svearehnn

[svearehnn]

no reason to repent

[svearehnn]

[svearehnn]

when will the ache ease?

[svearehnn]

hey everyone! i’ve recently started a literary magazine. we’re currently closed for submissions as we continue to flesh out the mag, but stay tuned for updates on submission calls! in the meantime, feel free to follow us on tumblr, insta, and facebook at saltminnepress.

välsignad vara!

Our Mission Statement

Saltminne Press is a home for the overlooked, the orphaned, and the otherworldly--publishing poetry, prose, photography, and hybrid works that speak from the margins. We seek stories that are rooted in place, steeped in grief, wrapped in ritual, or soaked in sea-brine. We especially uplift work by queer, disabled, and marginalized voices that confront trauma, femininity, and the quiet power of survival.

Saltminne means "salt memory"--the way the body remembers, the way the sea keeps secrets. We aim to honor stories that do the same.

[svearehnn]

04-14-2025, 12 PM

[svearehnn]

buffalo bill

[svearehnn]

Gray Wolf (Canis lupus)

Observed by scwraw, CC BY-NC

[svearehnn]

Sylvia Plath, aged 25, from "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" (dated May 13, 1958)

[svearehnn]

big fan of cows

[svearehnn]

idk i think i’m obsessed with him and his pretty eyes

[svearehnn]

Norhla Atelier

[svearehnn]

[svearehnn]

and here we are!!

[svearehnn]

made flower crowns with my coven for beltane! 🌼🌿

[svearehnn]

i am officially published!! got my first two micro pieces in a lit journal 🫣

[svearehnn]

He died the day after Easter. The cuntiest since Jesus Christ

[svearehnn]

where the shadows hold you | azriel x reader

summary: the war never truly ended for you. your memories were now stained with blood, death a constant thought. at least azriel was there to pull you out of the thick of it.

content warning: blood, death, war

The war was over. Prythian had won–and yet, as you stood in the House of Wind gazing out at the blazing stars, you felt as though the war had just begun. You had washed the blood and grime off your skin weeks ago and yet you still felt its heavy sludge lingering on your flesh, claiming you as a living victim of a tragic massacre.

Prythian had won and all those that you loved had survived, except for one. The odds had been in your favor, and your heart didn’t feel much pain for the father that died on that battlefield. The father that was never one to you; always with a distant look in his eye, not saying a word as his youngest daughter went out and risked her life to provide whilst his second oldest sold themself for petty coin. No, you didn’t lose anyone important–except for yourself.

You may have never known a life of peace until Velaris, but nothing had scarred you more than seeing carnage dye the ground red–watching the light fade out of your comrades’ eyes one after another after another. The War against Hybern was nothing but a cruel sick joke in your mind, one that would plague you for decades, maybe centuries, after. 

Ten steps forward had you pushing open the balcony doors. The wind whooshed in, gently caressing your skin as you stepped outside. You let the doors shut softly on their own, silencing the sounds of the house: crackling embers, ginger voices, the swift turn of pages. The City of Starlight greeted you, shimmering below as if it were a mirage. You sighed, reaching the edge of the stone, and leaned against the railing. Incoherent chatter and fragmented music floated in and out of your pointed ears, a distant sound even with your improved hearing.

The serenity and secluded character of this balcony seemed to claw at your soul, digging in and dragging you towards it. A forgiving breeze and the subtle nature of passersby had a hold on your bones, calming you in a way no other place could. This was your sanctuary. At least, it had been since the days after you fought for your life in the muck, your skin now bearing scars that twinged when the weather changed. You should have never let Feyre teach you how to fight; maybe then you could have avoided the battlefield.

Maybe then your nights wouldn’t be plagued with the screams of the fallen, the sound of steel splintering bone, bodies squelching under your feet. You tipped your head up to the sky, trying to keep your breaths even as your heart raced in your chest. 

You wished you heard him before you saw him–he had always done that, sneaking up on you. As he came to stand beside you, your fingers squeezed the rail of the balcony, knuckles blooming a shade lighter from the force. You didn’t say anything; you just let the softness of your breaths carry into the darkened Velaris night, near-silent amidst the eternal sounds of the busy city below.

Gloved hands settled on the railing next to yours, nearly touching. Your breath stuttered at the closeness, at the warmth emanating off of him. It was a subtle confirmation of I’m here, and it brought tears to your eyes. The wind brushed against your face, your gaze drifting to the stars and blinking as if that could keep the water at bay.

“What’s going on, sweetheart.” Azriel’s soft voice murmured, dark and wispy just like the shadows that fluttered around him. You shook your head, a quiet sniffle, and refused to meet his hazel eyes that were gently searching for yours. 

“I’m fine.” Even to your own ears, your shaky voice was unbelievable; a farce that guarded the walls of your vulnerability. The leather of his gloves squeaked as his grip tightened on the iron barrier between you and the rocks that threatened you hundreds of feet below.

“Something’s going on in that head of yours, and I can tell it’s not a good something.” 

You shook your head again, more fiercely this time, as though your doe-like determination could steer him off course. “Thank you for worrying, but I’m fine. Really.” The tears began to glisten, threatening to spill over as you released your hardened grip on the railing and turned, intending to head back into the house. Azriel’s hand was wrapped around your wrist before you could even take one step. The tenderness in which he held you made your breath hitch in your throat, your watery eyes finally finding his.

That’s when the dam broke.

Your restraint had already been waning, your emotions begging to take control, and the second you looked into his sweetened, amber eyes, your walls cracked. Droplets streaked down your cheeks one after the other, gleaming in the soft glow of the moon and faelights in the lively city streets. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice breaking.

Azriel pulled you into his arms, his towering form engulfing you. His wings stretched and curled around your back, hiding the both of you from view. “You have nothing to apologise for.” His voice was strong even in its hushed tenor. You shrugged dejectedly, shoulders slumping as your head thudded against his chest, a shuddering breath leaving your lips.

“How do you cope with all of this? The war, the memories, the deaths–because I feel as though I’m being swallowed whole by it all.” Your confession released a tension into the air–not one of pity or anger, but one of empathy and a sadness that could not be quelled by the Mother herself if she deigned to try.

Azriel sighed, his breath causing the hairs on the crown of your head to dance in the shadowed night. “Everyone copes differently,” he mumbled, “and I’m someone who struggles with coping at all.” The soft brush of his lips against your hair as he spoke sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t just because of the unintentional intimacy. Rather, you felt the sincerity in his words, the weakness that he kept close to his heart, yet shared with you, anyway.

“And what if I’m struggling, too? I don’t know what to do–I can’t even sleep without being haunted by nightmares. Every waking moment is just another war.” Your hesitant voice escaped the confines of your dry throat and racing mind, each syllable a crack in your defenses. His arms tightened around you, the flat of his palms a steady anchor against the small of your back.

His lips dropped to your ear, voice low, “then we will struggle together and help each other bandage their wounds.” Your nails dug into his back, pulling yourself closer. His gray sweater muffled the sound of your strangled sob; it hid the new melancholy that now lay permanently etched into your irises.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Your voice, muffled by his chest, was indescribably solemn.

“I don’t have to do what?”

“This–comforting me. Holding me.” A watery laugh falls from your lips as you go to pull back. Azriel’s arms tighten around you, keeping you held against his chest. 

Azriel didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he pulled you tighter, like letting go wasn’t even an option. “I want to do this,” he murmured. “You don’t have to earn comfort, sweetheart. You just… deserve it.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undid you all over again.

His thumb brushed softly across your back, a gentle stroke meant not to fix you, but to let you unravel safely. You both stood like that for a while—silent except for the quiet city far below, the rustle of his wings, and the hitch in your breathing as it gradually steadied. The stars blinked overhead, patient witnesses to your pain.

“I keep thinking if I could’ve done one thing different…” you whispered, eyes distant. “Maybe fewer people would’ve died. Maybe… I wouldn’t feel like this.”

Azriel drew back just enough to tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to his. “That’s survivor’s guilt. It’s cruel. It makes you carry burdens that were never yours to bear.”

You shook your head. “But I was there.”

“So was I,” he said softly. “And I’ve asked myself the same questions. Every day. But what happened wasn’t your fault. War doesn’t care who’s brave, or kind, or deserving. It just takes.” His jaw flexed, voice darkening. “But it didn’t take you. And I thank the Mother for that every damn night.”

You blinked, stunned by the rawness in his voice, the crack that slipped through his normally impassive facade. His shadows coiled gently around your shoulders like a second embrace, whispering silent reassurances you couldn’t quite understand, but still felt.

“I want to sleep again,” you said, quieter now. “I want to laugh without guilt. I want to be able to look at the sky without feeling like something’s going to fall out of it and crush me.”

Azriel smiled faintly, brushing a tear off your cheek with a knuckle. “You will,” he promised. “Not all at once. Not even soon. But you will.”

You nodded slowly, not because you were sure—but because he was. And for tonight, that was enough.

He held out a gloved hand, palm up. “Come back inside with me?”

You stared at it for a moment, then slipped your fingers into his.

The House welcomed you both back with its soft, golden light. No one interrupted as you walked in, hand-in-hand. Cassian and Nesta were curled together by the fire, quietly talking. Feyre sat with Rhysand by the window, a book resting on her lap, his arm curled around her waist. Elain stood by the hearth, cradling a steaming mug of tea, her eyes catching yours for just a moment—a soft smile, understanding and quiet and kind.

And for the first time in a long time, you realized you weren’t truly alone.

Azriel’s hand never left yours as the House of Wind settled around you, strong and silent and alive. You sat beside him, your head resting against his shoulder, shadows wrapping gently around your legs like a lullaby.

And when your eyes finally closed, you slept.

Not dreamless. Not healed.

But whole enough to try again tomorrow.