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randomgurl2326 · 7 months ago

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the love of a blackwood is meant only for a bracken

benjicot blackwood x fem!bracken!reader

warnings: angst at the beginning, major fluff, overall happiness

summary: the love of a bracken is meant only for a blackwood part 2

the wound of heartbreak still fresh in your heart as you lay in the pillowy mattress of your bed. you haven’t left in days. aeron not having come to see you, your father refusing to look at you, cousins having shunned you; the only ones to see you in two weeks were your handmaidens. even then only speaking when absolutely necessary.

your eyes have dried of tears but your eyes still sting at the thought of your past lover. the rift only growing everyday as the blackwood boy’s raven being ignored as sent back each day as it comes.

a hesitant knock sounds through your chambers. you turn over at the noise “go away.” you sniffled as you heard a sigh. aeron speaks to you through the door “y/n… listen, I’m sorry. but you have to understand-“

at the sound of aeron’s voice you’re quick out of bed and open the door. the splotches of red on your face haven’t dimmed in days, your eyes sad and full of lost love. “what, aeron? what do I have to understand?” exasperation clear in your voice as it croaks out the words. he looks down at you with guilt in his eyes. you can still see the remnants of bruises that benjicot left in your honor “you know the history, y/n. after everything we’ve told you, you still go behind our house’s back”

“do you even understand the feud in between our families. do you even know what our family did to the balckwoods? do you?” tears are no longer able to sting your eyes with how much you have cried in the past weeks.

aeron’s sad eyes look into yours as he speaks “sister, I didn’t come here to fight. father wants to see you, says he needs to speak about something important with you.”

your heart rate rises as he says those words, worry quickly befalling you “do-do you know what he needs to speak to me about?”

“you know as much as I. but I could only think—“ I nod “the blackwoods” aeron nods and turn to leave. you grab his shoulder before he’s out of reach “I never meant to hurt you when it happened. you know that, right?”

“I know, sister. I-i overreacted, I know that. you’re my sister. I protect you. you know that.” his words calm your heart and smile for the first time in weeks. the smile sending too many words in a small action. the bracken boy smiles back at you and pats your shoulder “you should probably get dressed. father’a expecting you soon.”

with those last words he leaves and sends your handmaidens in. the girls raid your closet as you turn at your door. “my lady, are you alright?” the sweet girl named stellane. “of course, stellane. let’s get me dressed, shall we?” as she brings out yellow and brown dresses for you to choose from you smile as you realize your brother has forgiven you.

once stellane is finished dressing you you head to your father’s meeting room for his bannermen. as you reach the cracked door your knees start to wobble and breath shortens at the thought of what he wants to say to you. finally, you gather your temporarily lost bearings and enter “father, you wanted to see me?”

as you enter you look down and see two pairs of feet. confused, you look up. as your eyes slowly trail up the figures of your father and the mystery person you recognize who it is. your breaths start to quicken, your bosom rising and falling with your heart beat. benjicot blackwood on bracken land inside the bracken house. no wounds touched him, no bruises darkened him.

you turn to your lord father quickly, eyes wide “father?”

“daughter, come” lord bracken beckons you over to him and the young lord blackwood. as you walk up to the men yours and benji’s eyes meet. two weeks. no returned ravens. two weeks of complete silence and he still looks at you as if you hung the stars and the moon.

the six feet it took to walk towards your father and lost love felt like years when only it took mere seconds. as you reach your father and the unexpected guest your look lord bracken in the eye and take a deep wavering breath. your lord father speaks with a low baritone “y/n, my only daughter. I know of your transgressions and false loyalty of the bracken name…”

“father—“

“you will let me finish… you have forsaken our house and tainted your body with the likes of a blackwood…” you see benjicot’s jaw lock as he takes a deep breath “…however, I have come to the realization that even with your… crooked actions you have given an opportunity to fix the centuries long rift of our houses.”

your eyes widen and look to benjicot. the implications of your father’s words swim through your mind. the dark gray eyes of your lover’s eyes give you all the confirmation you need. “father, surely you don’t mean…”

he raises a hand to silence you, “yes, daughter. the deal is in place and lord blackwood has accepted.” his next words mumbled as he spoke, “no surprise as he’s already defiled you.”

at his words ben clicks his tongue and his hand clenches and unclenches; clearly trying to compose his temper.

your reaction different. your heart stopping. marriage. to benjicot blackwood. an end to the suffrage of your families. two lovers returned to one another. a realization hits you as you stand there. your lover willing to fight for you, move mountains for you, end a war for you just to see you again. no matter whether you wanted to see him again. bwnjicot blackwood, lord of raventree hall, and the man who you wanted to kiss fucking stupid right now.

as your heart returns to its natural rate your father speaks “I believe you two would like to speak about our decision.” as he leaves you look back at him and he squeezes your shoulder. an action that wouldn’t mean much to others, but as heartfelt as a stark oath.

benjicot speaks first, “y/n—“ you interrupt him with a searing kiss as you pull his tunic down. the passion the same if not stronger as the last time you met. tongues dancing like dragons in the sky, and sparks running through your veins as he cups your face. as you two part he rests his forehead on yours. as you catch your breath you speak “I love you. I was stupid, a-and I want thinking. I didn’t mean it, I swear it. I love you.”

your betrothed interrupts you with another searing kiss “shut up. you weren’t stupid. you may have broken my heart but you weren’t stupid…” his stupid huff of a laugh escapes him as he says those words “…you had every right—“

“but I was wrong. I shouldn’t have told you to go away. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve—“

“you should’ve done exactly what you did. I was wrong for what I did, but I don’t regret it.”

you rub your noses together and play with his collar “you shouldn’t. I was mean…”

“I like it when your mean,” you smack him at his jests.

“I was mean and selfish… so selfish,” your confession hitting his ears with a ping to his heart. ben moves his hand from your jaw to your cheek as his other hand plays with your hair “you were allowed to be selfish. I should’ve brought it up differently o-or just left. but I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. I couldn’t keep letting gmy love be torn from me because of some stupid war that no one knows what it’s for anymore. I needed you then and I need you now. I came to your father because I needed to see you, whether you wanted to see me or not. I needed to hear your saccharine voice because I need you just to continue living. to continue breathing. and I love you, and I would keep loving you even if you didn’t love me.”

tears brim your eyes at your blackwood boy’s words. and they fall as you store his words into your heart. he wipes your tears as they fall. “I do not deserve you, benjicot blackwood. how could I when you love me so and I couldn’t even bring my self to return your ravens?”

“you didn’t need to because I knew. I knew even if you wouldn’t see me because I can feel it” he takes your hand into his and bring it to his heart. his throat tightening as he speaks “I feel it.”

you rest your forehead against his chest and you feel the rise and fall of it. finding comfort in your lover’s slow heaves of his chest. you raise your head to look into his stormy eyes, your voice hoarse “I love you, benjicot blackwood. from the walls of stone hedge to the snow of castle black, I love you.”

the blackwood boy steals your lips in a passionately slow kiss. the salt of your tears mix together. when he pulls back he murmurs against your pillowy lips “i am going to marry you, y/n bracken. you will be mine, and i yours forever. mind and soul, I belong to you. if you will have me.”

your smile as wide as the seas in essos as you laugh “you, lord blackwood are a fool if you think I would ever refuse you.” your hands thread through his coarse, black hair.

his eyes trail down to your lips “it’s a good thing I secured a betrothal with your father then.” his jest rings through the room as it mixes with your laugh. “yes, lord blackwood, it is” you lean up to kiss your love again, this time harder than the ones before. this kiss solidifying your love for one another. lips meld together, teeth clash, and tongues dance as you express your love for one another. as the kiss come to an end he rests his nose on your cheek as you pant.

“I should go tell oscar and kermit” you pull back and slap him up the head. “is that really what your daft head is thinking about right now? after we pour our hearts and souls out to one another?”

benjicot pulls you by the waist to bring you back to him “only a jest, my love”

“not a funny one” you murmur. the boy leans his head down as he speaks “I believe you used to quite like my jests.” “only the funny ones—“

your quips were cut off at the sound of the door creaking, revealing your brother. aeron’s eyes trail down to benji’s hands on your waist and rolls his eyes. nonetheless he keeps his composure and clears his throat “I hear a congratulations are in order.” your brother’s eyes still focused on where your betrothed’s hands are placed and he finally takes a hint as he removes them.

“aeron, if you’re going to start something—“

“relax, sister. I mean it. I’m… happy for you” he looks you straight in the eye to convey that he only means the best. aeron moves his eyes from you to benji “and I guess you’re marrying my sister…”

benjicot nods sternly, still not used to your brother being nice. they stare at each other for who knows how long before you pipe up “should I leave?”

“no” the word said by both boys at the same time and they clear their throats. after your brother’s embarrassment he speaks “i have to go.” he leaves the room before any more embarrassment can reach him.

your lover turns to you “I still don’t like him.” you pat his cheek “I know, my love.” you turn to leave and he still stands there and calls out to you “don’t think I’ll ever be friends with him!”

once you’re out of earshot he lets out a little ‘shit’ knowing that once you’re married you’ll try to make them befriend one another. once benji realizes that he’s alone in the bracken’s fortress—stone hedge—he runs out to try and find you.

“y/n!”

a/n: here’s part two to the love of a bracken meant only for a blackwood. I didn’t expect so many people to like the last part, however I do have a part three in store. It may or may not be smutty😏 and it totally doesn’t haven’t simp benjicot. No way. No siree

anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it, love you💚💜

|| series taglist ||

@minaxcarter @whiteoakoak

@cypherpt5fttaehyung @rebeccawinters

*bold means I couldn’t tag you*

#x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #bloody ben x reader #benji blackwood #ben blackwood #ben blackwood x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd spoilers #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon

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b-skarsgard · 3 months ago

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Bill Skarsgård on Remaking Nosferatu and the Pressure of “F--king With a Masterpiece”

The actor on Pennywise, Count Orlok, and the lure of monstrous characters.

(for those who weren’t able to read the article due to a paywall the full interview is now under the cut)

“I’ve always been a very happy monster.” So said Boris Karloff in 1962, looking back at three decades of creatures, ghouls, and killers that defined so much of his life onscreen. Bill Skarsgård hasn’t been at it nearly as long, but his tendency to play supernatural and terrifying figures suggests that, like his fiendish predecessor, he’s made peace with monstrosity.

The blockbusters It and It: Chapter 2 made him a horror icon as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, carrying on a long tradition in his Swedish acting family—which includes his father, Stellan, and older brothers Alexander and Gustaf—of playing haunting roles in hair-raising films. Since Pennywise, Bill has specialized in sinister, scene-stealing parts, from a high-society sociopath in John Wick: Chapter 4 to his recent turn as the otherworldly avenger of this year’s reboot of The Crow. His latest turn finds him playing the vampiric title character in Nosferatu, from The Witch and The Lighthouse filmmaker Robert Eggers, in a collaboration that brings an ominous new approach to the bat-faced antagonist of the 1922 silent film.

For Vanity Fair’s 2025 Hollywood Issue, he talked about touching the void and more.

Vanity Fair: We spoke years ago when you were about to start filming It, and you talked about the challenges of inhabiting an inhuman monster.

Bill Skarsgård: That was the first time—and wouldn’t be the last time—that I was taking on this kind of iconic character that has been done before so well, and that people love and cherish. The whole journey of that was so weird. If I spoke to you after the production, I would’ve been much more confident that we had something that was very special, but in the process of it, I was just like, Why did he cast me? I can’t do this.

We did speak again afterward. You talked about going home to your parents’ house after you finished shooting and being plagued by dreams about the character.

Those dreams were so strange. Either I was confronting Pennywise and I was upset with him, yelling at him—or I was Pennywise, but I was walking around in the streets that I grew up on, and I’m like, No, no. I shouldn’t be out here in public walking around like this. This is not how it’s supposed to be done. It was this weird thing where I was trying to separate myself from this thing, literally back in the place that I grew up in, in the same apartment that I grew up in.

Count Orlok in Nosferatu also emerges from a deep, dark place. What was it like for you to take that particular emotional ice bath?

Count Orlok was very different than Pennywise in a lot of ways. Orlok was even further away from who I am than Pennywise was, in the sense that my voice, posture, age, the look of it, it was just so far out there. That became the challenge. Before putting on the prosthetics, we explored so many weird things and looked into butoh, this sort of Japanese corpse dancing. We explored so many trippy things.

Did you say “corpse dancing”?

Yeah, butoh is this Japanese corpse dance. It’s all these, kind of, mummified movement patterns. It’s spectacular. It brought this much more precise and much more rigid and slow movement. Basically the outfit and the prosthetics helped so much. The voice was what I worked the hardest on. I worked with an opera singer—she tried to get it as low as possible. My brother Gustaf came to set when we were shooting. He’s sitting there and he gets the headphones on and he hears [deep growling sounds] and is like, “What the fuck is going on?” It must have seemed very insane.

Since you come from an acting family, I wondered what role your dad and your brothers play in your decision-making process or in your professional life.

I don’t talk to them in the sense of like, “Hey, do you think I should do this thing or that thing?” Of course, subconsciously, they’re such a big part of my life. It’s hard to quantify how much effect they’ve had in terms of my taste or in terms of performances. It’s great to have their support, more so in life in general than acting itself. It’s nice to be able to talk to your family, just going, like, “Oh, this shoot was a nightmare because of this and this and this.” And they’re like, “Oh yeah, totally. Tell me about it.” The job, the profession of acting, can feel kind of lonely sometimes. It just feels nice to have so many people, close people, around you that truly know what it’s like.

Especially after Nosferatu, people are going to look at your work and see a lot of monsters and a lot of dark figures. Why do you think you’ve been drawn to these characters?

I think those characters are drawn to me as much as I’m drawn to them. It’s a mutual kind of attraction. The fact that they’re drawn towards me is a bunch of different reasons, everything from the way you look, you have a sensibility, there’s a darkness about you, or there’s an intensity.

And it’s something you enjoy too?

Even going back to some of the earlier stuff I did in Sweden, transformation has always been very appealing to me—and playing characters that are very different than me. I played a character that was autistic when I was 19, and I loved it. I had so much joy in it. He’s not a dark character, he’s a very sweet character. But you study, and you change your voice. With Pennywise, that became my ultimate transformation. I just really enjoyed it. Now with Orlok, I really enjoy transforming as much as I humanly can. I think that’s very exciting.

Do you feel a curiosity about the more dangerous side of human nature?

The darker characters also tend to be more complex. More mental gymnastics are needed. Again, with Orlok, it’s like, Okay, if it’s an ancient sorcerer that speaks from a different realm and possesses all of this power and knowledge, what makes power and knowledge ultimately corrupt a soul as opposed to creating a messiah?

Do you ever worry about getting typecast?

I definitely don’t want to exclusively play those kind of roles, but I’ve never seen the appeal of the classic star, a movie star. The difference between a movie star and an actor is that a movie star plays himself in every part, in a way. Whereas as an actor transforms. There are people that play themselves, and they’re brilliant every single time, but it’s the same thing and they have that shtick. For me, I just don’t think that I’m that charismatic or interesting, so I can’t just lean on that. I need to transform as far away from me as possible.

Do you feel a kinship with actors from the past, like, say, Lon Chaney or Boris Karloff, who played dark beings and often transformed their regular appearances?

It’s a great question. Yeah, I do. But that being said, it was never my particular goal to be the “creature actor,” if you will. There are so many [actors] I draw inspiration from. A lot of other actors that are not known for their intense transformations are some of my favorites as well. I haven’t really studied the greats of prosthetics or creature performances in that way. I’ve watched a lot of it, but I don’t watch performances for inspiration per se, because there’s always this thing of emulation that I don’t want to go down. For Orlok, predatory animals felt like a cleaner source of inspiration.

You mentioned earlier that, several times now, you’ve played a character that is well-known from a previous iteration, but you did it in a new and different way. Did you feel that again with Nosferatu?

Orlok is also Dracula. To me, in terms of iconic horror characters, the number one is Dracula/Nosferatu. It’s the most seminal work of literature in gothic horror for sure. I think it’s been adapted more than probably any other book. This story is so ingrained in our subconscious that it was very daunting to step into it. I was a huge fan of [Robert] Eggers before. He and I would have these things we’re like, “What are we doing? Why are we doing Nosferatu? Are we taking on something too big here?” We felt that kind of pressure of fucking with a masterpiece. But the movie deserves its place as a new interpretation.

What’s on the horizon for you next?

I’ve always cherished the idea of being as versatile as I possibly can. I also want to do a kitchen-sink drama, I want to do a dark, fucked-up comedy. I want to make those choices or advocate for those choices. You have to fight against being typecast or put into a box. The more you fight against it, the bigger the box tends to get.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #vanity fair #article #interview #vf hollywood #magazine

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deathbxnny · 7 months ago

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Kafka, Blade, & Silver wolf with a stellan hunter teen!reader that’s like Frill from Wonder Egg Priority. Maybe how they would approach an artificial child that just once to be human and their jealousy towards others that take attention from them.

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

I've admittedly never watched Wonder Egg priority, but I've seen some small clips of the character mentioned in the ask, so I hope this turns out okay. Thank you for the interesting request, Anon!!<33

Content: Reader is not a human, angst, jealousy issues, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》SILVER WOLF

Silver Wolf doesn't really pay attention to you all that much at first. Mainly because her interest lies in you as an artificial being, rather than a human one. And since you clearly don't want to be seen as anything else but human, she leaves you be. Eventually, after being paired up with you on missions, she starts observing you closer and decides that you're perhaps alot more interesting than she originally thought.

You want to be the focus of everyone's attention, and your jealousy makes you act out rather often. This makes the Stellaron hunter just keep you closer and treat you as a younger sibling of some sort. If you want to feel more human and get along with them better, she supposed she'll have to teach you how, even if she's not an expert at it.

She plays alot of video games with you and includes you in all of her hacking missions, even going as far as teaching you how to do it yourself. Silver Wolf subconsciously treats you like a human teen one way or another, and despite not knowing it, she really helps you out with your jealousy issues through her nonchalant kindness.

》BLADE

Blade doesn't care about what you are or are supposed to be. In fact, he'd rather not be dealing with any kid your age, whether human or not. Your jealousy issues and clear need for constant attention make his disinterest even worse... until he eventually is forced to take you with him on missions. He doesn't speak much to you and just goes along with your faux cheerful persona instead, mainly to spare himself the headache.

He learns over time that you aren't as awful as he thought of you to be however. You wanted to be a human, a person of the same value as one that was birthed. And yet your unfortunate circumstances made it impossible. In a way, he was starting to pity you to some extent. He has learned the hard way that life was cruel and vicious, wishes and dreams shattering under it's wrath with ease.

Your wish was a simple one though. One filled with humane and childish wonder that made him decide that he'll protect it for all it's worth. Sure, it may be ultimately foolish in his eyes. But perhaps your tragic fate had made him soft.

》KAFKA

Kafka feels bad for you. She really does. Which is why she pays attention to you the most out of everyone. Sure, she knows that your wish to become human is probably unattainable physically, but that doesn't mean that you still couldn't learn how to act like one with a little guidance from her.

She becomes somewhat of a mentor to you quite fast, as she takes care and protects you. She knows that your jealousy issues stem from your internalized self hate for your own cursed existence, and that just makes her just pity you more. Despite only being essentially a program stuck in a humanoid body, you act like a child your age, something she praises you often for.

She hopes that taking on a more motherly role in your life will eventually help you come at peace with yourself. You also make her often contemplate the meaning of being human, as some could be even classified as monsters. Was she one of them? Perhaps... but in her opinion, you were the most human one out of them all.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr blade #hsr blade x reader #hsr silver wolf x reader #hsr silver wolf #hsr kafka #hsr kafka x reader #Blade #blade x reader #silver wolf #silver wolf x reader #kafka #kafka x reader

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psycheetamore · 15 days ago

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Day 21 of @dailydoseofaustinbutler January 2025

Alienating Austin

Summary: Austin Butler’s transformation into the imposing na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was meant to be a prime example of method acting. However, the thin line between actor and character starts to blur. A punishing preparation consisting of a physical metamorphosis combined with intense psychological preparations through immersing in the books and relentless coaching of director Denis Villeneuve, start to strip Austin of his identity. The essence of Feyd-Rautha vests itself inside the heart, mind and body of Austin. His warm smile and disarming presence making place for cold, calculated power. How far will Austin allow to lose himself against the alien force that Feyd-Rautha is, in the name of art?

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: not really. I mean, Feyd-Rautha and stuff, but it is countered by Austin Butler. There are some mean thoughts expressed, but nothing as bad as what is always going on in the news.

Austin looked in the mirror and was astonished. He did not recognise himself. His hair: gone. His eyebrows: gone. His colour: gone. Everything that made him to who he was: gone. Replaced with cold, lean power, visualised even inside of himself through the blackness that came from his face every time he opened his mouth.

Over the last months he had commenced this transition. His body had gained more than 11 kilos of pure muscle through the harsh care of his trainer Duffy Gaver. He had re-read the first three books of the Dune series to learn more about the character he was about to play and his antagonists. Black haired, handsome, youthful. Part of a breeding program. Super human he must have been. The missing part to creating the kwisatz haderach.

Austin had visited Stellan Skarsgård, his to be uncle, after already spending countless days dissecting the first movie. Viewing, recording, rewinding, listening, repeating. Using this information to change his voice, yet again. He still had traits of Elvis laced in them, and needed to sculpt another voice. Something that allowed him to make pitiless, gravel-voiced sounds. He had started to use this new utterance on a daily basis. As it grew on him softly, his surroundings did not think too much of it. Perhaps, because in all else to see and experience he was still the same good old, pleasant and friendly Austin. Nobody noticed the small changes that occurred every day.

He did not even notice it.

This failed him to prepare for one of the biggest shocks in his life. Yet, the question was whether anything could have prepared him for that. Prepare him for what he was about to see after seemingly endless passage of time spend in make-up, days at an end where Denis would come in, speak in French to the make-up artists, give them instructions not for Austin to understand, causing them to redo their earlier work more often than he could recall.

Whether Denis did it deliberately or not, Austin had only two hours before he was to come on set for his first shooting, before he saw himself in full gear, full make-up, full Feyd-Rautha. At no earlier moment did the director allow him to look at himself. Every time Austin was being plastered, he was placed him in a room without any reflective surfaces, with artists who did not give him any clue on what was happening.

He looked at himself, for the first time. In a training space, hidden in the belly of the studio, with minimal furniture and mirrors placed on nearly every centimetre of wall available. Denis had walked him in, steadily behind him, one hand on a shoulder, the other free to turn the lights on ever so softly. His reflection startled him. He had expected to see himself, recognise himself, and need to use the time to merge himself into the costume presented to him. But he was not wearing a costume. The man in front of him was not dressed up as a character. It was a person. An actual being. With the speed of light the thought had hit him that he had perhaps started to take steps into new depths of the realm of method acting: losing your identify as you transfer ownership of your body and soul to the arts. What part was still his?

The director had warned him before he opened the door, in his distinct French accent: “once you step through this door and see who you have become, you will leave as Feyd-Rautha. You will not walk around on set as Austin. I only want to see the na-Baron. You are the na-Baron. Give me a Harkonnen. Give me the future leader of your house. The future emperor, if the odds would have been in your favour” with increasing delivery in his voice, while his hands rested on Austin’s shoulders.

Denis must have felt Austin startle, as he held his shoulders just a bit tighter and whispered in his ear: “I will give you a bit of time to reconcile Austin and Feyd within yourself. In the corner you will find the attributes for the first scene. Two blades. One poisoned, one not. Through these blades you dictate the futures of others. Feel the weight. Feel how they move in your hands. Feel how they become one with you, become an extension of your arms. From this moment forward you are the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, until I snap you out of it.”

“Yes, Denis” he responded, not looking up at the man standing behind him, only staring at himself, while feeling the heavy weight of anticipation and expectations of one of the biggest names in movies. He wanted to appease Denis, but he was almost more anxious to find himself in the mirror, see himself, somehow notice that it was him in the reflection. But he did not see himself. He was virtually unrecognisable. It was another man looking at him. Not just looking: starting. Piercing through him. Observing him. Breaking him down, molecule by molecule, atom by atom, under the watchful eye of the director.

“I will leave you to it, na-Baron. A lot weighs on your shoulders: not just for this film, not just your name, but for the universe. And your name in it” Denis said, as he walked out the door, leaving Austin to battle with the abyss he was ploughed into.

He had expected himself to black haired, heavy brows, with opulent clothes. And, of course, also imposing and charming. But that was not the man standing in front of him. That was not the person he had become. He had become something else, something he had never been before. Something so alien to who he was in real life. All warmth had left his body, replaced with pure power. He oozed aggression, a contained, deliberate form of it. He was streamlined. He was a made into a machine, made to fight, conquer and rule. His skin was stretched over his muscles, void of all cushion that his female companions enjoyed so much. Merciless. Hard. Without any sway. The lack of eyebrows almost felt like a dog whose tail is cut: he was made to look emotionless. He was not allowed that luxury. Teeth black as the darkest night, so that blood would not further stain them. The man in front of him was so much more brutal than he could ever have imagined.

He had expected clothes that were inspired by the military, adorned with the sigal of his house, but this was so much more. These were clothes made to impress. Made to give a first blow before he had even set a foot into the direction of the person he was set to dominate. Not adorned with the Harkonnen sign, yet having its signature all over it.

Naively, Austin started to feel more free, liberated almost. He felt a weird feeling of joy, over the idea of no longer being Austin as he started to transition. His body started to become a vessel for a person that was pictured to live over ten-thousand years in the future. He looked at himself, using the typical expressions that he had perfected over time to swoon the girls. Tilting his head, pouting his lips, his smouldering stare, curling the corners of his mouth, clenching his jaws. Somehow, all of these looks still worked; perhaps they worked even better than before. Another layer of depth was added through the menacing look he now adorned. The same gazes, the same looks, but no longer with any warmth. The man he was, the boy he had been, it was swiftly becoming part of the past. Replaced with the smile of a predator, a man hunting game for sport with venom laced attributes. A man whose every word, decision and move were aimed at only one thing: domination. Sweetness and charm stayed, but no longer to protect his introvert self in the spotlights but to use as a means to an end.

He grabbed his attributes and weighed them in his hands. Actual knives. No plastic, not blunt. To be a part of him, and extension of who he is.

Actual sharp weapons, he found out as he had pierced his finger into shedding a drop of blood through the pinch of the knife. Seeing the blood, it excited him. It shouldn’t, but it did. The sting of pain made him feel even more invincible. Standing taller. Removing the last snippet of condonation. He sliced the air with the knives, looking in the mirror, visualising an opponent. More than a shadow to fight against, but another being. Another living being, soon to be condemned to the realm of the dead. He gulped as the thought exhilarated him. Never had he been able to explore this part of himself.

He acknowledged it had always been a part of him. Nobody knew, but all his roles were part of him. They unlocked hidden chambers from within the deepest corners of his being. And this role would uncover his most dark self. The door would be opened, and his secrets would merge with whatever was handed to him from his directors. The product of that reaction is what he would present on set, and what would remain within his soul.

His eyes flung open as it hits him what he has learned about himself. It is part of himself. His roles unlock parts of himself. He had always believed people were good. But this man he is playing here is not good. Does it mean he has something evil inside of him? What does this say about him? He was looking forward to playing this role, stepping outside of his comfort zone. But he is now doubting whether this was knowledge he wanted to have.

Yet, as he looks at himself, moving his weight from one foot to another. Seeing his arms. His hands. His face. Seeing the weapon he is, he forgets about how he transitioned, again. This was him. Speaking several of his lines out loud, while holding his knives. The most daunting one, where he would burn a Fremen girl alive: “only pleasure remains.” He now saw the scene in front of him, started practicing it. How he would walk in, no, stroll. An impressive strut, like he owned the cave it was in, in line with the truth. As he walked in with flair and determination, he would see his victim on her knees. He would move decisively towards her but not too quickly. She had killed several of his man and deserved retribution. This would not come in the form of a quick death. His commanding presence should make that known to her before he even spoke.

The Feyd-part of his brain started to think about the punishment she needed. Truly, the best recourse would have been to break her through torture. The worst thing that could happen to her is that she would change camps, become a loyalist to the House Harkonnen. If the Fremen knew he would be capable of such atrocities, they would flee upon his sight. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown to him, it was decided this movie would be rated pg-13. How it made sense exposing 13-year-olds to genocidal dictators flabbergasted him. However, it meant that he needed to tone down the sexual tension he would be seeking in that scene.

Suddenly he was hit by thoughts of decency trying to overtake the darkness. A shout escaped his body, as he fell to his knees in guilt, blades nearly cutting through his hands. He looked up at himself, straight in the eye, and was taken aback. How could he be creating such malicious thoughts. How he could he think about molesting and slaying her, in that cave, in front of his men? Only because she defended herself and her tribe? Was this the forgiving man he prided himself to be? ‘Is this the man I have become? Is this what lies inside of me? Lurking?’ he thought to himself. ‘Is this who I want to be?’ he spoke to himself. But the man in the mirror did not respond. He only confirmed: ‘this is who you are.’

He looked down, upon his hands. The blade of one of the knives had started to be coated in a very thin layer of blood. ‘Yes’ he thought to himself. ‘This is who I am. This is what Denis wanted. This is what Frank Herbert envisioned. This is what I need to be.’

He was chosen because he could make room for another person within his body. He was nothing but a vessel. A container to hold the vision of the director. A womb even, providing a warm place for fertile eggs joined with seed to vest itself in. It explained why the preparation of his movies always took months, if not longer. Every pregnancy of a large being takes time.

Reluctantly he bit his under lip and looked up again, fighting against the tears welling up in his eyes as he started to push himself away. This was the man he had become, he needed to become. He needed to be ruthless, physically imposing, demanding. There was no room for Austin. The mere thought of Austin being present in this body should be alien. He needed to accept this. Not only that, he needed to embrace and love it.

Slowly he crept up. The time of games was over. It was the na-Baron, the future Baron, the future emperor who was standing here. Commanding this room. He looked at himself, tilting his face. A gaze more intense than he had ever mastered it. Everything in his body, on his body, carved to achieve victory. Victory over himself to begin with.

With a bit more than an hour left, he decided to rehearse the arena fighting scene he had practiced for days and days at an end with Roger Yuan, the fight coordinator. The man who would also play the last Atreides standing. He repeated it and repeated it and repeated it. Shadow fighting, every time more intense, adding details. Adding surprise elements to catch Roger off guard. Adding emotion: this was not just a fight. This was his claim to the throne. Not just the throne of the Baron, but the throne of the emperor, even if he would not know it at that very moment. His claim to become part of the genetic legacy created through the multi-generational-schemes of the Bene Gesserit.

The repetition all but placed him in a trance. His mind creating space for more Feyd to seep in. Making room for small mannerisms that would allow Feyd-Rautha to become alive. Removing the pleasantries he had surrounded himself with to protect his shyness in this harsh world, by replacing them with another form of protection: brutality.

A door opened, softly. A girl slipped in from the dark. He saw, through the corners of his eyes. He vaguely recalled he had seen her before, while she had brief interactions with the director. Perhaps she was his assistant. He was not sure. He had not been on set long enough yet to be familiarised with everyone. It did not matter, as she was below him. Just an assistant. He would only answer to his Baron, the director.

She walked to him, nearly as if she stalked him. She stepped into the act he was rehearsing, not providing a reason for him to stop. Her movements resonated the movements that Roger had made. Before he knew it, his muscle memory had kicked in and she became a part of the dance. He flung at her, placed several choreographed steps in her direction, as she backed off without taking her eyes away from him. She managed to thwart a few blows through her underarms, as they both forced each other on their knees. This was his cue to make a sweep, a blow placing her on her back. He crouched over her, sharp knifes still in his hand, lurking over her, spit seeping from his mouth.

At that moment, the fear in her eyes hit him.

He lunged back, while throwing the weapons to the farthest corners of the room.

He did not speak. She did not speak. She just left, leaving him there to contemplate.

After she left, he knew he had responded incorrectly.

Insolence, is what he had accepted implicitly. Unacceptable for the na-Baron.

+++

“Here you are” the director said, as the actor entered the set.

Tilting his head, he looked at the girl. Fear no longer graced her face, as it was replaced with something that looked like pride. She leaned away from Denis as if they had been gossiping about him before he come on.

He knew fear should grasp his bones, what he had done should have gotten him fired. It should have had him cancelled, rightfully. He barely contained himself. He did something he never thought he was capable of. He should feel ashamed. He should feel guilt. He should resign here and now. His head had been tainted with unspeakable thoughts.

But he did not. It was as if there was a hard core inside of him, protecting him against these thoughts truly impacting him. It was an alien feeling; he had lost control over himself and turned into someone else. He knew he should not be seeing his loved ones while filming ensued; he would not be able to control himself. He was in a dark place. He would need to tell Denis and the consent executive. They needed to know. Create protection for the people around him. He should have known that this would happen, considering he had adopted method acting ever since he prepared for Elvis. That movie too had cost him and his loved ones dearly. But the craft was worth it. It was what he wanted to give the world. It was not a problem it came at a cost. Perhaps it was even good that it came at a cost. Viewers would learn to appreciate the dedication and sacrifice that went into it. He had learned it the hard way that the best actors were scarred people, who thrived on collecting more scars. He needed to convince Denis not to expand on the scenes he was in. This place was too dark for him, and he knew that darkness would forever root in him.

But all of that was for later, as he looked up at Denis with discontent.

Denis looked at him, a smile of content forming through his lips: “the na-Baron is human: you have passed the test. Now take your place, young lord and test the sharpness of the blade.”

+++

Sources:

Post scriptum: the first picture fit just perfect. It gives exactly the vibes I was looking for, the influence of Denis. Everything.

Poured my heart and soul into this fic. Finding a victim to proofread (step 1), actually listening to them (step 2). Looking forward to learning what you think of this one.

Esquire interview on becoming Feyd

Austin Butler Opens Up About Hardships While Shooting For Dune 2: People Were Passing Out... | Republic World

The Australian

How Austin Butler packed on 25lbs of muscle for Dune: Part Two | British GQ

#feyd rautha harkonnen #austin butler #feyd rautha #feral for feyd #feyd #dune part 2 #ddofab #method acting #feyd the man he is

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inistellan · 3 months ago

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November DWC 2024 Day 5 - Skill

Rumors say if you mark your door with a red stripe, you will beckon The Chameleon to appear the next night. The name of the target is all that he needs, the desires you speak shall always succeed.

Beware thoughts of betrayal, he shall see through your sin, The Chameleon adapts and always blends in. You won’t know his name, you won’t see his face, unless you seek death, stay in his good grace.

The price may be steep, but you will not regret, despite what you see, you are of no threat. The job will be done with much time to spare, The Chameleon’s craft is beyond compare.

Inistellan Volanthus is a man of many skills, the greatest of which is lying. He had been lying to everyone he had ever met ever since he could remember when his father, Lord Fin’endal, told him that he was to become the next Chameleon. The Chameleon was a figure whispered about only in shadows, one of the greatest assassins that seemed to transcend time itself. The Chameleon had been around for millenia, and in some circles anytime anyone of importance died in a suspicious manner, it was assumed to have been the work of the famed assassin. No one knew that there had been multiple versions of The Chameleon, except for the Fin’endal’s since it was, essentially, the family business.

Not that Stellan uses that name anymore. After passing on the title and parting ways with the moniker, it was typical for the retired Chameleon to take on a completely new life. That is exactly what he had done, multiple times in fact. Inistellan Volanthus was the fourth name and face that Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior had chosen, and quite possibly his last.

It had at first been a burden to him, having been taught and molded from a young age that this was to be his life. He ended up resenting his father in the end only to take the older man’s life while still accepting the family title. The world needed and still needs people like The Chameleon, at least in his opinion. Eventually, he grew to enjoy it. He still participated in everything he otherwise would have and held a completely ‘normal’ life outside of his secret life: Marriage, children, friendships, lovers, hobbies, routine. It had always felt as if he were two different people forced inside of one body, but perhaps that was just a part of the ‘family trait’.

Every Chameleon was meant to have a public face of great renown. His father before him had been a notable Magister, and his son who now carries the title is a principal dancer in the Royal Ballet of Silvermoon. Stellan himself was the piano player for the Silvermoon Orchestra during his first life until he ‘died’. That was one skill he still enjoys quite a bit to this day, practicing often on his own grand piano in his humble apartment.

His second life had him see work as a boatswain on an at-the-time well-known pirate ship. Othikess Starfall had always been good with his hands, excellent at carpentry and had a knack for melee combat. The open seas were so peaceful and calming after a lifetime of constant practicing and having to be perfect.

Vethan Sunsong was his third life, a vagabond who had oftentimes volunteered as a farmhand in return for a meal and a bed to sleep in for a night before moving on. Traveling everywhere, he learned about various cultures and struggles all over Azeroth and picked up new languages along the way. A favorite, if not for his desire for the finer things in life.

Every version of himself had taught him a lifetime's worth of skills, bringing him to the man he is today. Inistellan Volanthus was a Farstrider for some time before eventually retiring into mercenary and security work. It isn’t as fast-paced as some of his other lives, but he is getting older now and slowing down is natural. He still surprises many, especially in the sparring ring. It’s difficult to trick a man who had spent his life tricking others, not to mention a man that had been trained at his level. But they will never know.

For now, he is content and comfortable. His children thrive in ways he never did: Cazmilan Junior with his ballet and expertise as the Chameleon, and Vixannya Ana'diel with her macabre art. He has friends, beautiful lovers, a home, wealth, and security. Perhaps Inistellan Volanthus is truly the classy gentleman he was meant to be all along.

@cazthechameleon @cazmilan @vixannya @themercenaries

@daily-writing-challenge

#story #dwc2024 #novemberdwc2024 #inistellan #the chameleon

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