in your lover’s good favours.

But The Baron was quicker than that. He requested your presence a few days before his nephew’s departure. You expected a punishment but, surprisingly, he was not as angry as you thought him to be.

“You lost the grip,” he informed you in his raspy voice, taking a puff of his pipe.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” you bowed down, nervously; humiliated.

“I should get rid of you. I’ve heard my nephew granted you freedom but we both know you have nowhere to go anyway,” The Baron pointed out and you swallowed thickly at his words.

“If I was only given one more chance…” You dared to look up.

“That is what I want to grant you,” he nodded as your eyes widened. Baron Harkonnen was not known for being generous or forgiving. “You see, on Arrakis I will need a spy next to Feyd-Rautha. Someone I trust. And you… We’ve worked for quite a long time now. You have never disappointed me nor showed any sign of disloyalty towards me. Looking for someone new, especially for such an important task… It would not be advised. I need you on Arrakis with Feyd-Rautha,” The Baron pointed his chubby hand at you.

“I understand, my Lord. But… He does not want me there. Not as his concubine at least,” you looked down, ashamed that you had to admit it out loud.

“That boy will soon start missing you. But we can’t wait until then,” The Baron agreed. “Since he has carelessly given you freedom already and you’re no longer a servant, I can promote you, child,” The Baron hummed to himself as you tilted your head out of curiosity – Feyd-Rautha’s habit you had picked up from him a long time ago.

Because your whole life had been about being his companion. It was about mimicking his behaviour and learning how to make him happy. Now, when he was somehow gone from your daily life routine, it felt oddly empty and pointless. It was painful to realise that Feyd-Rautha was your reason to live and your position as his concubine defined not only your position on Giedi Prime but also your whole life and personality.

“You will be sent to Arrakis as The Fremen Expert,” The Baron informed you and you couldn’t help letting out a little laugh.

“The Fremen Expert, my Lord? I do know nothing of them and their customs,” you reminded him.

“And we do not care about them nor their customs. We want nothing but annihilation of their race. But what we also want… What we need… Is your presence on Arrakis. Feyd-Rautha will be informed that you must take part in every council, in every meeting; making decisions alongside his generals,” The Baron whispered and you straightened yourself, suddenly feeling a bolt of electricity going through your veins. From feeling like a beaten dog, you began to feel confidence and pride in your new role, even if the title was made up for The Baron’s scheming plan.

“Yes, my Lord,” you bowed down with all respect.

“Now, go, prepare yourself for the trip,” he dismissed you and you turned around to walk away with your head held high.

Feyd-Rautha kept avoiding you but those few times you saw him in the corridor, he was giving you hateful looks. He had to be not very pleased with his uncle’s decision. You gained the courage to finally talk to him in private when you were on the ship to Arrakis, locked together in space with nowhere to run. Forced to spend time together since the ship was not as huge as the Giedi Prime fortress.

You chose the nighttime for this. In the evenings he was more vulnerable – you had learnt that over the years spent by his side. You entered his room on the ship without any guard stopping you as they knew your role in this mission. The Baron had given them direct orders to never stop you when you were about to spy on the na-baron.

Feyd was not in the room yet, so you waited, sitting on the armchair and nervously playing with the rings on your fingers.

“What are you doing here?” You finally heard his raspy voice after the doors opened. Feyd walked inside, visibly irritated at the sight of you. “Congratulations, you’re a full-time spy now. What a promotion,” he sneered. “Still his puppet.”

“And you’re not? His puppet?” You sneered back. “How does it feel to not be able to get rid of your own concubine just because The Baron does not approve? I told you. You can’t even choose the whores for yourselves,” you stood up to approach him but he walked away.

“You’ve sealed your fate, pet. Once I become The Baron myself, I am going to kill you,” he ignored your presence and began undressing to change into his nighttime attire. As if you were only an air in the room but it also meant that he still felt comfortable around you and allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to step out of his armour and expose. He trusted you, still.

“It’s not like I’m that valuable to your uncle. If you killed me now, he would be frustrated. But he wouldn’t even punish you for that,” you shrugged your arms. “So why won’t you kill me now?” You teased as you raised your eyebrow at him.

“Come here,” Feyd ordered as he sat on the edge of his bed. 

You walked up to him, a little scared of what was inside his head at that moment but you tried not to show it. You had mastered the act of not showing fear around him already. He hated cowardice and vulnerability only inspired him to be even more cruel.

“Since I can’t get rid of you, there’s still use of you, is it not?” He smirked as he looked up at you. “Please me, pet,” he ordered.

“I am no longer your concubine,” you pointed out, trying to keep a poker face on and a straight back. The truth was, you missed him. You missed his touch, you missed the intimacy, you missed how safe you felt with his arms around you. You missed the nights when he would fall asleep in your bed. But you couldn’t fall back so easily. He liked to chase, he liked to play. And you had gotten the title of his favourite because you knew how to provide it. “You dismissed me. I am The Fremen Expert now,” you added and he laughed contemptuously.

“The Fremen Expert, and what is that exactly, my little one?” He teased, pulling you closer by your waist. “And what do you know of these savages? You’ve been trained in different arts.”

“What sort of arts, na-baron?” You asked, placing your fingers on his muscular shoulders to keep steady on your feet.

“Pleasure,” he sat you down on his lap and you joined your hands together behind his neck. “I missed your cunt,” he whispered into your ear, his fingers pulled on the fabric of your dress around your hips, exposing your thighs.

“You forget yourself, my Lord,” you teased with a smirk as he looked up, questioningly. “You see, in your anger, you set me free. You released me and I am no longer your servant. I am my own person now,” you reminded him.

“I am still your lord na-baron,” he reminded you. “And I shall do as I please with you.”

“But having me back in your bed will cost you. I am not free of charge anymore,” you stopped his hands and watched his expression carefully. His jaw clenched and his gaze hardened with anger and curiosity.

“What do you want?” He asked harshly.

“Depends on how much you are willing to pay to feel my sweet cunt again,” you tilted your head.

You knew that it was just a game and he knew it, too. Because he didn’t need your permission. Feyd-Rautha didn’t care if you were his servant or a free woman now. He didn’t care if you gave him your permission or not. He was free to take what he wanted. Because that was his nature and that was the harsh reality of The Harkonnens.

“You want money?” Feyd could not hide the sheer disappointment in his voice. He had thought better of you. But you only laughed at his accusation.

You needed to take a deep breath in to say out loud what you wanted. It required lots of bravery for a woman in your position to say.

“I want to bear your heir,” you told him.

“Impossible,” Feyd pushed you aside on the mattress as he moved away from you. “Is it part of his plan?”

“He doesn’t know. He would kill me if he knew,” you assured him, truthfully. “He wants you for Princess Irulan, I think.”

“He mentioned to me he would make me an Emperor. But he didn’t mention how. I don’t think I have to marry her. We are strong enough to just take the throne with force,” Feyd told you. “I don't want her. But you cannot bear me heirs. Only bastards. Is that what you want? To push out my bastards?” He asked as he hovered over you to intimidate you, looking intensely into your eyes.

“Bastards, then. Let it be,” you nodded, swallowing thickly, confusing him. “I’d rather give you bastards and live on crumbs than to be dismissed like in the past few weeks.”

Suddenly, his face softened, confusing you as much as you were confusing him. Feyd caressed your cheek with gentleness that was unusual for him.

“Do you know why you are my favourite?” He asked in a whisper.

“Because I know how to play the way you like it,” you answered.

“No,” he shook his head. “Because you actually like me.”

You didn’t know what to say to this confession. It caught you off guard, surely. And Feyd leaning in to place a kiss upon your lips – a soft, delicate kiss that you had only shared a few times before – that only intensified the feeling of confusion.

“It’s cute to see you jealous, pet,” he breathed out after breaking the unusual kiss. “I swore to myself a long time ago I would never marry even if he forced me to. And my only heirs will be the bastards you bear me.”

You felt warmth in your cheeks at his words. Realising that what you had been asking for did not have to be said out loud. For him it had been obvious for a long time. It was the only way for Feyd-Rautha and you were a fool to ever feel jealous.

“All you have to do,” he added in a mysterious whisper, leaning in to steal another kiss, “is to help me with bringing him down.”

“You fool,” you giggled and cupped his face delicately, confusing him. “It has always been my plan,” you assured him. “And once I have the power of The Emperor’s Concubine, I will hunt down the Bene Gesserit witch and her spawn for I am the only one who shall bear your bastards.”

“You were such an innocent child when you came to Giedi Prime,” Feyd sighed but not without an excited sparkle in his cold eyes. “And look what a monster I have made of you, pet.”

You chuckled at that, relieved to have him back and much more than that – already planning out a future that was even more promising than in your most secret daydreams.

“You taught me well, Master,” you only said and pulled him back down. “But next time you put a child in another woman, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to father any more,” you threatened sweetly before a passionate kiss.

MASTERLIST

[skipper1331]

fan girl // Alexia Putellas

a/n: based off this request!

It was movie night at Alexia‘s, the girls seated around her living room as snacks and soft drinks were on the coffee table for everyone.

The girls had to decided to watch your new movie, all of them a big fan of your acting. Alongside you, big names like Margot Robbie and Ryan Reynolds - the movie was made to be a hit.

And Alexia had to admit that she watched every single one of your movies, most of the time more enjoying the view rather than the plot. It didn’t matter if she was the queen of football, she was madly crushing on you.

For once, Alexia wasn‘t getting Fan-girled but was Fan-girling herself. Something about you made her heart flutter, cheeks blushy and starstruck.

So, every time you appeared on screen, Alexia zoned out, comments from her friends falling to deaf ears, snacks long forgotten. She was completely in awe.

"That movie was mind blowing!" Claudia stated shocked after the movie had finished.

"That ending was very unexpected" Patri joined before the whole group talked about the movie. They discussed the ending, the plot, what they liked and didn‘t like, and the acting skills of each individual - simply everything.

-

A few weeks later, the call came that Alexia had to attend to an event, nothing knew for the Ballon D‘or winner you might think, but this event was different. Not necessarily from what would happen there but from the guests. Normally, some important people from the sports industry would be there, many media people or other important people in general - people Alexia knew or (dis)liked.

This time though, you would be there too. Alexia only knew this because she saw your instagram story - a window picture out of a plane, Barcelona marked as the destination - big headlines in the news.

In the following days, Alexia acted nervous and excited, sights you didn‘t see often. Mapi made fun of her because of that, even though she could understand Ale‘s excitement - who wouldn’t be excited to meet you?

-

"How do I look?" Alexia asked Mapi and Ingrid.

Both of them had agreed to help the Barcelona captain get ready as everything had to be perfect - perfect to meet you. She wanted to talk to you - that might be her only chance to ever talk to you, she didn‘t want to ruin that. She had to be subtle about approaching you yet attentive, respectful and kind. She couldn’t be some weird obsessed fan, she had to be herself - Alexia.

"Just be yourself" Mapi stated when Ale couldn’t stop rambling about you. What would you be wearing? How should she start a conversation? Would there even be an opportunity to talk to you? Are you nice? You probably are, no bad words about you in the world - everybody always talking highly of you.

"How am I supposed to be myself?! She‘s literally a Hollywood star!" Alexia defended herself. As if it was so easy to be herself.

"María is right, though" Ingrid added, "Ale, you‘re not just anyone, who knows maybe she‘s a football fan herself. Just start the conversation casually, be nice, ask her about her interests and everything should be fine" the Norse explained, trying to ease the Catalonians mind.

Alexia wasn‘t just anyone, she was a Barcelona player, World Cup winner, 2x Ballon D‘or winner and many other trophies winner, but most importantly, she was human. Her trophies didn‘t defy her as a person - she wasn’t arrogant or bragging about her achievements, instead she was a friendly, caring and supportive friend.

"Thank you"

-

Alexia attended the event, more nervous than usually.

She talked to the people she had to, conversations about football or other business stuff or talked to some people who she actually enjoyed talking to.

Yet all evening, she kept looking for you, not seeing you anywhere which disappointed her. She was looking forward to see you, for once not on tv.

When she went to the bar, ordering a drink, she had already lost hope, until she tensed up.

"Hola la reina" a voice beside her greeted, accent thick.

Tilting her head, she saw the gorgeous smile of you, "hi" she greeted, smiling shyly.

You had referred to her as la Reina.

"I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed that I was only able to talk to you now" you said, taking a sip of your drink. Everything seemed so effortless when you did it.

"I‘m Y/N Y/L/N, big fan"

Shaking your hand, she replied "Alexia Putellas"

After that the conversation came floating by with an ease, all nervousness from the both of you washed away.

Alexia wasn‘t the only fan girl here, you fan-girled about her just as much, raised as an Barcelona fan since you were a little girl.

All night, you continued flirting with each other, discovering same interests and discussing topics from a-z, also not talking to anyone else but each other. It felt easy to talk to Alexia, no judgement at all as she listened to everything you had to say. She couldn’t care less if it was a random fact, even though you had seemingly very much of them (which she secretly absolutely adored) or if it was your opinion on whatever. She enjoyed hearing you talk, your opinions and points of view well explained.

At some point during the night, she asked "So, you‘re an football fan?"

"Oh yes, absolutely"

"Favorite club?"

"Real Madrid, obviously" you joked, her reaction hilarious - wide eyes, open mouth, look of disgust on her features.

"I‘m joking!" you laughed, "I’m a culer through and through"

"You almost gave me an heart attack!" she hit your arm playfully, continuing to talk about football. This time is was you who listened. The sound of Alexias voice angelic.

You loved how passionate she talked about her profession and how serious she got when she analyzed something, she was the perfect mixture of professionalism and passion - something you admired.

When the night came to an end, you walked her outside, waiting for her taxi to arrive.

"It was nice meeting you, la reina" you beamed, squeezing her hand as you had held it on the way out, so she wouldn’t get lost.

Girls thing.

"Likewise"

Looking at one another with googly eyes, no one realized that the taxi had arrived until the driver honked, bringing you back to earth.

"I would like to see you again, sometime?" you shifted nervously on your feet, eyes darting across her features. She was breathtaking.

"Maybe at the match next weekend?" Alexia didn’t expect you to say yes with your busy schedule and new upcoming projects but she tried it anyways. She really wanted to see you again.

"I will be there"

The midfielder‘s face lit up, the widest smile on her face, eyes sparkling as her heart jumped around happily.

"Good night, la reina and stay safe" you pressed your lips on the barcelona players cheek before you walked back inside with shaking hands. You had just kissed the famous Alexia Putellas’ cheek and it felt good!

Alexia on the other hand had crimson red cheeks, was breathing heavily as she touched completely dazed the spot were your lips had been seconds ago.

It seemed like you would stay for another few days in Barcelona. This wasn‘t the end. Maybe, for once, you wouldn't be playing a role in a romance film, but would be living your very own romance.

[space-blue]

Feyd thoughts from Fenring scene

I was sharing thoughts to a friend while rewatching the Feyd and Fenring scene and figured I'd share it here too, it's my blog innit.

He's walking on his own in a completely empty corridor. Upon being followed he ambushes and pulls a knife, meaning he immediately assumes he's in danger. Calm and collected attitude at this prospect, clearly not his first time.

But he also doesn't toy with her, doesn't threaten her beyond asking about her presence, he's not showing any sadistic traits.

He openly asks if they've met because he recognises her, isn't being coy.

Instead of being violent, he tells her the rules: 'You're not allowed in this section', meaning at least he knows not to be openly hostile to guests.

He's suspicious she got past the guards. He asks about that in a higher pitch, but extremely bland face. He doesn't sound upset or happy or angry. More like low key worried.

From there Margot uses the voice.

She reveals he's shunning his own celebrations, AND he refuses to say why despite being asked with suggestive voice.

He immediately recognises the use of the voice on him and calls her a Bene Gesserit. How? He doesn't answer when she asks what makes him say that. We have to keep in mind that his mother (who he killed) was BG, and since we don't know when she died, it's possible he received some training from her.

He instead says he dreamt about Margot, harkening back to Chani dreams from Paul. Meaning we can safely assume he's just as plagued with semi-visions as Paul was in Dune 1 before going to Arrakis, and we can safely assume that's not common knowledge.

Immediately goes 'Don't mock me woman' when she teases him. BUT crucially, she says "a pleasant dream I hope?" which is not mockery but closer to flirting? It's like he genuinely takes that as a literal tease, when the actual teasing is when she says "I wouldn't dare!" which he doesn't comment on, maybe because he's used to many forms of grovelling.

He also reacts as if the voice is a physical pressure, like when you come down on a plane and your ears get blocked, and tries to shake it off:

Again with 'I know your BG tricks'

Margot asks, again, and gets no reply, again. She even says "tell me" in a normal voice. There is no cut or weird editing afterwards, so we can assume that Feyd didn't answer either time he was asked.

Instead he takes his bearing and looks around. He is not aggressive or panicked when he admits to not recognising the place.

Dude is designed to blend into his surroundings. Bonkers he doesn't wear gloves at this stage.

Risk taking : he steps unprompted in the door entrance, and she then says "come to me, kneel," etc. BUT we know he KNOWS about the BG tricks, so we can suppose that he's actually making the decision to go in despite knowing full well she can and will control him.

There's plenty of hints that he may still be heavily under her charm, but there's also evidence he can resist the voice she uses on him (he never answers her repeated questions, tries to fight it off).

He never reacts agressively. He says "where are you going?" with some heat when she leaves though, which to me hints at loneliness. He was all alone avoiding every harkonnen under the moon on his birthday despite being the king of the night, meets a random chick he dreamt about, and now she leaves? Spiced suggested though he may ask because he's not used to people leaving without being dismissed. But imo these can blend.

I lean towards Feyd being quite resistant to the voice because they sent Margot in the first place. Yes, Mohiam wants a child made, but in her excuses, she does't say "I want him bred". Instead she says she's a motherly figure and he might have killed her because he killed his mom. If the voice was such a perfect tool of control, that wouldn't really be an issue, especially once you have him under the Gom Jabar.

There may be an element of "These men [Paul and Feyd] are one generation away from the KH and can't be toyed with carelessly".

He also killed his BG mother, which means he's capable of killing a sister and not any small fry.

So they send a sexy woman to woo him and yet she still has to ask multiple times about what he knows of the BG.

Regarding his dreams, it's also possible Feyd is so compliant and keen to follow Margot because he might have foreseen a freaky good time with her.

One is left to wonder if he looks at Mwaddib walking into the throne room with such intensity not because he's hot for him (he doesn't yet know it's Paul), but because he may have SEEN this scene in dreams. We know Paul was very affected by the spice in the air and food on Arrakis. We also know he made frequent false visions (Jamis helps but it ends up being Chani. Chani and him cut ambiguously in the killing scene. Seeing himself in Chani's place in the final combat scene...) So we can also imagine Feyd may be overconfident in taking in the Emperor's challenge because he's dreamt of this too. Just spitballing.

The BG call him a sociopath with a side of hollywood competency. He has a bit of the BBC Sherlock and Hannibal Lecter disease. He should not be as tame or as competent as he's described and shown if he had the full disorder.

It's very interesting to look at the Fenring scene with sociopathic traits in mind and see how they apply or don't.

He's not getting his need for validation avoiding the party, but he just survived an attempt on his life by his Dear Uncle before getting his freedom dangled in front of him. Lots on his mind.

He's not prone to anger outburst in general. His behaviour isn't very erratic either. Both of these classic traits were probably curb-stomped by the need to fit the mold imposed by the Na-Baron position.

But he definitely has a high sense of his superiority and is opinionated. He speaks up unprompted during the Baron's interview, and again behind the Emperor with 'he's bluffing'

High propensity for violence: check. Whole film, basically. He can be prompted by anger (against Rabban), perceived threat (arena), reactive/defensive (against Margot trailing him). Violence in reaction to fear isn't shown.

Difficulty maintaining relationships : the only people he seems fond of are his once shown, once mentioned pets he brings with him. His family relationships are what they are, and he has no friend to go to on his Birthday.

Generally fearful, vulnerable to anxiety and rejection, easy to humiliate : what a cincher. This is him reacting defensively to Margot's flirting. The BG say fear of humiliation is one of his levers, and if you give him a strong attachment to an honour code, it's very easy to manipulate.

IMO this feeds into his displays of vanity (black teeth, tailor made pretty pets). Also since black is seen as a rich and beautiful colour on their world, his all black outfits with clean cuts may not be as muted as we think they are.

the end... for now.

[joehills]

I saw The Menu for this first time on Thursday night and cackled nearly non-stop.

The beautiful food and landscapes, clownishly archetypal characters, and potential mortal peril captured my attention initially—but what truly sets The Menu apart from lesser films is an unwavering commitment to the bit.

In terms of the plot, I don’t want to spoil too much, but I will say that Ralph Fiennes’ Chef Slowik is completely dedicated to executing his plan for a perfect dinner suited precisely for his dozen guests—which is unsettled when one of his invitees brings a different date, Margot Mills (played by Anna Taylor-Joy), due to a recent break-up. The chef is so committed to his personalized menu concept that he is disturbed enough by Margot’s appearance to question her wildly inappropriately before he can allow dinner to proceed.

The Chef’s commitment to the bit (at the expense of all social expectations and norms) resonates through every frame of the film, supported by commitment to the bit in terms of its direction, cinematography, and cast choices. No choice in creating this film was made without intention and care.

If you enjoy commitment to the bit taken to its logical and horrifying extremes, I strongly recommend The Menu.

[defectivevillain]

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.

©2023, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved.

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

[prickly-paprikash]

One of my favorite things about Denis Villeneuve's style is how utterly masterful he is at subtle storytelling. Using the visuals to tell a tale that, even when you don't figure it out explicitly, one feels it immediately.

In Dune Part 1, my favorite form of this is at the very beginning when the Herald of the Change arrives to formalize the transition of Arrakis' ownership from the Harkonnens to the Atreides. The procession is full of pomp and posturing, with the Herald speaking in this loud, bombastic voice just to announce what is already a given, and Leto responds with his own spectacle—the armies of Atreides, chanting as one. It's all a show, since at this point House Atreides has been commanded by the Emperor. The contract is a legal formality; the costly procession on Caladan was (un)necessary showmanship. In the books, showing off the illusion of power and authority is vital in maintaining this cruel, unyielding power system, and without bringing mention of it, the film shows this off too. Then, once the Duke has sealed the form with his signet ring, everything just... drops.

Leto looks at the Herald in the eye, and asks, "So, it's done?"

And just as Leto replied to the grandiose display of the Emperor, the Herald now replies with the levity the situation truly deserves.

"It's done."

Both the Herald and the Duke know what this truly is. It's not a reward. It's not a show of love. The Herald, at this moment, is looking at a dead man walking. Millions of their currency sunk into this process, barely five minutes in total, and all to simply declare it all "done."

You can even feel a sense of satisfaction from the Herald.

The Emperor, in his paranoia and envy, guided the hand of the Atreides into a trap. And the Atreides know it is their doom, but they have no choice. They are popular and loved by the Great Houses, but they are bound by honor. And bound by might.

And all of this, narrowed down into one brilliant scene.

Once again, this subtle, visual storytelling is in full display in Part 2, and my favorite by far happens on Giedi Prime.

The Bene Gesserit Sister, Lady Margot Fenring (who is also a Lady of her own House in the books), watches on as one of their prospects, Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha engages in ritual combat for his birthday. Afterwards, in a hallway lit by only the fireworks outside, she stalks the Harkonnen heir, and Feyd catches on immediately.

Here's the thing: barring other Sisters of the Bene Gesserit, Paul Atreides, and some very gifted Mentat Assassins—you will never know if a Sister of the Order is stalking you. From the beginning, she had wanted to be caught by him. A lure. A tantalizing bait, perfectly designed to entrap the feral Feyd.

And he sinks in immediately.

Here is where my favorite visual storytelling comes into play.

In the hallway, we begin with a fully covered Margot. She is veiled completely in shadow, with the oil fireworks illuminating only her visage.

Next, Feyd strikes and holds his blade to her neck, revealing her face. But only her face.

Slowly, the scene shows off little by little her skin. In the hall, I believe the most we see is her throat, and I could be mistaken. The light flashes erratically, and we see her the way Feyd must see her.

In the shadows, a threat. In the brief sparks of light, a curiosity.

And when Margot confuses him, leading him to the Guest Wing where she stays, the light fully shows her off. She's still in formal clothing, but now we see her dress. It reveals a plunging neckline that barely shows off the top of her chest. Her top is sleeveless, showing off her shoulders and the soft musculature of her arms. In the dark, we could clearly see her wearing a veil that covered her body.

And the light mimics her, stripping away and revealing something beautiful. Irresistible, especially to Feyd, who despite his high intelligence and skill, is just as brutal and animalistic as his uncle and brother. All three so easily give in to their vice, and Feyd is no different.

He is allured by her. He lusts after her.

And all this without a word hinting towards sex in their entire shared dialogue.

Just the use of light, shadow, and body to tell a story.

Afterwards, Margot speaks to the Reverend Mother and Princess Irulan, revealing that she has secured a child from Feyd in her womb, which again without saying anything specific immediately shows that the Sisters have such power over their own bodies that they can ensure fertilization and have complete knowledge over their pregnancy. They even control what sex the child will be, as alluded to in Dune Part 1 when Jessica, out of the love she had for Leto and his desire for a son, rebelled against the Bene Gesserit's orders and sired a male.

Again, without info-dumping, we immediately understand that this religious order engages in Eugenics, and uses sex, fanaticism, and more to control the Great Houses.

Please watch Dune. Please read Dune.

[emmania]

[russellsppttemplates]

Hi. Could you do a Lance one you bring the kids for the first time to the paddock to see him on the first race of the new season

The first race of the season was always full of excitement, promise and hope. For new results, wins and celebrations, and when Lance assured you that his mother and the team would gladly help with the girls in case you needed it.

Choosing to arrive at the paddock by the side entrance to avoid photographers and a lot of noise, you pushed Margot's stroller inside the green hospitality, greeting everyone you crossed paths with and encouraging Addalynn to do the same, "is grandpa here, mummy?", she asked as you walked to the dining area, knowing that the guests would only arrive later and you wouldn't have to worry too much about either one of your girls interrupting something important or bothering them too much.

"He is, love, he's in a meeting and daddy is in there too, but they'll come and meet us for lunch once they're done", you explained, finding a table and setting all your belongings in there, "do you want to play with your sticker book?", you wondered as you checked what activities you had packed to keep her entertained.

You were feeding Margot her soup when Addalynn called for her grandpa, running to him and jumping on his arms, Lance approaching you and kissing the top of your head and then Margot's cheek, "is the soup good, princess?", Lance asked as she babbled something to him, "I'm sure it is, and you're such a good girl eating all of it!", he clapped, encouraging her to finish the bowl you had for her.

"Hi Y/N", Lawrence greeted you, setting Addalynn back in her chair and rubbing your shoulder tenderly, "and my littlest princess, how are you, miss Margot?", he cooed.

"Can I help you get ready, daddy?", Addalynn said as she saw Lance grabbing his helmet and balaclava, "sure, sweetheart, here, put this on first", he instructed as she pulled the fabric, "now the helmet", you helped her, "Good job!", you cheered as Addy pressed a kiss on the helmet, "it's a good luck kiss, daddy!", she yelled.

Sat in the counter, Addalynn and Margot supported their daddy throughout the race, clapping whenever he overtook a car and when he crossed the finish line.

"Daddy's on the podium, he's going to get a big trophy, Margot!", Addalynn said to her sister who was delighted with the excitement in the garage.

To keep them safe, you and Claire-Anne decided to stay back at the garage and wait for Lance, knowing Lawrence would be there for him in the meantime. As soon as they saw their daddy, cheers erupted from their mouths as Addalynn was picked up by Lance, "you're the best, daddy!", she said, kissing his cheek and wrapping her arms around his neck, "do you think?".

"We know so", you smiled, "congratulations, my love", you said, kissing his lips before you helped him balance both girls on his hips, "you're either going to fall asleep as soon as we get to the hotel, or you're going to keep us up all night, which one is it going to be?", Lance poked Margot, earning her sweet giggled as she played with his hair.

"Let's go and celebrate! I believe some Bluey episodes and chocolate mouse are in order", you chuckled.

(Thank you for submitting an ask ✨️)

[threelionsgirl]

hiii i hope you’re okay x idk if your taking any requests at the moment so feel free to ignore this if your aren’t, but if u are could u write something for mason mount where the reader is an actress or model or something and masons had a celebrity crush on her for ages but then he finds out they’re going to meet for the first them at an interview they have to do together! u can decide everything else like if he’s nervous or really flirty when they meet xx

the interview | mason mount

warnings: none word count: 1527 notes: hi anon, yes the requests are open, it's just been a long time since I've written, and I wasn't sure how to get back, but I'm on vacation so fuck it, feel free to send more requests!!! by the way, I couldn't decide whether to do nervous!mase or flirt!mason then I did both! masterlist | requests are open!

The knock on the door caught Mason's attention. He was in his dressing room waiting to have his makeup done. That day he was going to be on an interview talk show, and he was excited.

"Mason?" was the producer of the show, poking her head into his dressing room. "Is it okay if you share the dressing room with someone else? We had a little incident, it would just be for makeup."

"Sure no problem." He agreed without elaborating. The only information he had received before arriving was that he would only be one of two special guests for the interview that night.

When the door opened again and Y/N walked in, Mason couldn't believe his luck. Mason had had a crush on Y/N for years. He had seen all of her movies, especially those that were part of the Marvel franchise, and had fantasized about meeting her, and now here he was, about to share a dressing room with her for an interview that they would do together.

As soon as Y/N entered the room, Mason's heart skipped a beat. He tried his best to stay calm, but he couldn't help but feel nervous around her.

"Hm, hello?" she smiled, and he tried not to look like an idiot.

"H-h-hi." Shit. Why the hell was he stuttering? It wasn't in his profile to be so nervous in front of a woman, but Y/N's beauty was really otherworldly.

"Sorry to invade your space like this, but they left something rotting in my dressing room, and now it's the biggest stink in there." She laughed, waving her hand in front of her nose, remembering the smell. "I'm Y/N by the way, actress." Mason only realized that he had been drooling for so long, enchanted with Y/N that he barely noticed that she had a hand outstretched toward him.

"I-I know who you are." He faked a cough to try to get that damn stutter to stop, as he squeezed her hand.

"Oh you do?" She raised an amused eyebrow.

"Yeah, I think I've seen all your movies." He was sure he had seen them all.

"Oh, so I have a fan?"

"Yeah, I guess you do." He laughed gracelessly and decided to complete. "I'm Mason."

"You play football, don't you? I was told that's what it was."

"Yeah, I play for Chelsea."

"I'm not very familiar with the sport, but you're one of the best players in the country, aren't you? It must be hard to deal with all that pressure."

"Yeah, it's complicated sometimes, but I love what I do…" Mason had to confess he was in heaven to have Y/N there with him and so interested in what he was saying, but that nervousness didn't seem to want to go away, and he seemed to prefer to look everywhere rather than look at her and do something silly. "Sorry… Do you want something? I swear I didn't finish like all the stock in the fridge."

Y/N laughed lightly noticing his nervousness and moved a few steps closer towards him and touching his shoulder which made Mason shudder.

"No need to get nervous in front of me, Mount, I usually treat my fans very well." She blinked with one of her eyes, and Mason arched his eyebrows.

Wait a minute, was that a flirtation? It had to have been a flirtation by the way Y/N said the last sentence, with a certain malice. But Mason didn't have time to find out because the make-up artist, Margot, entered the trailer, interrupting them.

They didn't have much more time to talk alone because in minutes they were being driven to the studio to start recording the show, but the glances they had exchanged since Y/N's last sentence had not gone unnoticed by Mason.

The interview went well, he and Y/N had already talked about almost everything involving their lives while the host alternated with jokes to lighten the mood. The one this time would be Mason, who would participate in a "Marry, kill or kiss?"

"So Mason, Gal Gadot, Scarlett Johansson and Y/N. Who do you marry, kill or kiss?" The host asked, and Mason looked at the audience. The idea was to make him look dull, but he didn't because he saw an opportunity there. He looked at Y/N who was sitting next to him. She raised an eyebrow at him, really interested in his answer.

"Hm, I think I marry Scarlett, kill Gal and kiss Y/N."

A chorus coming from the audience filled the room and Y/N looked slightly positively surprised.

At intermission, when they returned to the dressing room, Y/N asked the first thing she thought of:

"So, you would kiss me, but not marry me? Why?"

"Because kissing you is one thing I can do now." He winked, confidently, taking Y/N by surprise. She had expected to hear anything but that, but she smiled witlessly, so Mason realized that she had enjoyed it. She wanted him to flirt with her, and that was enough to make him put all nervousness aside. He knew he had to make the most of this opportunity.

Margot appeared to touch up his makeup, and soon they were back on the couch to restart the interview. Y/N felt that the second half was being different, Mason was different with her, he seemed more at ease, more playful, and she couldn't ignore the shivers she felt every time her hand accidentally brushed against some part of her skin.

What she didn't know was that everything Mason did was on purpose.

The interview must have been almost over when a blackout covered the entire studio, leaving almost everything dark except for the lights coming from the cell phone screens.

The director warned them that they were having a problem with the power outage, and the producer turned to the one of those still sitting side by side.

"Mason and Y/N is it okay if you guys hold on for a bit? It's a minor technical problem, and we are already fixing it."

"No problem" Y/N replied, staying a little longer than planned would not be a problem for his schedule.

"With Y/N's company, I can wait all day." He replied simply, and Y/N looked at him. Even in the dark, she could see the wink he directed at her.

"Okay what's this?" She asked, sitting up so that she was facing him. "Stop flirting with me."

"Why? Is it working?" He laughed, getting a little closer.

"You don't seem like the same shy guy from half an hour ago."

"I'm not shy, but I confess that meeting you made me nervous." He said low, just so she could hear. Mason ran his fingers up her arm, making circles on the bare part of her shoulder, and that time Y/N didn't know if she could concentrate on his words and the touch at the same time. "Because I have to admit, I've had a crush on you for a few years now."

"Oh yeah?" Y/N asked, licking her lips. She thought the nervous Mason was adorable, but the flirtatious Mason was thought-provoking and much more interesting. "I have to admit that I think you are very sexy, and I would also kiss you in 'Marry, Kill or Kiss'."

That was all the fuel Mason needed to put all shyness aside and follow Y/N. It was dark enough to sneak back into the trailer without anyone noticing.

He just waited for her to close the door tightly before pulling her around the waist and pinning her to the wall, his body keeping her from moving. He brought his mouth close to hers, trying first to feel her breath, and almost laughed at her anxiety.

In the dark, they kissed passionately, Mason's hands traversing Y/N's body as she gave herself over to the moment. The sound of their quickening breaths was the only thing audible as they crumpled together in the trailer.

The touch of their hands and the pressure of their bodies against each other were a mixture of sensations that left them breathless. They knew they couldn't stay there forever, but they wanted to enjoy every second of it while they could.

"Let me know if you want me to stop." Mason whispered as his hands moved down from her waist to her hips. When he squeezed her ass while distributing kisses on her neck, Y/N found herself unable to ask him to stop.

The return of the light was the only thing that could separate them, reluctantly, knowing that they had to get back to the studio before someone came for them. But the gleam in their eyes showed that the moment they shared would never be forgotten.

"So…" Mason began half-heartedly, but extremely pleased.

"Now you're going to have to give me a lot more than a kiss, Mount." She said before they went back into the studio to wrap up the Talk Show.

When they said their goodbyes, Y/N gave Mason a mischievous smile and told him to keep in touch. Mason left the interview feeling like he was on cloud nine. He knew he had just had the best day of his life and couldn't wait to see what the future held for him with Y/N.

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part Four

So these two slightly disturbed and (one of them at least) psychotic doves had to get married eventually ..

All feedback is welcome <3

English is not my first language 

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Warnings: Its finally smutty and its about Feyd, so....

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

FxM

3.212 words

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Your descent is quiet, as you are still unable to think or speak clearly, while Feyd Rautha seems tense and concentrated. With the ease he demonstrated on the ascent, you are sure that this has nothing to do with him facing physical challenges with the task at hand. You want to ask him about it but decide to stay silent instead, afraid to reveal more of yourself than you already have. He was promised a Bene Gesserit bride, and so far, you have behaved more uncontrolled and wanton than you ever could imagine.

The sun's rays bask your ancestors' home in a golden blanket as you enter through the gates again, where servants are already waiting for you. The exertion of today takes its toll on you, and your limbs feel heavy. Na Baron, graceful and still full of vigor as if he had done nothing but rest all day, turns to you, taking your hand in his firm grip. The touch of his lips on your knuckles sends an electric current through your core, filling the air between you with something akin to longing. "My Lady," his voice a low murmur, a force veiled in restraint, before he enters the corridors of the castle, shadowed by the servants.

Left to navigate the tumult of your own mind, you all but flee to the room where the chaos began for you, the guest library, as if the essence of the last evening's events might still be found among the scrolls and candles in it. The door gives way under your touch, revealing the Reverend Mother and Lady Jessica in the velvet-draped armchairs, their gazes piercing the flickering light. "Ah... I just wished to—" Your words faltered, and you felt like yet again you are on the precipice of stumbling into something you cannot undo.

A welcoming smile graces your mother's lips. "I knew you'd come to us," she says, the question of how lay unasked as you stepped into their world, closing the door on the shadows that trailed you. You are not even surprised and just let the question of how go unasked.

The Reverend Mother's voice, calm and unfazed by your confusion, carries the explanation, so clean and cutting that you are shocked by the directness of it. "The Reverend Mother Margot at the Emperor's court has failed. She has convinced the emperor that she will bear him the Kwisatz Haderach," her words with an icy undertone, mixed with disgust. "The Emperor fears the loss of power, the alliances of our houses a threat he cannot ignore. The presence of the Harkonnens here is no accident; it's a guarantee of our safety."

Dryness claims your throat as the implications of this take form in your mind. "Does Father know? Am I the last to be told?"

"Your father is aware. Na Baron remains in the dark, but neither he nor the Baron Vladimir is blind to the currents of politics. Paul suspects as much." It takes all your resolve not to fall at your mother's feet as if her embrace might save you from any harm coming her way and your unborn sisters' way.

"Yet, it was he who wished that Arrakis be governed by us. My marriage, arranged from birth—" you state, confusion still swirling around you like dust in the air.

"Indeed, child. But Margot Fenring's betrayal has set a new course, one that places you at the heart of the Emperor's plans. The future is yours and Paul's to create now. If his marriage to the Fremen Princess is successful and you ensure you can manage some of Feyd Rautha's more volatile tendencies," the Reverend Mother pauses, "then your bloodlines will take control of Landstrad without even trying, and CHOAM holds loyalty to the Duke of Arrakis, no matter what they proclaim otherwise."

In the following days, you keep coming back to the library, training with your mother and Reverend Mother as much as you can. Lady Jessica couldn't help but feel a sting of pride at your eagerness and concentration, pushing yourself to your limits. This left you exhausted and almost silent during dinners, keeping your interactions with the Baron to fleeting gazes. It felt like each sight of him frayed your strained mind a little bit more, with darkness creeping into the edges.

You are aware that Na Baron continues his daily training undeterred. You hear Gurney and Duncan whisper about it amongst each other. They seem impressed with his combat skills, something that you don’t see them being often. You tell yourself that after making yourself rare for the last few days, it's only polite to see your betrothed the day before your wedding. Arriving at his guest quarters, you knock, but no one answers. Guided by an urge you are too afraid to name, you press on the indentation on the door, and within a step, you are in his chambers. His attire is folded with immaculate precision along the shelves, his blades, gleaming, lay in a seated shelf. It feels so intimate to get a peek into his tiny world here, an exhilarating feeling rushes through your body.

„What are you doing here?“ 

A hissing, high pitched voice behind you startles you. You swirl around and look into black eyes of a woman, boys as Na Baron, dressed in leather overall, if those tiny scraps couldn’t be called clothing at all. Her eyes have to whites or pupils, but are just filled with back, making her seem like a wild animal. 

„Who are you“ You spit back at her.

„She is in Lots quartersssss… she will take him from ussssss“ Two other creatures appear from his bedroom, three of them looking together identically, The hair in your neck rises

„I am not the once to answer you. Now make space“ You take a step back, but the woman only come closer, his limbs moving slowly and in unnatural angels. 

„Dont thinksss soo. Why let you leave if we can kill you and have him to ourselfesssss“ and with it one of them lunges at you, her nails at your neck, her meta smelling breath on your face. You smack her away, but its three agains one and you feel a stream of blood running down your gown and arms, the pain searing. 

„Stop now“ within seconds you are free, crawling backwards and scrambling on get your feet 

„Who are you?“

The creatures only make cracking sounds in return. „Well then,“ you finally regain composure and try to ignore the drops of blood on your hands. „You can keep that to yourselves as a last thing you do.“ And just as you are about to use your voice on them again, Na Baron appears with sweat running along his cheek, this tunic clinging to his body, revealing the chilled muscles of his chest and abdomen. His gaze wanders between you and the women, between your blood on the floor and the blood on their claw-like nails.

„ I see you could not behave as I told you“ 

For a second you are enraged only to realize that he is not talking to you. „What did I say?“ His voice is pure fury. „We are so sorry, my Lord. She was here uninvited, she shouldn't“" So you decided to lay your hands on my future wife? On my betrothed?“ The women treble with each word „“Forgive us my lord“ the pleas, black tears running down their cheeks. „I forgive you“ he says, looking into their faces and with a low, wishing sound he releases the blade from its holster on his hip, slinking through their throats in one motion.

You stare at the scene before you, the pool of blood crawling to your feet. He steps right through it and gazes into your eyes. „No one will hurt you again, my Lady. No one will ever lay hands on what’s mine“ You only nod and let his kiss seal the promise. Whatever softness he has shown before is gone and is replaced by hunger and ferocity that leaves you breathless. He seems to devour you with his tongue and as you come for air there is wickedness in his features. „I think you should run now, my princess, for I am not sure how long I can hold back myself“ Your feet run on their own, leaving him laughing in the wake. So this is a glimpse of what his true nature is rumoured to be, You would be lying if you would say you are enamoured with him even more now. 

____

On the day of the wedding ceremony, you stay in your chambers. Duke Leto tries to protest as Paul comes to you, but his words fall on deaf ears. Only now do you begin to think of how many secrets had been whispered within those walls for centuries? Your handmaidens dress you, the gown is long and heavy with beads, mixing the vibrant green tones of Caladan, covered with floral patterns. As you move the beads sound almost like raindrops on cobblestones, a Melodie that carries you through the day. 

When it is time, your father leads you to the grand hall, where guests are gathered in the sea of candles. The light of the flickering flames is mirrored by your dress and you hope it can distract from the crimson creeping up into your face. Na Baron stands at the end of your walk and suddenly you feel the weight of the legacy you are carrying, how the cloth that is going to bind your hands together will bind the destiny of your families into one. His figure is dressed in a flowing black coat, that od closed at his shoulders with chrome insignia of his house. His waist is lacking the ear so he presents knifes. He is a presence of solemn elegance. When your eyes meet, a hunger flickers through his composure, but otherwise he aims almost motionless. His white skin almost glows in the light, his posture reminiscent of the pillars at the entrance of the hall. The words of the vows are spoken and with the knot at your wrist, all the whispers of the future materialize in front of you. You can feel the heat radiating from your husband's body, but he doesn’t take your hand and his expression is more guarded than you could ever give him credit for. A small disappointment rears its head, but you focus on your breathing. Your prance, the paragon of elegance and dignity, stand at your side, while Baron Vladimir and his nephew, both imposing in their own way, seem to scan you and your family still with a touch of confusion, as if they are still unsure if this is the inevitable turnout of e union, their leaves whispering in the gentle breeze, a melody of timelessness and change.

_____

The feast seem total stretch itself into an eternity, with each new dish brought forward, each cheer to the couple more grating to your ears than the other. Feyd Rautha seems to sense your absentmindedness as he touches your lower back, startling you. A laughter roars through the halls as he presses his lips hungrily on yours his tongue in your mouth and his grip on your back. You feel the eyes of the guests in you and cannot believe that this is actually something that is happening to you. Such a display of attraction is not something you are used to seeing and even less experiencing. When he finally lets you go, your face is red and flustered and with him leaving into your ear, your hands try to hold him at a distance.

„None of that now, dear Na Baroness“ his voice sweet and low, as sweet as the snakes gaze at the rabbit it is about to devour. „You are mine now, remember“. You tremble at him addressing you with your new title, another piece of the puzzle setting into the new reality you are facing. Two handmaidens appear at your side and you are gestured to leave the halls. The cheering gets even louder and from the corner of your eye, you say Jessica raising an eyebrow at the Duke, who try to remain graceful and stoic through the ordeal. 

Instead of your rooms, you are brought to the east wing. The chamber's candles mirror the grand hall, a subtle echo of their grandeur. The handmaidens leave out a nightgown for you, a whisper of black silk and lace and run a bath, fragrant with myrrh and pine. Hot water mist rises up from the basin, with tiny droplets lingering on your hair and gown. Just as one of the girls begins to untie the intricate laces of your corset on your back, Feyd Ruth’s voice fills the room.

„What do you think you are doing?“ 

„We are..“ The girl, clearly afraid bows down and tries to explain herself.

„You are leaving“ he declares and they follow the command at once. 

You stay frozen on the spot, the small sounds of the dress beads on the floor retrying your shiver. 

He is right behind you, the fabric of his cloak mixing on the floor with yours. His breath is on your neck, intensifying the shivers, which are now infused with anticipation. 

His hands resume the handmaiden's works, unrevealing the masterfully woven ties until your back is exposed to him, your dress holding on to the sure edges of your shoulders. He lets his nails glide along your spine, leaving tiny red lines on your sensitive skin. When his fingers leave your skin you feel a twinge of disappointment, but within a glimpse of a second, they return to push down the dress, as it now gathers on your hips, being held in place by the last pieces of the laces. You feel exposed and try your best to to ver up, as he circles you, with the precision of a vulture hunting down its prey. Whatever restrain he had it seems to fade by a second. His Tonge flicks his lips, as he places one hand on your neck and disposes of the rest of the dress with the other. You are standing now bare infant of him, unable to log away, as his left palm holds your face in a position facing him. His right hand disappears uncerismonuoisly between your thighs, and brushing over your sensitive sport, circling your entrance. „ I am pleased to find you so welcoming“ he smirks, feeling the wetness of your folds. You try to say something in return, but your mind is wiped clean, when his lips are at your neck, sucking at the skin around your collarbones and leaving bruises in their wake while his other hand is still at your core. 

He thought about this moment since your first kiss, letting all kinds of scenarios wander before his eyes. The Imagery of you bound to his bed, on your knees in-front of him, your hands behind your back and his hand in your hair. But for now, none of them seem enough to brand you as his. Your readiness however thinly veiled spurs him on and when he is satisfied with the chain of marks on your neck, he continues with your breasts, sucking and biting, which each whine you can hold back making him even more ferocious, The moonlight mixes with the candles, letting you appear like an ethereal creature, with soft curves and redness to the bitten spots, something divine and foreign to him. When your hands find his shoulders, still fully clothed, his voice is full of mischievous glee, like a spider that sensed something juicy got caught in the net. 

„ I don’t remember allowing that, my Lady. But it's your first transgression, so see it as a chance to learn.“ 

A glimmer of fear finds its way into your mind, the memory of his hand cutting a human throat quite fresh on your mind.

„Now be a good girl and turn to the wall. You obey, feeling the relief of the tapestry pressing into your skin, a friction so irritating and delicious you almost cannot stay still. 

„You are only getting 5 blows, but you are going to count them loud for my, my Na Baroness“ You sense how eager he is and brace yourself. Yet the pain is so searing on your bottom, ah his hands land flat on it, leaving a screaming red mark immediately that your legs tremble.

“It seems you didn’t count this one, so we have to start again“ Another blow on your butt cheeks lands with an intensity you didn’t expect.

„One..“ You manage to press between your teeth.

„Now that's better“ He almost purrs, a cat satisfied with its cats.

By the time the last blow lands, your are a mess of pain and desire.

You lay on the bed, your mind and body in a haze of desire and angst, as his clothes are disappearing on the floor. Your eyes wander dawn from his abdomen to his groin, where an unmistakable proof of his desire is covered in precum. He notices your reaction. 

„It seems like you are ready for me, but you have to prove it to me yet“. He gestures you to get on all fours, your face to him. His thumb runs along your already swollen lips, and he nudges then apart. He fills your mouth, while clawing at your har, and when you look up to him, the blue in his eye is almost gone. His thrust are hard and fast, a gagging sounds that seem to please him and just as he settles into a ferocious rhythm. But just as you think his peak is nearly there, he stops and you see how a human in him disappeared and a relentless beast has emerged. He scoops you up and oxeye you are place with your back on the silken sheets, he aligns himself with your entrance.

„All mine“ he growls and enters you in one motion. As much as you anticipated this moment, you feel utterly unprepared by being filled out like this. He doesn’t pause and takes up the pace from before. You close your eyes and another orgasm makes you scream his name like a drowning person screaming for help. His Whole body is towering over you, a marble statue that came alive. The veins on his forearms becoming more prominent, his breathing ragged and shallow. To see him unravel spurs you on even further and your nails find his shoulders and back again, gliding down to his butt, revealing red stripes on the marble in their wake.You feel your whole being clinging onto him and his own peak follows closely. You feel his warmth filling you, his last pumps weakening, as hi almost collapses onto you. None of you is able to speak. There is a tiny trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades and along cheek bon, With an inexplicable urgency you flick out your tongue and lick it up from his face. With some of the icy flu of his eyes returning, he regards you with a satisfied smirk. „Please rest assured, that I am not done with you yet, my lady“. 

___

@moonsoulk @aoi-targaryen

[psycheetamore]

Feyd's humanness

Summary: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen craves pain and humiliation. A headcanon on what happened during the gom jabbar test of Feyd-Rautha. What occurred between the young lord and Margot. 100% Feyd PoV.

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, non-con/rape, pain, self-harm, angst, power imbalance, breeding, humiliation, a weird form of praise, head-canon, no beta – we die like duke leto, the author regrets nothing

Word count: 2.6k

The young na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen found himself in the guest-quarters in Giedi Prime's palace with lady Margot Fenring, wife of count Hasimir Fenring. He was not sure why he was there. He could not remember how he got there. Somehow, he did not even fully grasp where he was, despite the recognisable ambiance of his own palace – dark, overpowering and sterile, yet weirdly organic.

But it did not matter.

Before him sat a beautiful woman on a bed. Golden hair, perfectly curved, clearly craving him. It could be nothing else than the birthday gift he had desired, ever since he tried to offer her to make a kill in her name – an offer she had refused bluntly. He had felt rejected, angry even. He had never been rejected before. To be humiliated like this, even if it was done in front of her husband. It did not sit well with him. But here she was, making it up to him. Perhaps he could be convinced to forgive her.

She whispered him to kneel. His resolution to take the upper hand and explain to her how he saw them together melting as snow in the sun. Something he all too happily obliged to. He felt there was a lot this woman could order him to do. Specimens like herself were not abundantly available at this planet. Somehow, despite the denial she threw at him, his desire to wed her only grew stronger.

Lowered to her eye level, he made his move. Slowly moving towards her, anticipating for her lips to open to receive him. He would savour every moment of this. He would convince her to become his na-Baronness. From the first moment he had laid his eyes on her, he knew she was special. There was something about her. Both mysterious and familiar. As if he had met her in a previous life.

Just as his lips were to land on hers, she ordered him to place his hand in a box. He was taken aback, but he was not willing to show it. Distracted, wanting to win over her favours, he did not question this task. Looking up at her again, she warned him not to remove his hand unless he wanted to die like an animal through the gom jabbar. A jolt of excitement ran through his body, always open for a challenge. Nobody could challenge him, overpower him, best him. Just hours ago, he had proven his prowess. He did not fear any man, or woman, apart from his uncle. It would not be any different now.

Unknown to the young lord, that was about to change.

She did not explain him what would happen. He did not know what to expect. His mind was still desiring to explore her, uncover her, taste her, make her his. This could be nothing else than a prelude. As he allowed his free hand to touch her foot, work its way up her ankle, calf and knee, it arrived at her thigh when the first bolt of pain hit his hand.

Unexpected, but he would not flinch. He would not allow her to see any reaction of what he was experiencing. Although, if the room would not have been so scarcely lit, she could have seen his groin involuntarily growing. She was testing him. It could not be anything else than a test to see if he was worthy of her. And he would pass this test. Better even, he would destroy this test with ease. If anyone in the universe was capable of dealing with pain, it was him. Not only could he withstand pain, he thrived on it. It had become part of his life.

His left hand continued to feel her upper leg, as the flinches of pain had turned into a continuous pain, with ever increasing intensity.

Clenching his jaw, he would not succumb. Heat started to overcome him. A first trickle of sweat dripped from his back. Tilting his face to move his gaze from her core that he so hard had tried to look at, as if clothing would magically disappear and unveil her folds, in order to have his eyes land on her face. But he no longer saw desire on her face, as it was replaced with smugness laced with disgust.

Despite all his intent, his available hand no longer moved; the pain had reached a level that it started to consume his brainpower.

He had been there before.

Pain so all-encompassing that he could no longer think.

He had been there too often.

A pain that engrained all his tissue to such an extent, that his mind would not block hidden notions of old thoughts and visions any longer.

He had brought himself there before to try to erase the memories of the vile hands of his uncle. Inflicting pain upon himself, in order to reset his mind.

Physical suffering that removed him from the present, yet also removed all filters.

It had always allowed him to see things. Flashes. Recollections of events that he had never experienced. Notions that competed for place in his head with the recollections of the Baron’s urges. It helped him survive, stay sane.

The pain he was enduring now turned into something he had never experienced before. As if his hand was being licked by flames after being flayed and coated in salt. A hand of which all its bones had been battered broken. A heat that started to radiate beyond the box his hand was in. It started to eat his entire arm. Feyd-Rautha accepted the pain. He succumbed to it. He would be able to let it pass, knowing how pain helped him heal, despite it being of a magnitude he had never faced before.

He froze as his unconsciousness took over. The moment he was waiting for.

The increase of pain to unprecedented levels allowed him to see more than he had ever seen before. Before him two potential paths opened. Battered on the ground, bleeding to death as Paul Atreides stepped over him to claim the hand of the princess. He knew he would be remembered for eternity for this final battle. He also so an alternative future. Hidden in Giedi Prime. Growing old, tired. Safe. Hiding in the warm laps of young women, he bowed his head to a master. He was reduced to nothing more than a slave to the whims of the same man.

As all feelings in his hand suddenly disappeared, he could come out of his state of freeze, causing his back to hit the ground. He knew he needed to decide. He would live on for eternity in history books and the minds of future generations, or he would grow old and be forgotten.

Laying on the ground he did not reach for his hand. He somehow knew it was still there, unflayed, unbattered, unburned. He longed to see more; that was more important than to take any actions that could break the path of visions.

But the endurance of pain was long from over. He would not need to fear of leaving that path, which he did not yet know.

As the agony subdued, and he regained control over his body, he was ordered to kneel again. Still tired from the sudden violence, heavily breathing, he shakenly submitted again, to find the woman he had coveted sitting on the side of the bed. She looked at him, meaningful, pursing her lips. He knew what to do without any further instructions. He moved himself closer to the side of the bed, as he reached out to her. Both his hands slit back to her thighs, dragging her coverings all along the length of her legs. It should not have surprised him that he found no further boundaries blocking his view towards her moist core. Pushing her legs apart, he buried his face inside her folds. A little oasis from the hurt that had just overcome him. A place where he could replenish his fluids. He knew his mind would not be allowed any rest this evening.

Her hands caressed his head, softly touching him, pushing him towards her. Allowing his tongue to reach deeper while spreading her legs wider. Making it more difficult for him to breath, while he needed fresh air so desperately. She kept him in this position until she had reached her peak. Soft moans and sweet liquids started to excrete from her, while she gently spoke to him. “I know you want to be loved. Desired. Cherished. Honoured. Recognised. Remembered. Show me whether you deserve that” as she fell to her back, inviting him to join her on bed.

As he crawled on the bed, ready to mount and take her, she pushed him on his back with surprising strength. Although it was his day, it was her night. He smirked. She had yet to deter his interest in her; everything she had done only increased his need for her.

He was wondering when he would propose her to stay here with him. Before or after he would come. He considered where he would come. How long he would last. She had made him work for her favours more than any other woman had done before. He thought about whether he should allow her to come again, or whether she had waived her right to that following the public humiliation. Only to be able to earn the right again at later moments. Moments that would surely come, as there was not a chance she would be leaving him; his proposal would be accepted, whether in desire or in force.

Having placed him on his back, she sat on her knees at his side, looking at him for a moment. His hand had already started to touch her bottoms, moving her dress up over her hips. She was warm and soft, curves gracing her frame. With her hand flowing over his covered chest, he could almost see the air vibrate as she used the Voice on him to paralyse him. Shot of adrenaline ran through his body, but to no avail. He was now truly at her mercy.

She started to speak, as she hovered above him, unpacking him with the least amount of interest possible, equal to a piece of food. “I don’t know why I am here, with you. Yes, you are beautiful, with your untainted skin. Something I assume is the result of all the attentions of your uncle.”

It startled him. Nobody should have known about that. He had made sure of that, with great attention to detail.

“Yes, I know. I know what Vladimir does. I know how his hands roam your body. How he keeps your skin free from scars” as her hands followed the exact paths his uncle’s would follow.

It was as if she was sticking needles under his nails. Something Feyd-Rautha had done in the past. Recognising his uncle would punish him for inflicting pain to his body in a way that affected his skin, he had found many other ways to relief himself from the physiological pain through physical pain.

“His degenerate affection is the only reason why you stand where you are today.” It was as if she was punching the air from his lunges, yet he could not breath any deeper than he had been doing. “You have done nothing to earn your title, the so-called honours that were bestowed on you today. Fighting drugged up and ill-kept slaves.” She grabbed his chin, tilting it up uncomfortably high: “I see in your eyes that you know I am speaking the truth. You are only here because Vladimir likes your body. If your brother would have been any prettier, you would not even be on this planet. You would have been slayed alongside your parents.”

With flames shooting from her eyes, he felt himself slip away again. His uncle. He saw his uncle in his new visions. His uncle uncapable to move beneath Reverend Mother Mohiam. All too similar to his own predicament. He saw a child being born. A girl.

The na-Baron hardly registered how Margot straddled him and pushed him inside her. His mind had left to venture to bygone times.

A girl growing up. Birthing another child, another girl.

As his vision gradually subdued, his altitude decreased to the present time, increasingly feeling how she was clenching around him.

A slap in the face was everything he needed to land. She sneered: “your only purpose in life is to reproduce. You serve no other role in this universe. That is your only legacy within this realm.”

It again hit his core. His desire to be able to have a forming role in the universe. To make a name for himself. It differed day and night from the projections of his uncle earlier today, who had promised him the throne of an emperor. If he had no function, no role, what was his reason to live? Why would he continue to live and push himself through all the hardships? His ambition was the only thing that managed to keep him going forward.

She spoke, now with her honeyed voice, as she felt his chest moving rapidly, while he lay under her helplessly succumbing to her movements: “such a handsome specimen. I am fortunate to have been paired with you.” Breathing in, taking the sight in again, she continued: “do you know why I am here? Surely you have an idea by now. Even if it is not your wit that brought you here, you will be smart enough to have deduced it by now.”

He could not answer, which she knew. Yet, she raised the question. “I will take a child from you tonight.” She looked at him as if she could read his mind. “I will raise it, her to be precise, as a child born in wedlock between me and Hasimir. I will never tell anyone who her true father is. You will never be able to change anything about that. You do not have what it takes to protect, seeing how you cannot even get away from under me.”

A tear trickled down one of his eyes, being so helpless. So defenceless. Reduced to less than what the Baron has reduced him to as a child. His heart burned away, causing him to fall into new visions. The girl from his previous hallucination. Dark flowing hair, a youthful face, piercing blue eyes. She was his, a baroness. Her belly swollen with his seed. In the shades of the court he saw her mother, the daughter of his uncle. Fire spit from her eyes, as a gulf of flames tilted everything before his eyes. His baroness slowly transformed into a man. The same man he had seen earlier, Paul, no longer with child but with dagger. The mother, lady Jessica he now recognised, laughing devilishly, hovering over him in disdain as he lay bleeding on the floor.

All control over his body was in the hands of Margot. Everything. Including the decision to spill himself inside of her, giving her what she wanted. All his determination, she stripped him from it.

“I will call her Marie.” As she softly kissed his lips, she continued: “you have served your purpose well, Feyd-Rautha. Although your daughter will never learn from me who her father is, I will recognise you. I will remember you. Forever.” A kiss on his forehead, followed by a whisper “uroshnor”, causing his muscles to go flaccid for a last time that night.

+++

Post notes: Achilles, that is how I see my man. Both never stood a chance to overcome destiny.

Also posted on AO3.