#montrachet

[contremineur]

Alvina Pernot, vigneronne in Puligny-Montrachet

from here

[asgoodeasgold]

Who needs words when you have hands. Matthew Goode being his zestful, exuberant and adorable self on The Wine Show. Happy weekend everyone❣️ 📷 The Wine Show s1:06 my edits

And here is the same portrait with a different background, just for the fun of it.

[enibas22]

from IG mxtchantcho - 13th December 2022

Tom Wlaschiha and I ready for the masquerade ball, where anything goes. #dangerousliaisons on @lionsgateplusuk 😉

[menubot]

Welcome to 1968! Why not enjoy some Chassagne Montrachet (Charles Deroy) 1961 at St. James Restaurant Ltd? http://menus.nypl.org/menus/26373

[irontrashglitter]

my sleep paralysis demon is pascal de valmont seducing the wrong woman by mistake

[liminal-zone]

holy shit, that is niccolò capponi (who owns the Palazzo Capponi featured in both the book and film Hannibal)

Vera Dal 1926

Vera Dal 1926 is a fine foods store that Bedelia tends to visit throughout Antipasto. Each time she says the same thing: “Due bottiglie di Bâtard-Montrachet e li tartufibianchi, per favore.”

The name of the store - “Vera Dal 1926” - means “Real Since 1926.” What she orders translates to: “Two bottles of Bâtard-Montrachet (a wine) and white truffles, please.” x

Vera Dal 1926 is first mentioned in Hannibal Chapter 25. It is a fine food store in Florence that Hannibal Lecter frequents under the guise of Dr. Roman Fell. Batard-Montrachet is first mentioned in Hannibal Chapter 42 as a wine that Hannibal Lecter is prone to consistently buying. Especially from Vera Dal 1926 with some tartufibianchi - which are simply white truffles. Clarice Starling notes this after acquiring his receipts from his time-spent in Florence.

In Hannibal book: “Here were Dr Lecter’s personal papers from the Palazzo Capponi. A few notes on Dante in his familiar handwriting, a note to the cleaning lady, a receipt from the Florentine fine grocer Vera dal 1926 for two bottles of Bâtard-Montrachet and some tartufibianchi.” Which is what Bedelia asks for–in Italian, no less–at the counter.

[owochimuwu]

Currently my online shop is selling:

- entirely undiluted versions of exfoliating acids

- the Substance

- homunculi seeded with Russian youtuber sperm

- weed cartridges with Vitamin E

- weed cartridges with added carcinogens

- home injection Botox kits for people's wrinkly dogs

- weed cartridges with no carcinogens, 97% THC

- a very good vintage of Bâtard-Montrachet

- jojoba oil

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Mrs. Fell (Smut)

Summary: you've been living with Hannibal in Florence under the identity of Mrs. Fell. Although you missed Will dearly, the energy between the psychiatrist and you begin to unfold in different — and intriguing — paths.

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x reader, Will Graham x reader (mentioned)

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence and, obviously, sex. 

English is not my first language, if you see any mistake, let me know!

Word Count: 2280

You jolted upwards on your bed, sweat soaking the silk linens and the black nightgown you wore.

Another nightmare. They were becoming quite common these days. 

You sighed, allowing your body to lie back down, the mattress springs squeaking annoyingly. With unnecessary roughness, you covered your mouth with your hand, trying to suppress your hopeless cries so they wouldn't wake Hannibal up. Even though he was in another room, the walls had ears. You knew he would hear you somehow. He always did. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. God, how you missed Will. His touch and soft voice would be exactly what you needed to soothe you, his words of assurance guaranteeing you everything was alright and nothing would harm you, for he wouldn't allow it. 

But things ended up slipping out of his control, didn't they? You weren't with him anymore, under his golden protection. You were with Hannibal Lecter in a fancy house in Florence, Italy. Being held hostage, as much as he would disagree. Kept as a pet, an amusement. A consolation prize. Spoils of war. 

Without your control, your mind spiralled to the night Hannibal took you as advantage in his escape, disembowelling Will cowardly and threatening to kill him if you wouldn't come with him. His last fraction of torture, you remember thinking to yourself while you both rode the motorcycle under those heavy drops of rain that washed all your tears away.

You also remembered how kindly he wiped your tears without saying a word, for he knew nothing he would say would be enough. You were in that position because of him, after all. You had begged him to let you stay, to talk to Will, but he wouldn't have none of it. The flight to Italy was bittersweet, since you had never flown before, the sky being ignorantly astonishing to your pain. 

You still felt the ghost of Will's bloodied kiss before you left him. His breathless sobs still echoed in your ears, clenching your heart painfully. You never were religious, but you remember praying he would survive the wound, so you could be reunited again and forget all about the goddamn FBI, Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter. 

You both could live in a small cottage by the sea, fish, swim and sail all day long, raise a few babies of your own. Little boys and girls with dark hair and y/e/c eyes running around the beach, laughing joyfully with nothing to worry about. 

That reality seemed distant, however, at least at the moment. You would linger in the shadows of Lydia Fell, your new identity, until it was safe enough to come to light again.

Time travelled fast while you pretended to be the wife of the renowned Dr. Fell. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and you could feel the energy between you and Hannibal shift mysteriously. It was surprisingly easy to be Mrs. Fell, attending to parties, little soirees vanity allowed Hannibal to arrange. He would pamper you with pretty dresses, fancy food and barbiturates, making days easier to endure, afternoons fun and evenings interesting, filled with culture and knowledge you never got tired of soaking like a sponge. Whenever the memory of Will became too unbearable, you would pop a pill and drink a glass of Bâtard-Montrachet, dancing to old elegant tunes; your head feeling hazy and heavy until you finally gave up and went to bed. 

His bed, after a while. It was more convenient to pretend integrally to be Mrs. Fell. It wasn't so bad, after all, you hated sleeping all alone. Hannibal's presence made you feel safer, and he was ever most respectful towards you. It didn't take long for you to realize the longing stare to his hands when he cooked, or the way his back flexed when he sliced something thick. Started as innocent glances; until you finally acknowledged the lust rising at the bottom of your abdomen with the silliest of things, like when he played the piano, or talked about the paintings and sculptures of the house you were both staying in. 

You couldn't deny how appealing the man was, with his charms, intelligence and sophistication. How easy it was for him to entangle Will and you into his web of lies and sadistic games. You were a mere fly, trapped, waiting — and sometimes even longing — to be devoured.

"Hair up or down?" You inquired with a sly smile, grabbing a fist of your hair and pulling it up while you looked at the mirror, watching Hannibal fix his cufflinks. He directed his attention to you and your exposed neck, and you noticed how his eyes darkened, making your insides twist. 

In silence, he walked towards you, lowering the straps of your red dress a little bit to expose your shoulders, pulling out of his pocket a beautiful golden necklace with rubies the size of berries. You choked a gasp, covering your mouth while he tied the astonishing piece around your neck, allowing his fingers to gently caress the skin.

"Up. It will bring out your eyes even more with the necklace. Allow me." He took a few bobby pins and started to work on your hair with surprising skill, letting a few strands loose to shape your face perfectly. 

"Is there anything you don't know how to do?" You teased, chuckling slightly while you stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful, and at the same time an entire different person. 

"Yes." His eyes lingered on you with a subtle glow that didn't last long. "You're wearing the perfume I gave you."

"I am."

"It suits you."

"In what way, Hannibal?" You turned to face him with a capricious move, eying him from below. 

"It's elegant and discreet, yes. However, it possesses a hidden flame that only the most skilled men are able to capture."

"And you're one of those men, I suppose."

"Would you say so, Y/n?" 

You hesitated, chewing your lip with anticipation. 

"That was very psychiatrist of you, Dr. Lecter. Directing the thought to me."

"Old habits never die, I suppose. You are avoiding the question, Y/n." He stepped closer, lifting your chin with his index, caressing it with his thumb. "Would you say so?"

You licked your lips and he followed the movement with his eyes.

"Hannibal… I'm Will's. My heart will always belong to him." You tried to push away his hand but he held your chin harder, keeping you in place.

"I've given you every single opportunity to flee over the past few months, Y/n. And yet, you remain here with me. You should face the inevitable" he knelt in front of you, his hands traveling through your thighs, lifting your dress. "You enjoy being Mrs. Lecter more than you would like to acknowledge."

You sighed, allowing your head to drop back, longing to be touched. 

"Mrs. Fell." You corrected, eyes closed. "I am Mrs. Fell."

He lifted one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder while lifting your dress up, a guttural moan escaping his throat once he realized you were bare under it. The soft touch of his tongue in your core was enough to drive you mad, grabbing his locks while he delighted himself with your taste. You whimpered, moaning his name under your breath, biting your lip so hard you felt your front teeth penetrate the flesh, the copper taste of blood invading your tongue. 

Hannibal could smell it, lifting his eyes quickly like a predator, rising only to lick the small trickle that stained your chin. You were surprised with how much that aroused you; he hesitated, staring at your mouth with hungry eyes, and you wondered if he was asking for permission. You granted it with pulling him closer, kissing him with passion, tasting more parts of yourself on his tongue that you could fathom. He held you by your ass, lifting you up with ease while you wrapped your legs around his hips without breaking the kiss. You felt the soft touch of the mattress against your back and the silk linens, focusing on how good Hannibal's hands felt as they explored your body, rough and experienced touches that certainly would leave a few bruises tomorrow. 

He got slightly impatient, then, ripping your dress and exposing your breasts, your nipples hard with the stimulation. You gasped with the abrupt move, raising your arms to cover yourself instinctively, but he held your hands against the mattress with no avail. 

"I liked that dress!" You protested, trying to hide how nervous you were, the feeling of doing something wrong spreading adrenaline over your entire being. 

"Perhaps I should buy you another one, then" Hannibal said while starting to undress, throwing his vests on the ground. "I have the feeling you were never touched the way you truly desire, Y/n."

That single line caused you to paralyze like a doe on headlights, your wide eyes staring at him with disbelief. He was right; you hadn't been with many men in your life, and the longest relationship you had was with Will. He was never too much interested in sex, though, and on the times you actually did it, he touched you like one would handle a fine china. With care and tenderness, as if he feared to break you. It wasn't bad at all, he made love to you every single time, always so intense and intimate that you felt like you would break in tears sometimes. 

Hannibal was right. You were never fucked properly because you never had been with a man who cared about your true desires. Moreover, it wasn't Will's fault that you never showed him your dark inclinations, he had a twisted view of perfection when it came to you. The only light in his life, the only unchangeable good. Being held in that place was exhausting and you had never realized how full of it you were until Hannibal's statement. 

"Tell me what you want, Y/n." He commanded. You blinked away images of Will to the bottom of your conscience, embracing your desire and acting on it.

"I want you inside me," you pleaded, using your elbows to support you while you stared at his remarkable body. "Take me, Hannibal."

A convinced smirk illustrated his lips, his pupils so dilated his eyes were completely black. He crawled over you, nibbling on your neck and earlobe while his hips nested on yours, fitting in perfectly as if you both were built to the purpose by gods. He entered you without a warning, causing you to sink your nails into the skin of his back. He sighed, the feeling of your walls clenching to accommodate him being too good to be true. You spread your legs, allowing him to reach deeper, a state of bliss pouring over you. It was wrong, but it felt so right. You moved your hips in perfect synchrony, one of his hands grabbing your neck, keeping you in place without actually hurting. He used his thumb to caress your bottom lip and you took the opportunity to suck on his finger, the salty taste tickling the tip of your tongue. 

That caused him to fasten his movements without care, a light ache joining your pleasure. The wet sound of his thrusts, your moans and his groans echoed through the bedroom like an unholy symphony, the scent of sex and sweat starting to fill the air. The tip of his cock touched a critical point inside you repeatedly, and you could feel the tension start to build up at the bottom of your abdomen, arching your back while he grabbed your hair, pulling your head to the side to sink his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, near your collarbone. That sent sparks along your spine, and you sucked the air through your teeth, your nails descending the skin of his back and drawing blood. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you felt pleasure wash over you, release becoming almost unbearable. It was as if Hannibal knew all your buttons, where to touch you, exactly what to do to bring you to the edge of the abyss. And you jumped without hesitation, his breath fastening till a moan escaped his lips and he filled you with his cum, his body trembling in silent ecstasy. 

He didn't leave you right away, enjoying the warm and wet feeling of your cunt for a few more moments before he finally pulled out, trying to stabilize his breathing. You stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes and ajar lips, feeling his cum dripping out of you. Without a word, Hannibal picked you up in his arms with a surprising tenderness, taking you to the bathroom and preparing a hot bath. 

Ah, Will. Forgive me. What have I done? Was the thought that echoed in your mind repeatedly, realization towering over you with an iced shadow. You tried to catch a glimpse of the sun under months of a lonely dark night, but ended up being severely burned. As Icarus flew too close and had his wings melted, you fell to your doom, beyond salvation, beyond forgiveness. You were stained for life; Will would never look at you the same way. 

"Y/n." Hannibal stared at you with his chocolate irises, proceeding to wash your hair, removing the bobby pins himself had placed over your locks earlier. You felt weirdly numb, dissociative, like your body wasn't your own anymore. 

"Lydia" you corrected in a tired whisper, a demented little smile playing in your lips. "My name is Lydia Fell."

[tonystark-official]

Would you happen to have any wine recommendations?

I've seen to have grown too used to mine, unfortunately.

~ @drstrangeofficial

This has been sitting in my inbox for far too long. Oops.

I quite enjoy Burgundies. If it's an option, I will always pick it. I have an aged "Chapelle de Blagney Puligney-Montrachet Premier Cru" (Semi-dry. Plus, you're not allergic to almonds, are you?) if you would like to stop by and have a few drinks. If you like it, you can take it home. I can always buy more.

[xeniums]

“due bottiglie di Bâtard-Montrachet e li tartufi bianchi, per favore” is my morning wish of the day

[avispatr]

" Cajun shrimp pasta, crab cakes, smoked salmon, olive spread with pita and fresh hummus, grape leaves, a bowl of greek olives stuffed with garlic, oysters, lobster, king crab, spicy tuna salad, with a greek salad with olive oil feta cheese and red wine vinegar all served with a whole bottle of Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru."

[enibas22]

from IG  hanne_twfan 🌷 - 27th November 2022 

source for the screencap: IG story Tom Wlaschiha from the same day

Tom Wlaschiha and Carice van Houten in the series "Dangerous Liaisons" as Henri de Montrachet and Jacqueline de Montrachet.

[salemsbane]

@ladiesandwitches, lilia: I think i'll take my whiskey neat . accepting.

FINE BROWS RAISE TO AN ARCH TOWARD HAIRLINE, SOMETHING BETWEEN INTRIGUE AND AMUSEMENT MAKING ITS WAY TO THE CURVE OF HER LIPS. “ i didn't realize you were such an ... appreciator, ” agatha muses, but with a lazy flick of her hand the glass before the divination witch fills with the amber hued liquid. head tips slightly to the side, index idly flicking away white streak of hair before fingers curl around the rim of her glass of white ― a thoughtless tap 'pon the glass, here and there. she watches lilia still, like there is a puzzle to be pieced together in the woman. “ if you're expecting me to follow the lines and ask what's troubling you, hard pass. ” vocals lilt dryly, lifting montrachet to her lips. but oh, if she isn't curious. tongue passes over the back of her teeth, not even a full moment extending between them before she caves. “ getting all fuzzy again? or tired? ”

[alfaangel]

"A table setting from the home of Dr Hannibal Lecter. The silverware is 19th-century Dutch from Christofle. The plate is Gien French china from Tiffany. The table linen is damask cotton. Also from Christofle. -You've got to hand it to the man, he has the most marvellous taste... I've discovered a pattern of purchases. An echo of the life he lived in Baltimore. -He likes music, he likes wine, he likes food and he likes you. How do you taste, Dr Bloom? Sweet, I bet. I'm sure you got a taste of him, too. Spitters are quitters, and you don't strike me as a quitter. The first step in the development of taste is to be willing to credit your own opinion. But in the areas of food and wine, I have to follow Hannibal's precedents. A receipt from a Florentine fine grocer, Vera Dal 1926, for two bottles of Bâtard Montrachet and some tartufi bianchi. And another, and another, and another. Once a week, for the last three months, a blonde woman has been making the exact same purchase. And she always pays cash.' She's shopping for Hannibal. Bravo."

[titleleaf]

On the flipside, fascinated by Will Graham’s car and all it signifies about him:

There’s a very different vibe between these vehicles even setting aside price point -- even the difference in reviews, where you're seeing stuff like "comfortable", "dependable", people talking about how good it is for doing your own repairs or for helping your friends move. Will is fully comfortable transporting stray dogs in this thing, he's using it to commute some ungodly distances so it's not a total beater, but he's not particularly interested in turning heads or in owning something that's fun to drive. I would wager Will's not this car's first owner and that he does most of his own maintenance, while Hannibal 1000% pays someone else very well to do that shit for him.

Overall show!Will's Volvo always reminds me of book!Will's real ambivalence around the Leeds' well-to-do acquisitiveness in Red Dragon.

Graham pursued Charles Leeds through the house. His hunting prints hung in the den. His set of the Great Books were all in a row. Sewanee annuals. H. Allen Smith and Perelman and Max Shulman on the bookshelves. Vonnegut and Evelyn Waugh. C. S. Forrester's Beat to Quarters was open on a table. In the den closet a good skeet gun, a Nikon camera, a Bolex Super Eight movie camera and projector. Graham, who owned almost nothing except basic fishing equipment, a third-hand Volkswagen, and two cases of Montrachet, felt a mild animosity toward the adult toys and wondered why. Who was Leeds? A successful tax attorney, a Sewanee footballer, a rangy man who liked to laugh, a man who got up and fought with his throat cut.