#carrion comfort character

[sensoryeen]

✦ | Cozy Luke Skywalker Stimboard

✧ ✧ ✧ | ✧ ✧ ✧ | ✧ ✧ ✧

[spiritsong]

Kindred (I Knew You)

So close, she could see his eyes were a dark red, like that of wine or pomegranate seeds. There were dark crescents beneath them, though she couldn't tell whether they were natural or a sign of exhaustion. His eyes narrowed at her, cunning and catlike, and the corner of his lips crooked up into a deeper smile as he watched her struggle. Pretty, she thought absentmindedly. But imagine how much prettier he would look with his throat cut open, blood soaking into the soil, someone said back.

click here to read on ao3

Summary: Day One. Aune reflects on her lack of memories and the introduction to her very first traveling companion — a strange wizard that fell out of a stone. The pair meet a pompous Pale Elf and chaos ensues. The Urge awakens.

Mature (for mild gore and violence; canon typical). 2.6k. Tadpole Hijinks. Gale is nice. Astarion is Astarion. Some Canon dialogue.

[pricemarshfield]

got tagged by @a-treides to do this adorable picrew and i am. obsessed with it. so here’s tav and astarion, rose and shadowheart, roxanne and elliott, and gwendolyn and haley! anyone who’d like to can consider themselves tagged!

[realbeachboy]

It's Diana!!! protagonist of my shameless wednesday fic, carrion comfort - plus, bonus sketches:

[alavestineneas]

and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

-

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

-

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

-

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

-

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

-

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

[ugly-pickle]

Good morning, Pickle.

Please kindly consider this Ayato request: Your spoilt and pampered sister who has always destroyed every marriage prospect you have isn't happy that Ayato chose to marry you instead of her. So, on your wedding day, she has her servants destroy your wedding kimono as a fit of petty jealousy.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

lovely ☆ ayato

CHARACTERS: ayato x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: your sister seems to be upset when she finds out that you and ayato are engaged, so she casually ruins your wedding

GENRE: fluff 💿

W/C: 1.4k

C/W: cussing, betrayal, scissors, and physical touch (let me know if ive missed anything!)

A/N: OMG MY FIRST REQUEST AHRGHDSHH im currently working on your other request @sailorstar9 so just hold on tight! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

your sister is your everything, from the moment of her birth, when you held her in your arms you just knew you had to protect her until the sun and the moon collided, no, even after that you have to protect her. you thought all of the compassion youve shown your sister would help her bloom to be an elegant young lady, but has instead grown into a carrion flower.

your sister is certainly a bitch from time to time, but maybe it's because she doesnt have any suitors that truly love her, on the other hand you do. only an imbecile wouldnt want to be your lover, youre charming, funny, loving, intelligent, and beautiful. it could be out of jealousy that your sister had ruined your relationships with men who want your hand in marrige.

one day, you were having a fancy dinner with ayato, his family (plus thoma), you, and your family, when he suddenly got down on one knee and held out a ring with a fat diamond to you. you obviously accepted his proposal, and everyone in the room applauded for the two of you, except your sister.

for the next couple of months of your engagement with ayato, youve noticed that your little sister has become, well, bitter. her state worsens more and more the closer that the date of your wedding day approaches.

the week of your wedding day has finally arrived. the first gift youve received is from ayaka; you open the gift, you laid your eyes on the most beautiful kimono that has ever been made. the embroidery is truly one of a kind, the floral patterns was simply gorgeous, and the hair ornament looks so delicate that even the softest gush of wind could shatter it into pieces.

“oh my— ayaka this is beautiful…” youre at a loss of words, “im glad it’s to your liking,” ayaka responds with a sweet smile gracing her lips. “i will make sure that this kimono will never know what a blemish is,” you tell her solemnly, she giggles, “i wish i could talk to you longer, but im afraid that i have unavoidable duties to attend too,”

you bid ayaka farewell. you close the door behind you, you place the kimono back into its box and store it safely away. oh how you cannot wait to tells your friends and family about this gift, especially your sister.

when she heard about the news of your kimono that descended from celestia she threw an entire fit, one more immature than a toddler’s, but she does have her manners and did it once you had left the estate. her servants were comforting by her and calming her down, until one suggested to, perhaps, ruin the kimono?…

now that this idea has been implemented into your sister’s brain, nothing could lure it out. during the days leading up to your big day your sister has been ordering scissors so sharp that it could leave a scratch on the geo archon’s shield. your sister had selected her most loyal servants fit for the task to to shred your beloved wedding kimono to pieces.

your big wedding day is finally here! your bridesmaids are helping you get ready, they took you to the bath first, leaving your bedroom unattended.

the servants took this opportunity to sneak into your sleeping chambers and rummage through your things, looking for your kimono. after some time, one had found it; calling the others over, they started to get to work.

the embroidery now looks like the handwriting that belongs to a toddler, the floral designs had certainly seen better days, and the ornament is now smashed into pieces. the kimono now looks like the ghost from the ring would wear. your sister’s servants, pleased with their artwork, placed the kimono back into the box and storing it where they first found it.

you hear something scurry away, you open the door to see nothing. you shrug it off, “ladies, would you please bring my kimono? it’s in that box over there,” your bridesmaids nod there head, one of them grabs the box and places it on your bed. you open the box to find your kimono in a strange state.

your eyes widened in horror, you wanted to cry but you were in too much shock to do so. your bridesmaids were just as terrified as you are. the maid of honor instantly sent out two ladies, trying to order another kimono in such short notice. the ceremony is soon, you want someone to comfort you, but not the ladies with you. your sister? not a good idea, ayato? yes. but, hes busy.

you tell everyone to get out of the room, not wanting to shed tears infront of them, "but y/n, the wedding is soon, we cant afford to waste time, especially now." you acknowledge this for a moment, but with no dress you cant have the perfect wedding youve always dreamt of; besides the ladies cant get another kimono in time. "out. i already told you, get out," they cant do anything but put their heads down and listen to you, they exit the room one by one.

after the last one shuts the door, the tears fall down your face, you cant help it, you really cant. who did this? who would be so cruel, so jealous, so petty to do this? not even the tsaritsa would be this evil. the only person you know of who would do this is,

your sister?

how can she be so cruel?… but, jumping to conclusions is never good for anyone, and even if she did do this, it couldve been out of jealously.

.....

oh FUCK THAT SHIT, she just ruined your wedding for archons sake. you look at the clock. oh archons. the ceremony had started, but who cares, even a trash bag looks better than your wedding kimono.

tears are continuously rolling down your face, like a river that will never stop flowing. your sniffles are quiet, but it is the only rolling that can be heard in this room.

…

ayato is standing there at the alter, waiting for the love of his life, but she never shows up. worry suddenly floods his mind, what if something happened? he excuses himself and rushes to find you.

your sister sees him dashing towards her. have the archons finally answered her prayers? “oh ayato! i knew you would come to your senses sooner or later!” she exclaims. ayato, a bit disgusted, brushes her off and says politely, “i love y/n dearly and im currently searching for her, do you have any idea where she might be?”

one of your bridesmaids is running towards ayato, “over there ayato! quickly!” she shouts and points from across the room, unable to catch her breath. ayato nods, running towards where you are.

he slams the door open, “y/n—“ he cuts himself off when he sees your glossy eyes, tears falling down your face, your sniffles and breath trembling. “oh ayato,” you walk to your not-so-soon-to-be-husband and embrace him. the wet stain on his shoulder slowly growing.

for the first time in a while, ayato is genuinely shocked, hes seeing his lover upset, crying, and he cant do anything about it. “my love, whats wrong? what happened?”

you point to your bed, ayato takes a look and sees why— he and ayaka spent hours searching for a dress thats one of a kind and meant for you. his eyes widen a bit then relax again. he places his hand on the small on your back and rubs it in small circles.

he comforts you by saying, “i am beyond lucky to have you as my bride, even the most expensive jewels cannot be compared to your beauty because you outshine all, so please dont be too upset about this matter. i will find a dress made in celestia just to please my wonderful my darling.” he kisses your temple and pulls say, his face looks a bit more eerie now.

“your sister, right?” ayato asks you. “i think so—” ayato cuts you off, “i’ll cut off that bitches head as soon as possible, dont worry y/n.”

:)

A/N: this was VERY rushed but i hope you still enjoyed it ૮ ⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ ྀིა

imagine a plot twist where the sister is in love with you lol (i dont write incest)

TAGLIST: @sailorstar9 @gummy-dummy @hopefulceladon @username-try-3

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Cult of Vagabonds MasterList

NAVIGATION

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

OVERALL WARNINGS: Familial trauma, PTSD, anxiety, trauma responses, angst, character deaths, gore & violence, kidnappings, interrogations, self-deprecating thoughts and actions, addictions, eventual smut, etc. (More specific warnings will be listed in every chapter)(18+).

DISCLAIMER: While not an OC, the Reader will be given a backstory that will be seen throughout the fic and intertwine with the plot. Taglist is full. All images found on Pinterest.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I: Landless Gull

CHAPTER II: Snail & Thrush 

CHAPTER III: Banshee Bluethroat

CHAPTER IV: Finch's Frenzy

CHAPTER V: Copper Talons

CHAPTER VI: Storm-Flying Petrels 

CHAPTER VII: Devil Birds

CHAPTER VIII: Polluted Marrow & Hollow Bones

CHAPTER IX: Talk To The Doves

CHAPTER X: A Crow's Carrion Comfort

CHAPTER XI: The Call of A Foreign Swan

CHAPTER XII: Owl-Eyes

CHAPTER XIII: Flight of the Warbler

CHAPTER XIV: Gray Grouse

CHAPTER XV: Sins of a Laughing Skylark

CHAPTER XVI: Vultures

CHAPTER XVII: Red-Wing Blackbirds And Dark Dahlias

CHAPTER XVIII:

CHAPTER XIX:

CHAPTER XX:

CHAPTER XXI:

CHAPTER XXII:

CHAPTER XXIII:

CHAPTER XXIV:

CHAPTER XXV:

[nepenthean-sleep]

griddlehark fic recs, part 5

hi happy end of 2023 here is part 5 of my griddlehark fic rec series. thank you everyone for your wonderful fics getting us through the alectopause 🖤🖤🖤 all fics here in this part are rated G or T, and tumblr usernames have been added if i could find them (sorry for the notification!). here is part 1 and part 3. M and E fic recs are here because tumblr: part 2, part 4, and part 6 (forthcoming).

carrion comfort, despair (not feast on thee) T - NotAFicWriter short post-ntn spec oneshot. it's a kiriona and harrow duking-it-out fic, very much in classic drearburh fashion (heed the tags). i love how gideon's perspective is written in this fic, her anger and grief is so satisfyingly done here. also this fic is tagged "kinda sexual wound fingering" which is hilarious, even if the fic isn't.

murphy's law T - kitahart / @punkwixes unfinished multi-chapter modern university au. harrow is a stage manager putting on a production of hamlet at her university. the dialogue is fucking hilarious. the tension between all the characters is so thick you could cut it with a knife. the prose is wonderful. unfortunately this fic has been unfinished for over two years, but the chapters that are available are an absolute treat.

was gonna die young (now i gotta wait for you honey) T - corpsesoldier / @corpsesoldier short post-ntn oneshot. harrow gives gideon her life back. i will never get tired of any of these kiriona/harrow fics.

loved for the first time (in what seems like forever) G - prettyaveragewhiteshark short oneshot set during gtn. a very sweet and fluffy fic with harrow's anguished confession of feelings and a kiss.

and a partridge in a pear tree T - strangehunger / @strangehunger long modern au oneshot. everyone works at a mall and there is a secret santa amongst the mall employees, and gideon ends up drawing harrow's name. as a former retail professional myself, so much of this fic brought back my fond (nightmarish) memories of working during the holidays. this fic was very funny and the ending was cute and unexpected.

a pair of dull scissors in the yellow light not rated - baladric short post-ntn oneshot. harrow cuts her hair after returning to her body, and gideon comes around to help. i love a good homoerotic haircut but this fic takes the cake with how raw the emotions are. beautifully written.

(i shine only with the light you gave me) T - sashawire / @triglyceride moderately devastating short post-gtn oneshot. god gives harrow her saintly title. i love the prose so much.

We Must Not Be Strangers T - telling_you_stories long oneshot consisting of several scenes from the middle acts of gtn from harrow's perspective. i love alternative pov fics and this fic does such a good job of bridging the gap into what harrow might have been thinking during gtn.

before you leave (remember i was with you) T - Mal_content a new short post-ntn oneshot! kiriona and harrow meet and finally talk about their feelings. this fic is so well written. i absolutely love the dialogue.

touch me again and i'll-- T - zoicite zoicite back at it again with a short oneshot set during gtn. it's the scene that gideon rescues harrow from her bone cocoon and checks her for injuries, but from harrow's pov. this bad boy can fit so much repressed attraction in it.

cut my cord T - cobrakids / @funsizedshark long modern university au oneshot. this fic starts out mostly gen and gets more ship-related halfway through. silas is writing a theology thesis and sets out to interrogate gideon and harrow about the cult they grew up in. harrow, in turn, sets out to protect gideon from silas. there's a very unhinged pool scene, and i love the characterization and prose.

thank you to all the fic authors above for sharing these lovely works with the fandom!

[harleyqueerner]

i saw hozier live in concert last night, so i’ve been thinking a lot about his music which in turn of course makes me think of payneland, and as i was looking through the genius annotations of his song “i, carrion (icarian)”, i realized how very payneland it is. so here’s an analysis/thought process on that. i’ll be including screenshots from genius dot com to aid me (sorry if it’s a bit all over the place this was originally me yapping to a friend through voice memos)

trigger warning ‼️‼️ for child abuse btw, i talk about charles experience with his father quite a bit in this post

so as i was reading the annotations pictures below, i came to the realization that edwin is the sun to charles’s icarus . which set me off in this whole messy tangent to explain why i think this.

jumping right in:

charles doesn’t even realize he’s dead until he sees his own body dead on the floor of the attic. and this is because he was so distracted by edwin’s kindness and companionship. and While he’s with edwin, he’s always trying to be happy and he’s always got this smile on his face. and it’s not that he’s necessarily in denial about his death, its that he’s not sharing his feelings and grievances, he’s not talking about them like he should be, he’s pushing all of that down, which could potentially be his downfall. charles is so distracted by edwin, enraptured (thank u @b-dwolf ) by him really, that he doesn’t even realize that he himself is not doing well.

annnnd the fact that daedalus, icarus’s father, is leading icarus into these situations, he’s pushing him to do these things that are getting him hurt, which correlates to charles’s father abusing him.

continuing on:

…..

charles dying because of the freezing water and it should’ve been brutal, and it was, But because edwin was there with him it was less painful, more gentle, and as he’s dying, he accepts that fact and leans into the love and light and warmth he now gets to feel forever with edwin.

they both save each other from falling too far they’re constantly saving one another and picking each other back up or making the fall less painful just by loving each other so deeply and irrevocably.

so like basically, payneland defies all these tragic love because they’re so in love .

there are so many myths and stories of characters who were like them, but they didn’t make it out alive/together. and while, yes, charles and edwin are both dead, they are still together and that’s a testament to how close they really are and how much they love each other. even in death, they will not be separated. and when their relationship is threatened, neither of them will accept the “inevitable” damnation. they fight and fight and they make it out together each time.

continuing on:

in the song, hozier kind of references the god atlas, who holds up the sky/the world, while talking about his lover or whoever he’s talking about in the song. so he’s saying that his lover holds up His sky, His world, and in that, it makes him feel weightless, or they soften his fall. and (if i’m understanding the annotation correctly), hozier is also saying that is lover would drop the world in order to stop his fall. (please correct me if i’m wrong here because it’s confusing me). and thinking about it, edwin really does carry such a heavy weight on his shoulders. like the “they have to matter!” scene…..

so onto charles’s father being daedalus:

daedalus’s warning to icarus about flying too high equating to charles’s father potentially (probably) “warning” charles about the dangers of the world and being queer in said world but simultaneously being the one to hurt and abuse him and put him on the path leading to his death by sending him to the boarding school.

and then icarus not listening to daedalus’s warnings/charles defying his father by being who he is and fighting for whats right which gets him killed. but his death isn’t as horrible as it should’ve been because edwin was there alongside charles, comforting him, and it almost makes dying worth it in a way because at least now he’s with edwin, his sun, his guiding light, the one who holds up his whole world now. and then after death, charles prioritizes edwin and everyone else above himself, which could have lead to his damnation, to them losing one another, but he said Fuck that he will not let those tragic stories define them, he will not let them be separated no matter the cost.

they are the exception to the thralls of tragic love stories.

another lyric “if the wind turns, if i hit a squall, allow the ground to find its brutal way to me” … charles thinking that he’s not worth the love he receives from edwin/not worth the “trouble” it takes to love and care for him, and not wanting, but Needing, edwin to just let him go and save himself and the world over charles, if the moment came where edwin had to choose between him and others. charles needs edwin to survive (well. yknow what i mean.) because he knows he wouldn’t fare well without him (just like hozier’s song “fare well”…).

hozier also mentions atlas in his song, movement, where he compares his lover to “atlas in his sleeping” (in his sleeping bc he has to be so careful and graceful as to keep holding up the skies). he also compares them to fred astair (pictured below), except here he says that his lover is unlike him in the way that his lover moves and acts more organically, unlike astair who is very showy. and while yes, edwin is definitely a show off and puts on a mask for others, charles see past this and knows who edwin is deep down, knows that he’s graceful and lovely and kind. (he also sings later in the song about how his lover is more than what they seem on the outside.)

hozier also talks in this song about how his lover moves him, shapes him to be who he is, to live more organically. so with that. putting charles in hozier’s place: bc edwin is charles sun his guiding light, as i stated before, edwin inspires him to be better than his father before him. now of course charles never Wanted to be his father, in fact he’s always trying not to be, but edwin helps charles understand that he could never be his him bc his father didn’t care about hurting people, meanwhile charles does everything in his power to be kind and help people. edwin even tells charles that in him actively trying not to be like his father, he is already so much better than his father could ever be. i could go on about “movement” and about how payneland it is but i think that ones more obvious and doesn’t really need too much explanation imo.

also in movement. “i could never define all that you are to me” and charles not knowing how to define him and edwin bc it surpasses that of platonic and romantic feelings …….

SO! in conclusion hozier wrote “i, carrion (icarian)” about payneland (along with many of his other songs) because how else is it so accurate to them??? crazy

[onehundredandfourtyone]

CoD Fanfic Promo ♡

I, Carrion (Icarian) on AO3

Simon Riley x Female!Reader

In which the 141 obtains a new combat medic.

Or: two messed up idiots slowly fall into love over the course of multiple missions that risk both their lives.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family 141, Slow Burn, Love, Friendship, Mutual Pining, Trauma, Violence, Past Character Death, No Use of Y/N, Beta Read, Author Has Never Played Call Of Duty, Not Canon Compliant, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Anxiety, Insomnia

The first chapter (roughly 5k words) is up now.

Any support or reblogs would be very much appreciated!

[avesdraws]

I had some thoughts about the top right doodles and put them under the cut bc i wrote too much.

I found an audio of the hate monologue being dubbed in such a hysterical way that was so nick, and some of the monologue itself does fit nick. OBIVIOUSLY nick is nothing like AM in any way as characters. he just has some fairly strong hatred in himself. Nick is a coward, not malicious at all and would actually not harm a human given the chance unless his life was in danger, he wouldn't take enjoyment in the pain of a dying human in battle (which he sees fairly often), but he could see the irony. This massive, powerful and cruel being that belived itself to be at the top of the world is now lying at his feet dying and bleeding. Coming back from it's high place as carrion to feed Nicholas himself and the other scavengers. Very poetic. He just wants for them to leave him alone, but despite being a coward, he very much does hate humans. a lot. I usually focus more on his anxiety part, he's scared of everything after all and so jumpy, despite everything Nicholas is not a violent man at all, the opposite really, but he has a lot of frustratrion and resentment in him towards humans that he built up over the years. He fears them, but he hates them too. I need to focus on that too… Nicholas is a scared, angry man And this anger and frustration is understandable, everything that's tormenting him is because of them, some directly and some inderectly. And this is out of ignorence, but as far as he knows they delight themselves in hurting his kind, destroying everything in their path out of apathy or cruelty, and yet they still sit comfortably at the top with their perfect cushy life, looking down upon him and everyone else. And It makes Nicholas livid. SORRY for rambling about him i've gone crazy about this topic and now i need to draw him happy

[sensoryeen]

✦ | Arven icons

♡ like/rb if using appreciated ! ♡

[guess-that-ship]

S11 Round 1

Icarian Carrion

Character A is alone in the world, abandoned or let down at an early age by those who were responsible for him. Character B is the first person to truly see him beyond his faults, noticing his skills, initially becoming a sort of mentor, and refusing to give up on him. This makes a huge impression on A, who has trouble connecting with people due to fear of rejection, but who lets down his walls for B. Then B leaves for career reasons, and after an accident, is eventually presumed dead by everybody except A, who cannot believe this. When B reappears some time later, it's A who 'saves' him, and A continues to do so throughout the story, as they become not only close friends, but also coworkers. They go to any length for each other, A never giving up on B and vice versa.

Character A, fiery, strong-willed and protective, finds reassurance in Character B's steady warmth. Likewise, B finds himself able to confide and trust in A's unwavering loyalty and faith. A notices B's PTSD flashbacks and helps him cope with mental illness; B constantly stands by and cares for A. They trust each other, more than anything, and the depth of their bond pierces through realities on occasion. They will always find each other, and save each other over and over again, no matter the cost.

Knight(s) in shining armor

cw: major spoilers

Green and Blue were rivals turned genuine friends, although there was attraction for more from at least one of them. But the circumstances didn't allow for more, partly because of the constant stress they're under as part of their job and the plot, and partly because of the irruption of a third person, Red, who also has a big crush on Green and is close to him. However, Blue realizes upon dying that he loves Green too much to break the promise he made to Green, and thus simply refuses to die. Motivated by their mutual love, he manages to go back in time under a different identity, which turns out to be Red, in order to save Green. He then proceeds to push his past self and Green closer, becoming his own wingman in the process.

During this time, the one now known as Red also tries to get closer to Green himself, and after some rocky beginnings the two end up getting along as much as Green and Blue do/did. Green was heartbroken after Blue's death, and found comfort in the arms of Red, who he only learned was actually Blue after Red was killed too. Green then used the power of love and courage to avenge his lover(s) and save the people they both cared about, and ultimately resurrect Blue, securing their shared happy ending that Green had died for twice.

[not-poignant]

Baldur’s Gate 3 - 16/? - Palmarosa - Astarion/Raphael

Title: Palmarosa Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Raphael Tags: (Check AO3 for the full list) Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Deals with a devil, Contracted sexual slavery, Bad BDSM etiquette, PTSD, Communication issues, Flashbacks, Trauma recovery and Retraumatisation, Dark and disturbing themes, Blood consumption, Minor character death, Canon typical violence, Dominance/submission, Top Raphael, Bottom Astarion etc.

Summary: (Set post-game / end-game) The love of Astarion’s life has disappeared to go live in the daylight with the druids, and Astarion is stuck in the darkness once more, yearning for sunlight with every fibre of his being, while bitterly reflecting on all the things that were denied to him in the end - love, sunlight, the option to kill thousands of people and become a near-god…

Raphael knows Astarion’s desperate, and comes to him with not one, but two horrid contract offers that Astarion loathes and dreads in equal measure - but the prize at the end of both are too good to turn down, and he’s become too cynical to care about how much of a good idea it is to give his body to a devil for a month or two, because really, comparatively, how bad could it be?

Palmarosa (Baldur’s Gate 3) - Raphael/Astarion - 16 - Chemical Blood and Carrion Musk

In which Astarion meets Mephistopheles for the first time and goes from 'oh he's hot' to 'holy crap he's terrifying' to '...shit watching Raphael and Mephistopheles snark at each other is wonderful' to 'OH SHIT SHIT SHIT'

[kingskyless]

carrion comfort

some of my fav frames from my newest pmv! which also portrays the three main characters of my screenplay. azul, riktamorna and tifle.

i painted all the frames and it was surprisingly very fun and relaxing, i hope you guys like it too.

[kadekuro]

New to the find us alive fandom and you kinda seem like you know a lot about it so um

Got any fanfic recommendations

all of these are on ao3 because that's where i get my fanfixtion, but i'm sure you could find some others on fanfiction.net or wattpad! that said there's only 39 fics on ao3 as far as i've found (i went to the SCP tag and filtered "find us alive" as a term) gonna throw this under a readmore

ok, so we don't have very long fics in the fandom yet, but a lot of fans have made a lot of one shots, so here's some notable authors and my favorite from each:

Apreedulure - lots of mostly fluffy short fics, plays with some AU ideas like superheroes, or like, canon-parallel AUs where like, two characters are secretly married or something lmao, also i think has the current longest fic in the fandom on ao3?

Painted walls Rating: Gen Ships: Harlanc (implied) Summary: Dr. Lancaster and his team scheme behind Director Alves’ back Flufftober Day 6: Corn Maze

Bandtrees - fucking angsty ass, i do not partake in their writing because i have trouble with the content, but i'll recommend their longest fic if you're into that

Somebody Will Help Bandage It Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Ships: Harlanc Summary: Head dropping limply into a bloody hand, Harley groaned into his palm - the smell of copper didn’t help his racing thoughts, the unfortunate memories it felt these days like the only purpose of his existence was to try to distract himself from. In the bare bones survival objective Site-107 found itself in, nobody was clambering for more speeches about the Body Code, nobody needing tests transcribed or reports read on air - Edmund Harley’s only reason for being, at this point, was to rot in the ground and wonder where his life went wrong. -- Lancaster breaks Harley. Klein and Love try to pick up enough pieces for the both of them.

mabi_lune - 2 hurt/comfort Harlanc fics and the fwuffy one that's my jam

the drive back Rating: Gen Ships: Harlanc (pre-ship) Summary: Before everything, Lancaster drives Harley home after a New Year's party at Site-107.

Reeamathemage - lots of short character introspectives, or just small emotional moments

Taco Tuesday Rating: Gen Ships: RaddLove Summary: They finally get out. Then they have tacos about it.

with these authors pointed out, i'm gonna throw in some other fics i enjoyed!

Our Love is Written in the Stars by Mushymushroomy Rating: Gen Ships: Harlanc Summary: A quiet night in the communications office

If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me by sleepylea Rating: Gen Warnings: Alcohol, Drunkenness Ships: Harlanc Summary: Based on the scene from episode 00 where Lancaster puts a drunk Harley to bed. Harley doesn't remember what he said last night, but waking up with Lancaster’s coat and a bad feeling in his gut, he knows he has to find out. Title from I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier

The Observer by TheSaintElectric Rating: Gen Summary: “The feeling of being connected to the cameras grew after moving to England. I felt so in tune with them and how they worked: what areas they covered, how people moved from one camera to another, and where the blind spots were, that they started to feel like part of me. I’d developed a hunger for watching.” Or Statement of Ingrid Raddagher, regarding their career as a surveillance officer

Behind closed doors by greeniebeany Rating: Mature Ships: RaddLove Summary: She drug her hands dramatically down her face, pulling her lower eyelids with them. Love huffed, pushing a loose piece of hair off her forehead with the indigent puff of air. “I can’t just tell you what to say, it doesn't work like that!” Love and Radd spend some time together after hours.

also here's my fic

Redbull, Company, and Sleep by kurobook Rating: Gen Warnings: Alcohol, Drunkenness Ships: Harlanc (pre-ship) Summary: A short what-if from ep 00, on some things from Lancaster's perspective.

Anyways hope you enjoy! And don't be afraid to write something too <3