#beloved first vessel of sleep you are everything to mE

[frmtheroombelow]

[writethrough]

Vigilance

(Vessel x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Vessel contemplates what you mean to him while you're laying together.

Warnings: Maybe a little self-deprecation on Vessel's part, but besides that...?

Word Count: 599

A/N: This one really came out of nowhere. The first half is part of this dream I had, then I filled in the ending. Short, kinda fluffy, but in a serious way. If you've read "Sun Daze," "Morning Blue," or "Found You," it's that vibe.

You felt his presence before you were truly conscious. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he watched you. You’d gotten used to it by now. It was reassuring. His constant vigilance—a protective bubble that embraced you. 

His nimble fingers grazed your side, trailing to the small of your back. “Rest, my love.” 

Humming, your eyes remained closed, enjoying his feather-light touches. You had shoved the blankets off you in your sleep and were rewarded when his skin caressed yours. 

The bed shifted, then his lips brushed the side of your head.  

“Lay with me?” Though it escaped as a statement, you meant it as a question. One you knew he’d never refuse. 

He slipped behind you, one arm sliding beneath your head, and the other around your middle. You threaded your fingers through both of his hands, needing to be as close to him as possible. With his exposed chest pressed against your back, you relaxed into him, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. 

This was your safe place. Nestled in his hold where no one else existed.  

You took in every part that connected to him and wished you could stay like this forever. 

“Ease now, beloved. I am with you.” He pressed his mouth to your shoulder, lingering to feel more of your skin.  

He would stay like this until you woke next. Until you had to move. Until you indicate otherwise. He would remain.  

He could not follow you into blissful unconscious, but this almost seemed better. The trust you put in him, the way you let him embrace you, how openly you received every part of him—he witnessed it all in these moments. As you drifted, your walls receded. He saw you for who you were and vowed himself to you. Even if you didn’t know the extent of his allegiance to you, it didn’t matter. You belonged to one another. He would ensure your happiness, your safety, your peace—because they were his own.  

The scent of your hair enveloped him. You were home to him. He could not determine the last time he had a home, but the word was fitting. In all his travels, in all his life, he had glimpses of reprieve, but with you he had gained more than that. You had given him more than he ever had in the centuries before you. And for that he owed you his existence. 

Every time he looked at you, spoke to you, touched you, was like the first. You did not want anything from him—like so many others—you simply wanted him. So, he gave you all, every piece of darkness within himself, every memory from before, every task he was given, because he wanted to make sure. Was this what you wanted? Was he what you wanted? 

In response, you showed him all of you. Your regrets and failures, your hopes and dreams, your fears—and they were beautiful. You were...everything. 

For that, he had pledged to be yours. He had proclaimed his love, and you returned it.  

So, he would remain by your side, in every sense of the word. In ways he could not explain. 

He matched his breathing to yours, steady and deep. Once your fingers had slackened, he curled his a little more to keep you connected. And his eyes closed, letting your skin warm his and your scent fill him. 

This was as close as he could follow you, but it was enough. You were with him. This was all he needed. His greatest treasure. His love. His meaning.  

Taglist: @steph-speaks, @themultiverseofmars

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future fics!

[kit-williams]

To be held in your arms...

Male Lead: Roland Female Lead: Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marines Canon Status: Yes

Note: This is for everyone who requested for a prompt about Roland holding his child in his arms for the first time. Baby is going to be referred in the gender neutral as I got even amount of prompts for him holding a little boy as well as a little girl. I'll explore more of it after fluffuary.

Also thank you everyone for being so kind over this fluffuary!

He missed it and he knew it but little could pull Roland away from the front lines. While he wanted to be there for her... if he didn't go the danger that could eventually come back to the ship would certain kill her. His job was to keep his Bäckerin safe... and their new kinder. The extra hours out of the tight corridors of the heretical vessel... the rites of blessing... the rites of removing his armor... the prayers after... it all was pushed to the front of his mind to stave off the disappointment.

It was well into her sleep cycle when he can finally go and see her. The midwife leading him to the room she was now in as she goes over the medical details that he knows his Bäckerin will recount in far less of a clinical manner. The door opens silently as he feels so large in such a small room... the midwife coming over to wake her up...

"Why wake her?" He lets it slip out of his mouth.

"Feeding time." The older woman says as his Bäckerin groans looking at her glumly and exhausted.

"Just five more..." She pleads.

"And then your babe will be five more closer to dying. Come now this is the most important part." The midwife says with some warmth in her voice.

He stands there quietly as it smells like cleaning fluids and blood... it smells like her blood... hidden under the sheets and covers as she just opens the gown and presses the wriggling flesh to her breast. "Please little one latch." His Bäckerin tiredly sobs.

Part of him twitches as he watches his beloved being moved roughly as well as his child. But he can smell something... underneath the sterile smell. "There just a bit of a stubborn one. Oh you have a visitor my dear."

"I do? Who?" She says so very out of it still and the midwife just points over to him as his Bäckerin looks over her shoulder at him with those large owlish eyes surprised that in her exhausted state she didn't hear him or see him.

"I'll be back in a bit to make sure everything is fine." The midwife states as she pets her head affectionately before leaving the room.

"Roland." His Bäckerin says smiling and utterly tired.

"Bäckerin... I'm..." He shuffles awkwardly as he's not exactly sorry he missed the birth to keep her safe but.

"No need dear... there is always next time." She says smiling. "Come here... they won't bite... not for several months." She says laughing softly.

They looked so tiny... so fragile... so new... he reached a hand out before pulling back not trusting himself but he runs a finger across their back as they nurse from Bäckerin.

"I haven't named them yet... I wanted to wait for you and well I've been a bit out of it from how long it took... and the pain meds... and just... everything. " Bäckerin says with her usual carefree way of talking with him perhaps even more relaxed in tone and nature. "Take your shirt off."

He looked to his Bäckerin confused, "Bäckerin are you sure you're not still on the effects of pain medication?" Roland said with a slight joke in his voice.

"Oh most certainly I am but just do it. Its for the baby's sake. And sit down maybe lean back a bit."

"I don't see-"

"Just trust me."

Roland normally was hardly concerned about others seeing him in lack of attire... he relished his Bäckerin seeing him like this but he was heavily reminded by the midwife before she went into labor and the Chaplain that Bäckerin could not have sex for at minimum a month perhaps even two. But he sat there shirtless just watching her wobble to her feet as she rolled the medica bassinet over, "Hold me."

"Always." Roland replies just putting a hand on her side as she picked up the bundle from the bassinet.

Their eyes look so big on their small head... he remembers all the things that the midwife told him were normal and not to be mistaken as being an aberration. He watches her eyes look at his chest for an area that didn't have a port and then she laid their child on his chest.

His hearts stilled for a moment as he could feel their tiny heartbeating against their chest... they lacked a smell... besides being covered in blood and other fluids... he held his breath as this... this was their child. His eyes focused on their small little nails... he could hear their small inhales... he feels his cheeks wet as there they were... finally here.

"Hello there little one..." He says softly... in a fearful whisper as he breathes life to the next few words, "Ich bin dein Vater... oder Papa." His hearts hurt at the sudden swelling of feeling for this tiny little human that was not even a day old yet.

Roland turned his head and rested it against her side as her fingers ran through his hair with a warm smile looking down at the crying man, "Thank you.... thank you Bäckerin for giving me this."

"Well thank you for making it all happen. It takes two of us to make this." He feels her kiss his head as she uses the time he takes having the baby rest on his chest to sleep as the fear Roland had for the tiny mortal creature they made evaporated in an instant... what was the weird wriggling fleshy thing was their baby... far too soon to say what features are from whom... but he didn't care as he loved them. Just as he loved his Bäckerin and he hoped to love more while he had his time with her.

Fluffuary TagList: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[adoaraism]

hey, little songbird (a farcille fic)

(spoilers ahead)

Marcille realised, as she held Pipi’s fragile body in her palm, that things would never be the same; that she would never be the same. She stroked those beautiful yellow feathers one last time, and though they were as silky as ever, those sweet chirps of contentment that she used to hear daily were but all but echoes in her mind. All that was left behind was an empty vessel of her avian soul. 

Answer me, she wanted to beg. Just let me see you fly one last time, away from here, away from my sight, so I needn’t mourn, so that my heart will stop aching the way it is right now. 

But the words never parted from her tongue, and nothing but choked sobs erupted from her quivering lips. Even as her mother’s warm arms embraced her entire frame, even as sat down to eat her favourite meal of grilled pork, even as she lay in bed that night wrapped in her soft duvets. 

Unfair, unfair! Why did life go on, even without her beloved bird? Why was it that the world continued turning, and that her life would carry on far longer than Pipi’s, far longer than her friends’, far longer than all the humans she ever loved? 

Tears continued to spill from her eyes and onto her pillowcase, almost as if she hoped that if she poured enough of herself into them, the gaping hole in her heart, and the empty space in Pipi’s cage could be filled once again.

—

“Marcille, Marcille,” a soft voice roused the girl from her uneasy slumber, and gentle hands shook her awake. She blinked sleepily and rubbed the bleary remnants of her dreams from her eyes, and instinctively reached out to grab the sleeve of the one who woke her. She raised her gaze to meet Falin’s and her breath caught in her throat as her mind grasped how close they were; her short blonde hair brushed against Marcille’s shoulder, and she could almost feel her breath against her cheek.  

“Falin?” she whispered, praying that the dark would veil the growing warmth in her cheeks from her classmate. She mentally shook herself, her grip on Falin’s sleeve loosening. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Falin immediately apologised in a hushed tone. Marcille could see her head hanging in apology, and found herself smiling in exasperated fondness as she pet her friend’s head. 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” she combed her hand through Falin’s locks, letting her hands linger for just a moment before dropping them back into her lap. “I was just worried, that’s all.” 

Falin fell silent for a moment, and Marcille felt warm fingers slipping through hers, and a thumb brushing against her palm. “Could I sleep here with you, just for tonight?” 

Marcille nodded without so much as missing a beat as she scooted over to make space.  

Once Falin had laid down next to her, Marcille used her free hand to cocoon the both of them under her blanket, still holding onto her hand with her other. All that cut through the night’s silence was the sound of their breathing, slowly falling into rhythm with one another. 

“Are you comfortable?” Marcille asked. The question transcended their new sleeping arrangement; it was one that made Marcille feel more bare and vulnerable than ever, in spite of the sleeping garments she donned, and the blankets that kept her safe from the cold’s embrace.

She could almost see those apple-red cheeks bunching into a smile sweeter than honey as Falin replied, “I always have been, with you.” 

An ache etched itself into Marcille’s chest, one that felt both familiar and not; it was as if she’d felt this way about Falin all her life, even before she knew her, even before either of them existed. 

That was the first of many nights they’d spend lying together, sharing secrets, spells and stories, and letting their hushed voices weave into the darkness of the night, making everything feel lighter than it’d been before. 

—

Marcille’s hands shook as they grazed against pure, white feathers - whether it was in awe, fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure anymore. She lifted her head, her heart hammering against her chest as she gulped. 

“Falin,” she whispered, as if it were just another one of those nights back in the academy dorms. Feathers ruffled, and sharp amber eyes met her tired sage ones. “You’re home.” 

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: II, Part One

Summary:

II wanted to be acknowledged. To be seen for all the effort he puts into every part of his life. Sleep offers him that

Asks him to become a vessel, the Second.

Asks him to fulfill the wish of their First, Vessel, his wish to be loved.

There was something about Vessel that drew II in, like a moth to a flame. Finding out just how damaged Vessel is doesn't make II run, it makes him want to stay.

Part two of The Love You Want series, detailing II's acceptance of Sleep and transformation into a Vessel, and just how quickly the two came to care for each other.

They were destined for it, to love and be loved in return, and no amount of hesitation or fear on Vessel's part could stop the entwining of their souls.

Tags: hurt/comfort, self-harm, mutual pining, implied/referenced past domestic abuse, implied referenced past parental neglect, religious themes, suicide, murder, self-worth issues, Vessel Has A Bad Time™️, so does II but he's got Vessel =D, Temporary Character Death, eventual polyvessels. Eventual II/Vessel.

Ngl this fic was supposed to be more slow burn than this but II said nuh uh I will be loving and adoring Vessel and if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this room and then myself

Word count: 10,223

Masterlist

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Ao3

They came to him in a dream as he was teetering on the edge of life and death.

He remembered choking, gasping for breath as his own blood bubbled past his lips as he coughed it up and back onto himself. There was a knife in his chest, his wallet nowhere to be seen. He hurt, knees bruised and palms scraped as his lungs burned with a fire he'd never felt before. A bruise blossoming along his jaw and the back of his head felt... wet. Darkness at the edge of his vision encroaching quickly. His life before this had been mundane, working a job he hated and focusing on his drumming hobby in his free time. Cutting through an alley to get home faster had cost him his life, but he was so tired, eager to get home after his boss kept him overtime promising to pay, when he knows the man just likes to see him suffer and not pay him his dues. He didn't let that stop him from fighting tooth and nail against his robber though, hopes they have to go to the hospital for the broken jaw and nose, and the teeth marks in his arm. Maybe he would've lived another day, but there's no point in dwelling on it now. He's dead, or close to it anyway.

They came to him. Asked him to be born anew as he floated in a vast expanse of stars, weightless as Their voice echoed around him, an amalgamation of every voice he had ever heard. "Will you be my vessel through which my message will be spread? I can give you everything you've ever wanted, if you accept me into your mind, your body, and your soul."

"You want me to be your vessel? To spread your message? Who are you? What about my cat Elvira? I can't leave her, she's my beloved pet." He raises an eyebrow, looking around him at the beauty of the stars as a small sense of wonder flows through him.

"I am Sleep, though that is not my true name. It cannot be spoken by any era of your race, ancient as it is. I suppose you can keep your so-called pet, though I do not understand its purpose."

"Sleep? Like, literal sleep?" Theres a pause, "Why do you want me?"

"In truth, I want you to be a companion of my first Vessel. Your musical abilities and loving soul wrapped in steel drew me in, and you would make an almost perfect fit as a vessel of mine. Alas, I did not need more than one Vessel, so I chose the most perfect one, my First vessel. But, he has experienced a great deal of pain in his life. In exchange for being my Vessel, my First, he has asked to be loved. With your help, I will give him the love of the world through his music in which he worships me and brings new followers. I will gain more worshippers from this, ultimately, with more than one of you. Admittedly, I have endeavored to grant his wish on a more personal level."

"What, so I'm going to help your first vessel with his music career and in return gain, what, exactly? What do I get out of this?"

"What is your wish?"

Thinking on it, the answer comes to him easily with a tilt of his head. "I wish to be acknowledged for my talents, I suppose."

"I can grant you that in more ways than one. Through your worship, yourself and my vessel will gain fame and prosperity. I foresee many worshippers will love you for your talents. My vessel will know your skill, adept in music as he is. His nature, his experiences, will allow him to acknowledge your talents and the effort you put into every part of your life."

"Why do you want to help this first vessel of yours so much anyway? You seem confident that he will acknowledge me. Not many in my life ever have."

"I cannot understand pain. I do not feel it, cannot even imagine it. I am hoping as his companion, you, and eventually some others, will love him in whatever capacity you all can. He has never once been loved in his short life, broken down by those who were supposed to love him, and in his despair ended his life, bringing him to me. You're a caring soul who can help him take care of himself, and he needs that most of all. There is no question of the lengths he will go to be loved."

"Show me him." He decides, warming up to the idea quickly.

He was alone in his apartment with just his cat for company. His last relationship ended amicably, but there was always something missing from every one he'd ever had. Maybe this way he won't be so alone.

"Very well."

The expanse around him shrinks down to a small galaxy in front of him, and in that swirling void of stars, a moving image forms. A masked man sits on the floor, leaned against a wall. No part of his face is visible but there is a mess of dark hair spilling out over the sides of the mask. Something hypnotizing about him, pulling him under with every passing moment. There is a pen and journal in his hands, and as the man watches Vessel, he can hear a beautiful, sad tune being hummed. Then, he begins to sing quietly, the lyrics on the paper before him forming a haunting melody.

"The daylight recedes in unison, this room buries the hours like death in motion, nobody else can pull me out, the fields of elation, quiet and loamy~"

His voice is gorgeous, bouncing off the walls with its strength and control. There is despair clawing it's way out from his throat, overcast by the bitter hope, golden tears dripping from the bottom of the mask. The first vessel lifts it enough for his lips to show and a shaky exhale falls from the onlookers lips as pale skin and bitten lips are revealed to him.

Angel bite piercings glint in the fading sunlight as the mask is put back in place. There's an aching in his soul, as though some part of him calls out to the sad man sitting all alone in a bare room, singing with the most beautiful voice he has ever heard.

Unable to look away, even as the image fades, the man speaks his answer before the God has any chance to say anything. There's something drawing him in. Something about that man. He has never felt anything like it, and wants to know him. He has to. Something in him demands it. Craves it. Aches for him. He would consider it scary if it didn't feel so right.

"I accept. I will become your second vessel. What do I have to do?"

The universe around him changes. Within a blink, he is laying on a beach. Sand surrounds him and sticks to his messy hair as he sits up quickly. The waves nearby are loud, crashing onto shore gently and receding. The sky above him is cloudy, dark masses swirling above and across the grey expanse, just barely visible in the night. Above him, a large moon hangs, its glowing rays never touching the ground he sits upon, like a barrier stops it.

He sits in a circle of candles, their yellow flame the only illumination around.

"An offering of your blood will suffice, and in return I will grant you some of my power as I did my first."

"A blood offering? That's it?" Raising an eyebrow, he can't help but think this all seems a bit underwhelming.

He's accepting a God into his mind, body, and soul, and all they require is a little blood?

"Much of my essence was given to the First, as was required. We are not being connected in quite the same way, so the requirements are different. Blood will suffice."

"Fine, what do I do?"

An ornate plate materializes next to him, and on it, a sharp knife with a simple wooden hilt.

"Do not be alarmed, and look away before too long passes."

The moon splinters at the bottom, six black eyes blinking open at once along its surface to stare down at him. From the gaping hole still slowly splintering apart, dark tendrils emerge, thick masses that taper down to a point, and they head right towards him. He only watches for a moment, looking away, down at the sand, like Sleep ordered. He wonders if his mind would have survived looking any longer.

"Offer every bit of blood you have to me. I will replace it with my essence."

"All of it? Won't that kill me?"

"You are already dead. You need to become something more than human. Do not fret, my first did the same thing."

"Did he also need to cut into his own arm and let himself bleed out?"

"No, he did not offer up his blood in the same way. If I had asked him to, he could have with ease. My first is quite used to making himself bleed."

Horror fills him at the blatant implications of what that means. He could tell the first vessel was depressed, had killed himself, but to be so in pain that he brought even more of it to himself on purpose? Steeling his resolve, he picks up the knife. This first vessel was likely going to continue following a dark path, and he wants to help steer him from it. His soul demands it.

He's shaking as he brings the knife to his wrist. This is a small price to pay for the power of a God, he tries to reason with himself. He'll be granted fame and finally be acknowledged for his talents and efforts. He'll be gaining someone who will see him for who he is, accept him. Sleep promised that.

"Will I remember any of this?" He asks, wincing as the first drag of the blade up his vein stings and burns with fire.

He continues as Sleep answers, blood spilling over his arm up to his elbow before he moves on to the next arm. The tendrils snake their way around his bleeding arm, and a strange feeling emits from the limb, a tingling like the limb has fallen asleep but the pain remains.

"You will remember only that I have asked you to help bring worshippers my message by helping my first Vessel. You will tell him the same, and your wish when you accepted. You will not remember anything else. I do not understand humans, but from what I've witnessed through their dreams and nightmares, I fear that if I tell him your purpose is to love him, he will never trust you nor accept it."

"Hm, that makes sense. He might have some issues then, but I'm perfectly willing to help him with them, if he'll let me. He's- I've never seen someone radiate such bone-deep sadness before. I want to help him."

Other arm done, he can feel himself growing dizzy. Its much like when he bled to his death before being brought to this dream by the god of Sleep. It unsettles him, to be so close to that feeling again, knowing his bloodstream was emptying on purpose this time somehow making it... worse.

"That is all I can ask for. I need him alive, as connected as we are, but I want him happy. I do not understand your human emotions well, but if his soul is singing in joy, then his chances of living rise exponentially. He- Is my First Vessel, and very dear to me."

Humming, the man sinks to his knees before the offering plate, weak knees giving out on him. Through blurring vision, an apple appears on the plate as the tendrils recede. One remains wrapped around his torso to steady him as he sways. "Eat the apple of Eden, taste the divine, and accept me into your soul. When you awaken, you will be at the edge of my domain in your human lands. My first knows of your arrival."

A nod is all he can manage as he reaches forth, picking up the apple and bringing it to his lips. The texture is as any apple should be, but the juice tastes of iron, and when he pulls it away from his mouth, blood spills over onto his hand, his own blood. He continues eating. The taste is wonderful, and no food he can remember tastes anything like it. He can't imagine anything ever will.

This is the taste of the divine, and he wishes nothing more than to bask in the flavor forever, but alas the apple is soon gone, all except for the core which has a strange texture he finds he doesn't care for. It pulses gently as he sets it down and he wonders what exactly it is.

Time is... strange here, even stranger still as blood lingers on his tongue. It flows slowly, like wading through knee-high mud and yet some moments, when his mind is particularly foggy, its like a river, fast, harsh, and unrelenting in its pace.

He finds he cannot remember his name. Cannot remember the faces of his parents. His- mothers? Did he have two mothers? He did, he knows he did. What did they look like? The image of them smiling at him slips from his grasp as he tries desperately to hold on. No, he can't remember. Can't recall any of his childhood friends, or his drumming teacher, he can't remember anything except his cat, and the pain of every failed relationship, be it platonic or romantic. The pain of no one ever acknowledging how much time and effort, blood and tears, went into perfecting his drumming, of- of how deeply he tried, with his entire being,, heart and soul, at everything he's ever done in his life.

Vision darkening, he falls back, the tendrils letting him go with no amount of gentleness. Tears spill from his eyes, but he can't tell if they're from sadness or joy, the mix of emotions swirling inside him like that galaxy he floated in before.

"Rest now, II. When you wake, you must find I and my manor."

Slipping away into sleep, his name, his title, his position, sticks out.

Two. II.

::

When II awakens, who he was before ceased to be. He couldn't remember his name. The faces of his mothers. Of his boss who used to torment him day in and day out. Couldn't remember the face of the man who killed him for his wallet and the $20 bill inside. He remembered the pain, the agony, the fear. II remembered accepting Sleep, what they offered to him. Fame, recognition for just how much of himself he puts into everything he does.

A meow reaches him, a weight on his chest becoming apparent as his mind fully wakes up. Blinking his blue eyes open, II comes face to face with his fluffy black cat Elvira. She sits on his chest, her own face up close to his. Meowing again, she rubs her head against his chin and he holds her close as he sits up. On one side of him is a vast forest, and on the other a small, beat up old car sits, behind it a road leading off into a clearer space. The sun is low in the sky, the sunset casting brilliant colors of red, orange, and pink over the canopies above him.

A mask sits in his lap, a simple black cloth material with a strange symbol, Sleep's he realizes, printed in white over the face. Slipping it on with some difficulty while still holding Elvira, something settles in his chest. The mask feels right, like he was meant to wear it.

There is a pull in the direction of the forest, leading him off into the distance. So, II begins walking after a small glance back at the desolate car. The trees are easy enough to navigate through, but roots catch his feet every few minutes or so. At some point it was simply safer to let Elvira walk beside him rather than hold her in case he falls.

Silence surrounds him as he walks, except for the quiet sound of crunching underbrush below foot. He walks for what feels like hours, mind and body both lagging from the strain of accepting his new god, just barely managing not to fall. The light from the sun fades completely at some point, but II continues on into the darkness, following that tether in his chest. He stumbles more often, sticking closer to trees to try and balance himself. A stray root catches his foot and he goes tumbling over with a cry. Elvira meows from somewhere beside him and II closes his eyes and tries to brace for impact with his arms.

There is a cold hand on his arm, keeping him steady and helping him to his feet. Despite the unexpected touch, II's body does not jerk away in fear, nor does his mind devolve into terror. It should have, given the circumstances, but his body and mind seem to be in agreement with his very soul that sings at the touch.

The hand helps him right himself, grip strong but so gentle that II automatically leans into it just slightly. "I can see in the dark, do not fret. Come, I will lead you back to the manor."

The voice belonging to the hand is soft and soothing, calming whatever nerves had been building up in the silence. "I'm Sleep's first, my name is Vessel. Do you have a name yet?"

There is a quiet uncertainty, a hesitant fear in the other man's voice and II finds he wants to comfort him. Vessel does not need to be wary of him, and II is desperate for the man to know that.

"I've decided on II, like the number in roman numerals. This is my cat Elvira. Sleep said you would know of my arrival but I thought I was supposed to find the manor myself." II gestures lightly at himself, then around him for emphasis.

"I couldn't let you traverse this forest alone in the dark. I did, when I arrived, and it isn't pleasant alone. I walked in circles for hours, fell over every root there was, I think, before I finally found my way, though the pull in my chest tried to guide me. The walk here was much shorter this time." Vessel is quiet still, like he's afraid of being too loud, of disturbing the air around him with his voice.

His steps are quiet too, silent even, II can't even hear him or his breathing. The only indicator that the man is there at all is the gentle, guiding touch on his bicep. II should be afraid, but he isn't. He cannot even see the man, doesn't even know what he looks like. Was he given a mask like II's?

"I hope my cat doesn't bother- Oh shit, is she still following us? I can't see her." II panics, jerking his head around and squinting very hard at the ground like he'll be able to see in the dark suddenly.

"Calm down, its alright. I'm holding her in my other arm right now. A sweet thing isn't she? Not tried to bite or scratch me once."

Vessel's soothing tone, when he's actually trying to soothe, works wonders alongside his words. II laughs, calmer now, the loud sound startling Vessel into jerking back but keeping his hand steady, "Lucky you. Her name is Elvira. She bit me when I first rescued her. People don't treat black cats well, you know? Especially around Halloween. She was scared, some kids were being mean to her so I brought her home. Had to get a bunch of nasty shots to make sure I didn't get rabies. She's only a few years old."

II realizes he's rambling to this man he just met, about his cat no less. "Sorry, you probably don't care."

Vessel smiles, enjoying how the worry crinkled the edges of II's pretty blue eyes as the man realizes just how much he was talking Vessel's ears off, his hands dropping from where they were moving with his words. It's cute.

"No, it's alright. I've never had a pet. She's cute." Vessel laughs, more of a huff of air than an actual laugh, but it tilts the edges of II's lips up involuntarily anyway.

II wonders if he smiled while he did so, if his shoulders shook with the action.

"She can stay then? Sleep said it was alright." II smiles fully now, unsure.

It ends a little lopsided, endearingly enough, Vessel notices.

"Oh, yes, it's perfectly fine. We'll need to get her things though. The manor is empty. Most of the furniture was rotted or broken entirely so I threw it away. I'm sorry to say there is no bed for you or her to sleep on." Vessel sounds genuinely sorry, nervous even, like II was going to reprimand him for something that wasn't his fault.

"That's alright. This way I'll get to choose my own things! Do you have money to buy anything? I-"

II cringes, the memories of his death coming back full force, one of the only things he remembers from Before. Gasping out, II holds his chest with his free hand at the phantom pain of the knife searing into his flesh. Vessel startles, the arm on II's bicep going down to hold his hand gently out of instinct.

"Are you alright?" Vessel asks, desperate to know if II was okay despite just having met him.

Something within each of them was drawn to the other, small and unnoticeable as it was.

"I- I'm fine." II gasps out, shuddering violently, eyes going half-lidded as his vision is clouded with the sky he stared up at as he died, lost in the fear he felt,, the way the blood forced its way up his throat, burning like acid-

Vessel's hand in his brings him comfort, so he holds it tighter, hoping the other man doesn't mind. It helps ground him to the moment, walking through this silent forest with the first vessel of a God he knows next to nothing about. Vessel pauses, looking at their joined hands and up to where he knows his pulse should beat. Panic flares up like a flame in his chest, and Vessel rubs soothing circles into the palm of II's hand with his thumb to ignore it, push it down and away. II won't notice, lost as he is in his own mind, so it should be fine, Vessel assures himself desperately.

"I'm sorry." II starts as they continue walking as his shaking calms down, "I just remembered how I died... I was robbed, stabbed in the chest a couple times, I think."

Vessel strains to hear the other man as his voice goes down to a whisper, sad, with a hint of bitterness. "You never need to apologize to me for something like that. Its only natural to be haunted by your death."

II couldn't see it, but Vessel has averted his gaze, guilty eyes staring forlornly down at the fluffy cat he was holding. Nodding, assuming Vessel could see him, "How did-"

"I bled out." Vessel states, a certain unfeeling numbness to his voice that shocks II into silence.

The thumb still rubbing slow, gentle circles into his palm stills, righting itself in a proper hold, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." II hurries to apologize, realizing that he shouldn't have asked.

"It's alright. I've had time to process and come to terms with it." Vessel lies, the guilt building up with every word.

Lying to II seems wrong, and Vessel hates that the words fell from his lips so easily. Though, Vessel supposes it isn't really a lie. Vessel has come to terms with his death, come to terms with his failure at ending his own life. This admittance lightens the guilt a bit, and Vessel breathes a little easier knowing he didn't truly lie to II.

When they reach the manor, the outside vines reach for Vessel as he passes over the threshold of the porch, the small area covered with the plants. II cannot see them, but he does feel them brush over his arm, can just barely see the outline of the manor looming above him. He's so tired, so quickly trusting of Vessel, that he doesn't even bother asking if they've arrived.

Vessel turns on the lights in the entrance hall, ducking his head momentarily as it burns his eyes, disguising it as setting down Elvira, and when he looks up, they get their first good look at each other.

Vessel's mask is startling upon first glance, but his eyes, pupiless blood red surrounded by pitch black sclera are beautiful though the eye holes are differing shapes and altogether difficult to see into. He's wearing a pair of plain black jeans with a black hoodie, the band name on it unfamiliar to II. His hair, a dark mess sitting wildly upon his head, curls around the edges of the mask and the underside of his jaw.

Vessel, taking II in, finally lets go of his hand, which he realizes is black as night. Both he and II miss the touch, neither really understanding why. II's mask sits perfectly over his nose, a piercing just barely visible under the cloth in his right nostril. The blue of his eyes are even more striking in the light. He is also much shorter than Vessel, a good few inches of height between them. His clothes are simple a t-shirt that shows off the tattoos on his arms and plain dark wash jeans, his shoes are chunky black boots and he has a multitude of silver chained necklaces of differing lengths dangling from around his neck.

They both look around the entrance hall awkwardly, suddenly realizing that they both had been staring intently at each other. Vessel decides to show II around the manor, and let him pick a room, all while explaining that they only have about twenty-one hours to get everything set up for II's transformation. Vessel warns him it will hurt greatly, but neither could've truly prepared for it.

All of the rooms are pretty bare, but II doesn't mind, Vessel explaining again but in further detail how the house had been empty of anything but dust, debris, and barely standing furniture. He listens intently as the first goes on to explain that the only lucky break they had was that each room had in-tact bed frames, a blessing from Sleep most likely.

Vessel hates how much he's speaking, sure in his belief that every word is grating on II's ears. The other man must be so annoyed with him by now. Once Vessel is done getting him settled in, he'll have to be as silent as the dead so as not to bother the Second.

II ends up picking the room closest to the upstairs sitting room, after only a brief glance into it. Elvira sits perched on the small windowsill, staring at the two men standing in the doorway. She meows once before hopping down to rub against II's leg and running off somewhere else. II laughs, and Vessel hangs on to the sound, the silence of the house dispersing with another person's presence.

The altar room is a quick affair, barren as it is. II reaches out to touch the sigil on the wall, and Vessel, leaning silently against the doorframe, shudders violently as the sensation slams into his own chest like a freight train. It wasn't painful, just- greatly uncomfortable.

Turning back around to look at the first, II manages to miss Vessel pulling himself together quickly as he gestures at the mostly bare table, "We'll need to get more candles and things for offerings. Incense maybe?"

"Yes, I figured we could get some things at the store. We should probably leave soon if we want to make it before the furniture store closes. I want to give you time to settle in before your transformation starts tomorrow." Vessel explains, eager to get II's curious eyes away from the sigil his heartbeat resides in, and II nods easily enough, understanding.

"Sure. We can head out now. I'm already feeling better than before, though I do have a headache coming on, I think." II smiles, but it falls into more of a grimace towards the end of his words.

Vessel winces, understanding entirely. The migraine he suffered before and during his transformation was the worst he had ever experienced, he is sure. He can imagine very well what II must be feeling.

With Vessel leading through the darkness with utter surety in the destination and II no longer as weak limbed as before, the walk back to Vessel's car is far quicker, merely an hour instead of the two or three it took the first time. They held hands again, for II's benefit, of course. Vessel wouldn't want the other man to stumble and twist an ankle.

It's as they get to the furniture store a while later that Vessel's anxiety rises to the surface whereas it had once been simmering just under his skin, growing steadily in strength with every mile passed.

Parking the car about halfway through the parking lot, Vessel shuts the car off and lets II begin to get out. The other man pauses, realizing Vessel wasn't coming with him.

"Are you not coming?" II asks.

Shaking his head almost rabidly,

"I can't go into a store like this. I can't, I'm sorry." Vessel pleads, eyes wide, anxiety swirling in his gut, just the thought of getting out of the car nearly too much to handle.

"Is it your eyes? The mask?" II inquires, worried now as Vessel's shaking becomes clear to him, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel not hiding the tremor in his whole body.

Nodding, Vessel agrees, though to which one II isn't sure, so he assumes it is both. "Stores- I get- I couldn't go in by myself. Before you arrived. Sleep asked me to do all of this before you got here, but I- Fuck, fuck." Vessel's voice breaks off into a whisper, guilt eating away at his mind for even admitting this much.

II must think him pathetic, useless. All of his past partners did, his parents, and they all made sure he knew quite well. But Vessel couldn't help the way social situations made him feel like the ground was about to crumble away beneath his feet, like the entire world's eyes were on him at every moment, like everyone was laughing at him just for existing. He's fucking worthless. He can't even go into a fucking store by himself, and clearly not even with another person who is dressed almost as unusual as himself.

II, who has remained silent up until this point, trying to figure out a way to comfort Vessel, to reassure him, is kept from saying anything just yet when Vessel speaks again, and his voice is so quiet, so desperate, II's heart clenches in his chest, "Please, just- just get whatever you want. I, I can help load it on the car when you're done, I promise. I'm sorry."

"But don't you need a mattress too?"

Vessel can't bring his eyes to meet II's own, focusing instead on his hands before him. "I don't need sleep, not like you do. Sleep said so."

Frowning, putting that aside for later thought, II counters, "You still need rest Vessel, whether you sleep or not. The bed doesn't have to be just for sleeping. It's not like we have anywhere to sit right now, you need a proper bed."

Vessel winces, recognizing II's point and agreeing silently but unwilling, unable to say anything, his mouth filling with cotton. "I'll be keeping my mask on, and if anyone asks or says anything, I can answer for us. We'll say we're off to a costume party or something."

"Okay." Vessel agrees quietly, slipping the keys and card into his pocket before slowly opening up the driver door and getting out.

II walks over to his side and grabs his hand, tilting his head and gesturing with it in silent question. Nodding, Vessel licks his dry lips, each step forward feeling like a death march. Vessel woukd prefer killing himself again, he thinks, instead of being around complete strangers out in public. Especially like this.

The fluorescent lights inside the store immediately burn his eyes and Vessel cringes back, ducking his head and staring resolutely at the floor. Leading them forward, II asks quietly if he's alright. Vessel murmurs his affirmative, eyes clenched shut as a headache begins to ache right behind them.

His hands have gone numb and Vessel is glad for II holding one of them, keeping some sort of feeling in the appendage. He wonders if the other man is going to say anything about the full-body tremble he can surely feel, wonders if he'll take his hand back, shake him off, or tell him to 'stop that fucking shaking or else.' It wouldn't be new to Vessel.

II let's go of his hand only once the entire time to try out a mattress, gesturing with the other as a saleswoman comes up to them asking if they need any help. When he asks what Vessel would prefer, Vessel spirals. II's letting him choose?

II, noticing the accelerated, short breaths Vessel is taking, pulls them over to one of the dimmer sections of the store, though its hardly any darker. "Breathe, Vessel, its alright. Do you want me to just get the one I picked for both of us? I'm sorry, I didn't think your anxiety was this bad. I'd never have asked you to come in if I'd known. I thought it was just from what we were wearing, but clearly its not. I'm sorry."

II, desperately trying to comfort Vessel, takes both hands now and rubs over his palms gently, trying to soothe, to help. Vessel forces himself to nod, a few too many times, but II doesn't mind. "I'll be right back so we can get out of here. How am I paying?"

Vessel begins shaking his head back and forth as II lets go of his hands. On instinct, Vessel grabs the hem of II's shirt but jerks back away just as quickly, holding his arms close to his stomach in a protective manner. "I'm sorry. I'll go with you, just don't leave."

II's heart shatters at the desperation in Vessel's voice, how small he looks even as he towers over II. The man can see that the first Vessel is trying his best to take up as little space as possible, hunched over into himself. Glancing around, II realizes some of the workers are staring though they look away quickly when II catches them. "I won't leave, I promise. Let's get this done quickly, alright? Then we can leave."

Vessel hands over the credit card Sleep gave him, and when II takes it, Vessel looks back down to the floor, hands held close, keeping a close eye on II's boots to follow him. When the second vessel doesn't move after a moment, Vessel looks up. The corners of II's eyes are crinkled with the smile hidden mostly by his cloth mask, a hand held out in offering. Hesitantly, Vessel reaches out and takes it, marveling at the gesture despite it becoming somewhat familiar at this point.

While II talks to the saleswoman again and gets everything handled, Vessel is lost in his head, focusing on righting his breathing, on the feel of II's hand in his own, on the faint presence of Sleep in the back of his mind. Slowly, the numbness in his hands that had spread up his arms fades, his trembling slowing before stopping completely.

As the workers go to bring out the mattresses to the front of the store, II looks back at Vessel in concern. The other man has been silent, but II is glad his trembling has stopped and he's seemed to calm down. "Are you okay now?" II keeps his voice low, gentle and calm,

Vessel nods, still not meeting II's eyes and he frowns, worried. There's no way II can expect Vessel to go grocery shopping with him. "I'm sorry I made a scene."

"Oh, Vessel, you didn't make a scene. Its alright, you can't help when you have a panic attack. Its not your fault." II reassures, regretfully looking away when the workers bring out the mattresses.

"There's bungee chords in the back. We can tie down the mattresses that way." Vessel offers, rubbing over his wrist scarring and newer cuts absent-mindedly, the urge to add more growing.

They get out the bungee chords and attach the mattresses to the top of the car, it weighs it down quite a bit but thankfully not enough they can't drive anywhere. Vessel feels some of his deeper cuts reopen, but doesn't let his alarm show. He's wearing his hoodie, it'll be okay.

"We need to go to the grocery store still. I'll drive since I don't think you're in a good state to do do. My headache isn't too bad." II states when they're finished.

Vessel apologizes quickly, voice weak as he hands over the keys without question. He feels like utter shit. This trip was to get things for II so he'd have all he needed when he undergoes the transformation into a true vessel tomorrow. Its turned into him just comforting useless Vessel.

"Vessel, you don't have to keep apologizing to me for things like this. Its not your fault, and really, none of this bothers me."

Vessel nods, closing his eyes against II's burning gaze, fearing the man can tell that he is only agreeing to drop the issue. They get in the car and sit in silence while II drives further into town looking for a store that sells both food and other things. He explains that they may as well get sheets and pillows and groceries all in one go, do they can get back home faster. Vessel marvels at the way II can already call the manor home. Vessel isn't sure he's ever really had a home. A house, a place to sleep, sure, but a home? Never.

Vessel expects II to have him go into the store with him again, but is surprised when he declines and II only smiles and asks him if there was anything he wanted. "Thats alright, I'll pick out some new things for us to try then. I'll be right back."

Only when Vessel is sure II is gone does he let himself cry. Silent sobs shake his shoulders, small breaths are all he can manage and Vessel really just wants to hurt, but he refrains. He can wait until they get back to the house and get II's things set up. He can, he has to. Vessel doesnt even want to think about what II would say if he saw Vessel ripping into his own skin with his nails.

'I had a fucking panic attack after going into a furniture store! A furniture store!' Vessel thinks hysterically to himself, loathing beating away at his brain as his sharp nails dig into his thighs through his jeans. His masked forehead rests against the dash while he waits for II to come out. He feels terrible, like a burden. Worthless, no, even less than that. II is going to leave, without a doubt. If he doesn't, then surely he will ask Sleep to rid themselves of his presence. Vessel isn't that important, his God could easily find other vessels.

Sniffling, Vessel lifts his mask to wipe away tears, and sits in silence until II returns, around an hour later. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait so long." II says as he opens the drivers side back door, stuffing a multitude of bags inside that he seemingly carried out by himself.

"You're fine, did you get what all you wanted and needed?" Vessel asks, and hopes II doesn't notice about the voice crack.

"Yeah! Bedsheets, a few blankets, a first aid kid, a few shirts for me and hopefully a couple that'll fit you, and some other essentials like underwear and shit. Oh, and snacks, to go with all the healthy food you just bought us." II smiles.

"The card's from Sleep actually. Didn't have any of my own money. Money is inconsequential to Gods, so they just made that card for us to use."

"Ah, well, I think we just singlehandedly fucked up the economy with illegal, undocumented money." II laughs, and Vessel smiles at the sound, though it falls when II winces and holds a hand to his temple.

"I'll drive back, II, you rest. I'm sorry you had to do all this. I should be able to do these things."

"Alright, that's probably for the best. Are you feeling better now?" II asks, and his pretty blue eyes are so hopeful Vessel finds himself nodding in affirmation despite not feeling much better at all.

The corners of II's eyes crinkle even further, causing his eyes to squint like he can't quite see. It really is endearing, and Vessel finds himself smiling back though he knows II can't see it. They switch places in the car, and II goes through his cd's before picking a Whitney Houston album. 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' starts playing over his radio, and Vessel's lip quirks up as II starts quietly humming along, tapping along with both his feet and hands to the drums, mimicking all the hand movements with ease, as though drumsticks were in his hands at that moment.

"Do you drum?" Vessel asks once the song is over.

Nodding as he answers, II replies. "Yes, I play the drums. Its one of the reasons Sleep chose me. Do you play anything?"

A blush rises to Vessel's cheeks, but he answers truthfully. "I sing, play guitar, bass, and piano."

"I can see why Sleep chose you then, if our method of worship is to be music. You must be talented." II smiles lightheartedly.

"Just a hardworker is all."

Vessel insists on carrying some of the groceries when they get back to the forest where the manor resides. II tries to protest, saying he has everything handled, but Vessel manages to get at least four bags while II takes the rest. II pouts, the jut of his lip barely visible under the mask, but it causes Vessel to laugh again, the smalle shaking of his shoulders and the near-silent huffs of laughter exactly what II was aiming for.

The walk back to the manor is shorter, a little bit more of the ice broken between them. II talks more than Vessel, but neither mind when silence strikes. When the manor comes into view, a single light left on in the entrance hall the only indicator II can see, he sighs in relief. Over time, his headache has grown increasingly worse. He could not set down the grocery bags fast enough.

"Just a bit more II, just gotta get your mattress back here."

"Okay." II's voice is quieter now, and Vessel is quickly growing worried.

He knows his God said they had twenty four hours, but they're already down to eighteen hours left and with every passing second, II looks a little bit worse. The trip back to the car for II's mattress is easy enough, its managing to get it back to the manor while II feels worse and worse that makes it difficult. By the time they manage it, II has to sit down by the footboard of his bed, back against the wall with his head tucked between his knees. Vessel turns the lights off in the house and begins making the other man's bed with whatever sheets he finds first. They're not washed but the package was completely unopened so it'll have to do.

Fluffing up a pillow or two, Vessel finishes with the bed and crouches before II. The second vessel doesn't lift his head, doesn't even move. "Hurts." He murmurs, and Vessel barely hears it.

"I know." Vessels voice is low, aimed to soothe, "Can I pick you up?"

II shakes his head, insisting he can get up to his bed himself, but when he gets to his feet, he sways, holding his palms to his eyes as the movement causes a sharp stab of pain that continues even after he manages to still. Vessel half leads, half carries II to bed and tucks him in under the covers. II is nearly asleep by then, head aching something fierce, but still, he reaches out blindly for Vessel, grabbing his hoodie hem as the man turns to leave. "Thank you. I'll see you in the morning?"

Vessel nods before realizing II can't see him before verbally responding. II falls asleep with a small, barely visible smile and Vessel sighs as he shuts the door behind himself.

That done, Vessel goes to put groceries away and sort through whatever else II got. Going through the shirts and figuring out which is likely his, putting the first aid kit in the downstairs bathroom, groceries in the cleaned out fridge. Its nice that Sleep at least made sure there was running water and electricity. It's quick work, and Vessel finds the silence in the absence of II to feel... well, wrong. So he hums, so quiet it barely stirs the air around him, but it helps all the same. Making his way through the house in search of II's cat to feed her, Vessel eventually finds her in the large empty room on the ground floor. Though, its no longer empty.

To one side of the room sits a beautiful but old grand piano, a light wooden color with a matching bench. To the other side of the room is a drumkit complete with a pair of drumsticks.

"Thank you, my God."

'Enjoy your gift, my vessel.' His Gods voice whispers in his mind before they are gone from his head, though their presence lingers as it usually does.

Sitting down at the piano, Vessel lets a single finger press the G note key, but it was so discordant after it rang through the room, Vessel couldn't help but wince. Vessel looks around the room and finds a tuning kit pretty easily, thanking Sleep once more, and gets to work. Its hours of work, and the sun is rising by the time he's done. He sits to play for maybe an hour or so before a knock on the doorframe causes him to slam a few keys all at once.

When Vessel turns, II is leaning on the doorframe holding his head with one hand, a pained smile beneath the mask. He stands right away, making it over to the other man in record time, and begins leading him back upstairs. "I'll make you something to eat, you just lay down."

II doesn't protest about all the care Vessel is showing, visibly in pain. The hours leading down to the beginning of II's transformation are long and drawn out, feeling like a timer ticking down to a bomb setting off. Vessel had warned II that the process would hurt, but he didn't truly realize how much it would affect him leading up to it. Vessel remembered being in pain before his as well, but its worse seeing II going through the same thing and being unable to do anything about it.

Thankfully, he's in bed when the transformation begins, Elvira laying by his feet. Vessel is with him, holding his hand and rubbing soothing circles into his palm worriedly. II is grateful, so grateful. Vessel could have just left him be in wait for the process to begin, but he's been fretting silently, an aura of worry stemming off his body so potently II could almost see it. II would try to reassure him if he could manage to speak past the pain, past the fire roaring through his blood, pounding away at his brain.

II is aware of everything, every change being made to his body and soul. He can feel something crawling over his itching, burning eyes, feel the way his Gods essence slowly takes over his lifeblood, transforming it into something more. Every atom is screaming as his soul changes to the whims of his God. He has no idea how much time has passed, it feels like its stretched out infinitely and yet mere seconds at the same time. It's torture. If II thought accepting his new God was painful, this is light-years worse. Nothing he has felt, in this life or the next, will ever compare to the sheer agony this process is wreaking upon his mind, body, and soul.

The only constant aside from the pain, is Vessel's touch, the calm of his voice. Vessel is so gentle, so apologetic as he removes the mask from II's head. He hums near silently as he wipes at II's sweaty forehead after putting him back on his back so he doesn't choke on the sludge that drips from his lips, its taste foul.

The only passing of time II is aware of is the position of the sun as it passes by his room. Vessel never turns the light on, so II relies on the bright rays, thankful the too-thin curtains have been pulled shut. It must've been at least a week now, in constant agony. II wants it to end, he needs it to stop, please Sleep, make it stop.

"Sleep, I don't understand why even asleep, he looks so pained. Is something wrong with his transformation?" Vessel asks, brow furrowed beneath his mask.

II wants to ask Sleep the same. Something has to be wrong for the process to feel like this. The voice of his God is far too loud as it echoes in the room, bringing nothing but more pain as it mingles with II's migraine.

"Nothing is wrong, my vessel. This was how your body reacted as well. The second vessel rests, but he is not asleep. You handled your transformation beautifully while awake, so I did the same to the second."

Vessel breathes out a shaky sigh of disbelieving horror, unaware of how II, conscious as he is while his body is still, knows he would do the same.

"Will it take as long as mine?" Vessel asks finally, after minutes in silence, through trembling lips, and II watches, unable to move and too in pain to really process at the time, as Vessel lifts his mask to wipe golden tears.

Golden tears. Vessel has tears of liquid gold, striking against the pale skin of his jaw and the blush pink of his lips, staining the other man's hands and clothes as he wipes them off on his jeans.

This isn't right. Vessel could easily justify letting himself suffer, he was used to pain. It's been a constant his entire life. But this man before him didn't deserve this, sleep should be his sanctuary during this process. Why won't his God just let II sleep? There has to be something Vessel can do- wait. Vessel makes a decision and calms his mind as much as he is able, needing to concentrate. There's a thin thread of something niggling at the back of his mind that's been there ever since his transformation. Reaching out a hand and laying it on II's sweaty forehead, the creases from pain ease under his touch. If Vessel could just- yes, just like that. Connect with II's consciousness and force him to sleep, properly sleep, instead of whatever this is that Sleep has put him under. There's an ache in his brows that wasn't there before, but he ignores it after chalking it up to the beginnings of a headache.

II's dry eyes move, eyelids shuttering before falling shut. Pain spikes through his head and Vessel winces, but when he unscrews his eyes from being shut, II has calmed. His forehead no longer creases in pain, his breathing just that small bit calmer. Vessel is glad. So glad.

Vessel lets himself rest, curling up at II's side, careful not to touch, while the other finally, finally sleeps. His mask and II's sits between them, and Vessel lets himself sob into one hand while the other holds II's. Fuck, he finally feels worth something. Even as his brow aches and the room spins and nausea rocks in his gut, Vessel keeps himself silent, something he does well. His shoulders shake minutely, and he sobs, but no sound leaves his lips but the barest hint of harsh breathing. When he is calm, Vessel thinks he may go write a song. But right now, he is so tired, and all he wants is to sleep but he physically can't. His body aches, and a headache pounds behind his eyes, a chill sweeping through his limbs.

Within hours, II is awake again, and Vessel can feel it. In the back of his mind, its like a light switch has turned on and that fuzzy bit of something comes into focus and then there is pain. Such agony that Vessel shoots up and back, knocking over both himself and the piano bench he had been sitting on. In seconds, he is up the stairs and in II's room, at his side, knowing without a doubt that it is his presence Vessel is feeling. With no small amount of effort, Vessel forces him back to sleep and breathes a sigh of relief at the peace that settles in II's mind, even as the headache that had finally went away begins to creep up on him again.

"Sleep, what's happened? Why can I- Why can I feel II's presence and his emotions? Its strange, and feels wrong, like- like an invasion of his privacy."

"I have bonded you to the Second in mind and soul. I thought you would like to be able to navigate your human emotions better if you could feel each others. Do you not like my gift?"

"N-no, its not th-" Vessel blanches at the hurt he can hear in his Gods voice, trying to explain himself quickly to lessen it.

"Fine then. I was to explain how to give you some modicum of privacy, as you humans seem to strive for that in desperation, but you are not thankful for my gift. You will figure it out for yourself."

"No! Wait, I beg of you, please- I'm-"

Sleep's presence is gone before Vessel can finish, "... sorry. Fuck."

Running to the altar room, Vessel takes the ritual knife he keeps by the plate and draws it vertically over his wrist. Blood spills onto the plate almost immediately, and whether Sleep makes their presence known or not, Vessel needs them to understand.

"I am thankful for your gift. I- I just- II doesn't need to be privy to how fucked up I am. He doesn't deserve to and... I'm scared. Of what he will think of me. This is- This was a very sudden gift, and you've already given me more than I deserve."

Sleep lets their presence be known, voice no longer as hurt as Vessel's blood continues to drip down his arm and splash onto the plate. It is faint, but Vessel is relieved they have come back at all.

"I have told you, my dearest vessel, that you are deserving of everything. I will not take back my gift, and in time, the other vessels will be bonded with you and the second in the same way. That is all I will say on the matter, now leave me to rest. I- I have overextended my powers to give you these things. When the time is right, I will ask for an offering, one not of your blood, but perhaps of the music you have made."

Vessel crumbles to his knees, clutching his arm to his chest. Affirming his Gods wishes, Sleep leaves him. These- all of these things- II, the piano, this bond, these things are gifts from his God. His God thought well enough of him to give him things without asking for anything more than worship in return, and only when they need it. Vessel couldn't be more grateful, as apprehensive as he is about this bond he and II have been struck with. He supposes he'll just have to figure out how to limit his emotions from traveling over to II's side. It can't be that hard, can it?

II is awake for even shorter periods of time over his transformation as Vessel learns to use this new power with more and more ease. With every use, the ache in his brow grows worse, little by little. Vessel grows adept at closing the door of his mind that leads out into a hall where II's resides. Its strange, to picture a hallways with doors in his own head, so it takes work, but Vessel gets it eventually. With practice, it becomes easier to manage.

In his waking moments, Vessel was there. II felt every careful touch, gentle caress, heard every kind word and encouragement. He heard Vessel cry and sob, out of pain or despair, II isn't sure. He just knows it breaks his heart every time. When he wakes and there is less pain than usual, II is struck with an emotion that he can tell immediately isn't his.

II has never felt such strong self-loathing, even at his worst. There is also this other presence in the back of his mind, much like how Sleep's lurks. Within seconds, that negative emotion is gone and replaced with terrifying calm and Vessel appears at his side. Was- was that Vessel's emotions?

"Its okay, you don't need to be so confused. I'll explain when your transformation is over. Go back to sleep, II." Vessel's hand is cold against II's too-warm forehead and if he could, II would lean into the touch but his body still won't obey him.

Sleep is a welcome thing as the brief reprieve from the pain ends almost as quickly as it started.

Finally, two weeks into his transformation, II wakes for the final time, feeling better than he had in what felt like forever. Vessel is nowhere to be seen, but II can hear the piano, which has been a near constant thing in his moments of consciousness, stop. There is relief in II's chest, even as he sits up and takes in the new state of his body.

His hands have turned the same deep black as Vessel's, up to the middle of his forearm where little tendrils of ink reach up towards his elbows. Instead of his usual nails, longer, sharp nails like claws lay. When II glances at his window, there is no light streaming through, and yet he can see perfectly. His mask lays beside him, but II leaves it off. He needs a damn shower, desperately.

"You're awake, for good this time." Vessel's voice is as relieved as II feels, breathy and hopeful.

II looks up at his doorway where Vessel stands, still as a statue with his arms held close to his stomach, and II realizes he can feel the relief in his mind as well where Vessel's presence has grown stronger.

II smiles at Vessel, and for a moment, Vessel is struck by just how beautiful the other man is. For the first time, Vessel can see his eyes crinkle and the way a single dimple appears, and awe floods the bond for a moment before it quiets to something smaller, less all-encompassing.

"I'm sorry." Vessel starts, then begins to explain about the bond, nervous and apprehensive.

II listens, nodding along, a bit concerned at the calm over the bond when clearly Vessel is not calm at all. Sleep has bonded them, made it so their emotions are apparent to each other when they wish it, and Vessel sounds scared.

"Alright, I'm fine with this."

"Y-You are?"

"Yeah, I've always believed in communicating what I'm feeling anyways. This will just make that easier. I understand if you don't want to do the same, and I'm completely fine with that. I'll just be an open book for you, you won't need to doubt my intentions." II smiles again, and Vessel is struck with the heavy need to cry again.

So little time spent with this man and he's been nicer, more considerate of Vessel, than most anyone ever has in his entire life. It's jarring, and Vessel doesn't know how to act around him, so Vessel decides to do as he would if II weren't so kind, as the safest option.

He'll isolate himself, hide away. Hide his emotions, his pain, keep to his room.

Its better this way.

If only II thought the same. If only Vessel didn't silently ache with the want to be loved that he breaks beneath it so easily.

[iinryer]

tell me about the self indulgent boxing fic!!! <3

self indulgent boxing fic by BELOVED!! it’s self indulgent because i box and this fucking show has given me multiple characters doing combat sports for various reasons. so i took that sandbox for a spin lol

it’s relatively chill, not an au or anything, but the concept was maddie inviting eddie to come to the gym with her one afternoon when buck is busy. the other half of the self indulgence is i get a to be so in the weeds with terms and processes and stupid shit like that. it’s delightful (to ME). but yeah. the setup is a vessel for me to talk about boxing, and the boxing is a vessel for maddie and eddie to explore some problems and issues and to have some conversations about the ways they understand each other <3 it’s actually nearly finished so if I could ever kick my own ass into gear, it’s not too much of a far fetched dream lol, here’s the opening scene:

—

It’s just after one in the afternoon when Eddie’s phone buzzes loudly across from where he’s folding laundry on the dining room table. He sighs, tossing the threadbare sleep shirt back into the basket and reaches over the mountain of dryer-warm towels to grab it before the call rings out.

His stomach drops and cold fear zips down his spine when he sees the name lighting up his screen.

Maddie Buckley calling…

He almost sends the phone flying into the basket too as he scrambles to connect the call and bring it up to his ear. Without preamble, he blurts out, “Is he okay?”

There’s a inhale and a series of cut-off sounds before surprised laughter fills Eddie’s ear. He immediately deflates and lets out a (frankly, mortifyingly) relieved huff.

“Wow, okay,” Maddie says, a smile in her voice, “apparently we need to talk more if that was your first thought,”

“I guess so,” Eddie says with an embarrassed laugh, rubbing at his jaw, “uh—hey. Hi. What’s up?”

“Well, first of all, unless something happened in the two minutes since I got off the phone with him, I promise you that my danger-magnet little brother is doing just fine with his pickup shift,” Maddie snorts, “second of all, said pickup shift is sort of the reason I’m calling, but not about Buck,”

Eddie—confused and intrigued, but still in the process of willing his adrenaline-charged heartbeat to calm down—can only hum in question as he pulls out a chair to sit down.

“I’m not sure if he told you, but we’ve been trying to box again?” she continues, an edge of apprehension peeking through for the first time since Eddie picked up, “I was hoping to rope him into going today because you guys were off but…”

“He picked up half of Dante’s 24,” Eddie finishes, understanding that part but not so much the part where— “so you decided to… call me?”

Maddie laughs again, bright and a little sheepish, “Well, Mr. Illegal-Street-Fighting, I wanted to see if you’d like to come show me some moves,”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to bark out a startled laugh. He can’t even find it in himself to feel weird or ashamed, there’s just something so warm in the way Maddie says it. Familiar and sisterly.

He can‘t lie to himself and say he isn’t surprised by the offer, the two of them haven’t really spent one-on-one time together. They’ve got their entire support system in common, sure, but they’d been ships in the night at the call center, and Eddie was back at the 118 just before Maddie returned.

To be fair, it was probably only a matter of time before the two of them found themselves overlapping more. The boxing invite is a surprise, but everything else about it somehow feels inevitable.

He shakes his head fondly in the direction of his pile of nearly finished laundry and doesn’t even try to tamp down on his incredulous grin, “You know what? Yeah, why not,”

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tta episode 10

“Last time, on Total Takes Action: our remaining contestants competed in a detective noir themed challenge to uncover a secret traitor within their very midst. Scary went bananas… again, and Scruffy got served a heaping dish of steaming hot reality. O was accused of the crime, but it was Max’s secret detective skills that pulled through and uncovered the real imposter… Fren! Or should I say Alistair, award-winning theater actor? Unfortunately for him, the Gilded Chris was not an award he won, and he was sent off the silver screen and back to the stage. Is anyone who they say they are? Find out now, on Total! Takes! Action!”

The craft services tent is dreary and quiet today, not a hint of conversation or comradery between the remaining contestants. 

Scruffy is seated far away from Scary, jogging in place in the corner of the tent. Scary is ignoring them, flipping through their notes and making additions and addendums. Max is reading something, his brow furrowed in concentration, O is busy spooning the morning breakfast slop, and Peter is sitting awkwardly by himself on the vacant end of the table. 

---

PETER: “Ever since Fren- sorry, I mean Al- left, it’s been dead quiet around here. Everyone left hates each other! Not only that, but since my last friend left the island… I’ve been completely alone.. I think this might be the first time I've spoken out loud in a week!”

---

O coughs. Scary wipes her nose on her lab coat sleeve. Peter looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. 

Finally, the intercom crackles, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Goooood morning, campers! If you’ll all join me in front of the craft services tent, we have a special treat for you today!”

Scruffy raises an eyebrow. “But- our next challenge is supposed to be-”

“Don't wet yourselves with terror just yet- this is not a challenge! Just for fun! And ratings!”

Scary rolls her eyes and snaps her notebook shut, walking outside with the rest of the cast. Only Scruffy lags behind, apparently disturbed by the sudden change in structure. 

"Do you really believe it's going to be nothing?" Peter asks Scruffy, tailing alongside them.

"Um... I guess... I mean, Chris works by a schedule, but he can be pretty unpredictable," the neon lime wonders aloud. "Maybe he'll invite us to a cozy dinner and drug us, and we'll wake back up on the island..."

Scruffy sighs dreamily while Peter quivers in terror.

---

SCRUFFY: "I haven't been on top of my game this season, and it's really making me miss the island. At least then I could predict what was coming... now, it's like Russian roulette with a fully-loaded barrel!"

---

Chris is standing with an unfamiliar camera crew right outside of the tent, chatting about shot lists and lighting. As the campers shuffle outside, he turns with a big smile. He’s wearing an odd pair of square glasses and a beret today. 

“Good morning, treasured and beloved children,” Chris speaks in a pleasant, soft tone. Behind him is a massive buffet loaded with every breakfast food imaginable- eggs, toast, bacon, pancakes and waffles of every variation, croissants, jams and butters and chocolate spreads, with pitchers of fresh squeezed orange juice lining the table-cloth covered surface. Chef is at one end of the buffet, setting down tiny plates and toothpicks, covered in bacon grease and sweat. “Did you all sleep well? Ready to enjoy your nutritious breakfast?”

The campers halt, looking between each other as if no one is quite sure if this is a mirage or not, like an oasis on the desert. Scruffy silently pumps their fist in the back.

Finally- “Did you hit your head or what?” Max asks bluntly. 

The host chuckles back. “Of course not,” he turns to the crew behind him. “The children get three vitamin-packed, nutritious meals every day. We have our own personal chef on standby, so everything is made fresh.”

Chef waves from the end of the table, little flecks of bacon grease flying off his fingers.

“I’m pretty sure there was a cockroach in the oatmeal this morning,” O mumbles to Max. He nods. 

Chris looks back to the campers. “Today we have a very special treat for you all. I’ve canceled the mindfulness and meditation, so you all better give your full attention to the very nice people from Reality, Weekly,”

Scruffy gasps. The campers look between each other, still in a shocked silence, now even more confused than before. Finally, Scary clears his throat. "Um, who?"

"WHO?!" Scruffy shouts from behind them, right into her ear. She claps her hands around her head and glares.

---

SCRUFFY: “Reality Weekly?! THE Reality Weekly?! North America and selective European countries’ number one reality TV gossip mag?! THEY RAN THE DUNCNEY VS. GWUNCAN STORY FOR YEARS! This is the most exciting day of my life, oh my God- I was right, staying in the game is WAY more important than 50 million dollars!”

---

“Can we get Nadie on set?” a stagehand yells. Two production assistants set up some chairs inside the trailers as the cast looks on.

"Make sure to be veeeery nice for the lovely television producers, and I'll see you all at your gourmet dinner tonight," Chris clasps his hands together and strains his words, trying to convey one thing to the remaining campers- behave. "Anyone who doesn't want to participate will see Chef in the, um... meditation tent."

The campers turn to see Chef sharpening a fish hook by the buffet. Chris wishes them good luck and walks off with a few sharply-dressed producers. 

"This is such [CENSORED]," Scary sighs.

"I knew it was a challenge..." Peter grumbles, taking a seat on the grass by the buffet table and dejectedly peeling an orange.

"Does this mean we're not getting drugged?" Scruffy pouts. "No matter- I've been preparing for my Reality, Weekly interview since I was six years old!"

They take a seat next to Peter, crossing their legs and smiling. "I used to practice in front of the mirror before school- of course, in those interviews, I was giving my winner's speech... but this is alright, too,"

Peter splits the orange in half and gives one handful of slices to Scruffy. "Did you always want to be on TV?"

"Oh, yes. I've known for years that Total Drama is my home!"

Scary coughs in the back. "Loser!"

Max elbows her and she lunges at him. Their growls and his screeches fade out as she chases him across the lot. Scruffy turns back to Peter. "What did you want to do?"

"Oh, a lot of things," Peter nods. "Doctor, psychologist, research scientist, teacher... people say I have a real knack for helping."

Scruffy makes a face. "Has helping people ever gotten you anywhere?"

Now it's O's turn to elbow him. He frowns disapprovingly and turns to Peter. "Well, I think that's wonderful, Peter. Maybe we can be therapists together!"

"Maybe!"

Scruffy rolls their eyes and shakes their head sadly. "Just not cut out for this game..."

The sound of a door opening catches the attention of the remaining players and they turn towards their sides. A young person dressed in a purple tank top and black pants comes out from the impromptu production tent set up outside the craft services tent, adjusting a lav mic and grinning widely. 

“Okay, who’s first?” they ask, flipping their braids over their shoulders. 

The campers look between each other. One tiny voice pipes up from the back of the crowd. “Ooh, me! Me!”

The interviewer ignores Scruffy and sighs, tapping their chin. “How about… Max. We have a lot of questions for him,”

Max screams from far away as Scary catches him.

"Can someone get him for me?"

---

The camera adjusts and focuses on Max sitting in front of a wall, the space cleared out for the interview. Nadie remains behind the camera, clearing their throat. “Good morning. I’m Canada, but you can also call me Nadie, if you want,”

“Your name is Canada?”

“Nadie for short. Shall we begin?”

---

NADIE: “Okay, so when I got this internship at Reality Weekly six months ago, I was so totally not expecting to get sent out to Toronto to interview the Total Takes cast- this is like a dream come true! My supervisor Sierra picked me specifically, because I’ve already seen all of Total Takes Island- five times!”

---

Nadie tries to contain the smile in their tone as they begin. “So, Max- what’s it like being back on the show?”

“Terrible,”

“Last episode, you said that you only came back to see your girlfriend, Michela- now that she’s gone, do you still want the money?”

He shrugs. “It couldn’t hurt. Might as well try while I’m still stuck in this hell hole,”

---

Outside the trailer, Scary, Scruffy, O, and Peter wait on the grass. A shaky, handheld camera records them, and Scary glares at it. 

“What, like we aren’t being recorded all the time on this damn set?”

The cameraman doesn’t respond. She groans and stands, walking back to the craft services tent. The camera turns and follows her, stopping every time she turns around. 

“Would you BUZZ OFF!” she finally yells, storming into the tent and zipping the flap behind her. 

Scruffy runs in front of the camera. “You can film me! Look at me! I loved your guys’ exposee piece on Sugar!”

The camera turns away. 

---

Max walks out of the trailer in a few minutes, and O is called in. 

The former walks past Peter and Scruffy waiting outside and locks himself in the communal bathroom. Scruffy groans in agony. 

"This is torture! No one here even cares... do you know how special being on Total Drama is? It's hard, yes, but... we're making history! We have fan clubs, people speculating about us and our relationships, magazines running stories on us... what part of that doesn't sound amazing?!"

"Um... all of it," O grumbles, sitting criss-cross in the grass while snacking on a baby muffin. "Is that really why you came here? To get famous?"

"Not really. I just wanted to... you know, experience it for myself," Scruffy sighs. "Why'd you come?"

"My therapist recommended it, thank you very much," he responds curtly. "And I think this place is a petri dish of potential clients in the future. After this season is done, we can start doing group therapy!"

"Geez, and you think I'm weird for obsessing over the show," Scruffy rolls their eyes. "But at least we can agree on one thing-"

O nods. "People here are crazy,"

---

“I guess meeting everyone has been fun,” O says, tapping his chin. “Peter is pretty chill, Scruffy is… um… I’ll pass on that. Max has his moments, but I see a lot of love in him, deep down,” O puts a hand over his heart. “Just the way he looks at Michela tells me that behind all that nerdy superiority, he’s got a good heart. Scary is a black tar pit of nothingness and she might’ve been forged in the depths of the sun.”

---

The camera films through the mesh craft services tent window as Scary sticks another fork in the wooden table at the center of the tent and digs it deep into the pliable surface. She takes out a rubber band and pulls it apart, creating a long, rubber string. They tie one end to one fork, and likewise to the other, then pulls it back with a small pebble. 

She grins as she releases the elastic and it flies across the tent, straight into the camera lens. 

---

SCARY: "What? I've been making some good progress here, and after last episode, I'm not taking any chances letting the wrong people see what I'm cooking up," they hold up their notebook and grin. "They'll see. They'll all see!" she laughs maniacally and then coughs. "But, as much as I hate to admit it, losing my assistant has taken me a step back. A scientist is only as good as their word, and in most cases, their word needs to be excessively reviewed and re-reviewed."

---

Scruffy runs a lap around the filming trailer, then another. Peter gets called inside and O walks out, stretching and retreating to the other trailer. 

---

“Scruffy is… well… they’re an enigma, let’s say that,” O scratches his chin. “They may be too far gone for even me to help.”

---

“I almost feel bad for them,” Peter says, hands in his lap. “They’re straining themself so hard, and I can tell when someone is about to snap…”

---

“Another formidable opponent lost to the insanity of Total Takes,” Max shakes his head. “A damn shame.”

---

"Wasted potential," Scary flicks a dustball off their lab coat.

---

Peter sits in the designated chair against the chosen backdrop, fidgeting nervously. 

“You doing alright, Peter?” Nadie asks, adjusting his lavalier mic and then stepping back. He nods sheepishly. “If you insist. First question… what’s it like making it this far in the game after being dropped so early from the competition in the first season?”

“Scary,” he says immediately. “Even scarier now that Fren is gone.”

“Were you two good friends?”

“He was nice to me,” Peter mumbles. “No one is nice to me… I mean, just off the bat.”

“How do you feel about Max’s influence over his elimination?”

“What do you mean?”

Nadie scratches her chin awkwardly. “Well… if he’d never been exposed, he’d still be here,”

Peter looks at his feet. “I guess I’ve… never thought about it that much…”

---

O rifles through a bag of chips from the kitchen, watching Scruffy pace back and forth and murmur to themselves like a madman. Scary joins O, hands on their hips as they watch the display. 

“Pathetic,” she sighs. “Oh, well. I suppose they were always a ticking time bomb. Say, O… you have any experience in chemistry?”

“Only in the chemicals of the mind!”

“Nerd!” Scary shouts, walking away. “Have to do everything my damn self around here…”

Max steps out of the bathroom, looking back and forth. The camera zooms in on him as he walks out, exhaling. 

“Boo!”

He screams and leaps as Scary shouts in his ear. She chuckles and watches him blush and regain his composure. “Was that necessary?”

“No. That’s why it’s fun,” she smiles. “Hey, you’re a smart guy, right?”

“Maybe. Who’s asking?”

“I need a second opinion,” Scary pulls out her notebook. “Some peer review, if you will. Scruffy has obviously fallen off the deep-end, and I have some ideas to bounce.”

“What, your parole officer busy this week?”

“You and I both know I’m above the law. What do you say? I’ll give you a fraction of the profits if I’m right… 10%?”

“25%”

“20%, and that’s my final offer,”

“Deal. Twenty it is,”

Scruffy trips on a pebble and wails on the ground, rocking back and forth in front of them.

---

“Peter is…” O starts, looking up. 

---

“A pushover,” Max scoffs. 

---

“A good guy, but not Total Takes material,” Scruffy nods. "Poor guy is going to get eaten alive..."

---

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just so milquetoast,” Max rolls his eyes. “Still, I wouldn’t mind making it to the finale with him. For obvious reasons.”

---

Peter sits in the craft services tent, biting his nails and glancing over to Max every few minutes. He’s busy rifling through a few of Scary’s notes, looking up every few seconds to make sure no one can see what he’s doing. The camera zooms in on the papers nonetheless. 

Peter turns to O. “Can I get some advice?”

“What?” O yawns, leaning on his elbow. “Oh, yeah, sure! What’s the deal- GAD? SAD?”

“Um… I just want your opinion on something. You know, like a friend,”

O raises an eyebrow. 

---

O: “I guess it’s just kind of… weird… having people want to talk to me like a friend… I’ve never had a friendship that existed outside of impromptu therapeutic discussions and mutual validation, you know?”

---

“If there was someone who… ruined a friendship for you… would it be right to be angry at them?” Peter asks, looking at his lap nervously. 

“Anger is a secondary emotion, if we can get to the root…” O slows down, then sighs. “Yes. Yes it would be right. In fact, I’d be even angrier! If I got to actually keep a friend, and then someone else ruined our friendship, I’d be furious!”

“Really,” Scary scoffs from across the table, peering over her notebook. “Mr. Cool Therapy, that’s not good client advice.”

“I’m not a therapist,” O crosses his arms, matter-of-factly. “I’m not licensed, after all. It’s illegal to impersonate a doctor. We’re talking… as friends!”

“Whatever,” she sighs, returning to her notes. 

---

“O is… whatever, I guess,” Scary crosses her arms. “Not worth my time.”

---

“He’s fine. Michela liked him enough,” Max sighs. "She does have astronomically bad taste, though... wait, what does that say about me?"

---

Nadie steps into the craft services tent and calls in Scary.

"No way in hell," Scary grumbles, leafing through the notebook with Max at her side. "You're lucky I haven't smashed in all your stupid equipment yet."

"Um, yeah, Chris warned us about that, so... he took the liberty of setting up a minefield around the production tent," Nadie smiles nervously. "I wouldn't get too close if I were you."

---

"What do I think I've accomplished on the show?" Scary scoffs at the question.

---

Max sighs. "Nothing,"

---

"Not enough!" O says.

---

"I guess I've... survived, and that's good enough, right?" Peter smiles bashfully.

---

"Here's an accomplishment for you: today's minefield will be the last," Scary grins. "Chris is going down."

---

It's dark out now, the sun setting behind the cityscape. Scary steps out of the trailer and Nadie sticks his head out as she leaves. “Scruffy?”

“FINALLY!” Scruffy jumps up from the grass where they’ve been waiting for the past few hours, and dashes inside the trailer. “I am so ready for this!”

“Love the enthusiasm,” Nadie smiles. “We don’t actually have a lot of questions for you, but this one’s on everyone’s minds…”

“Anything!” they speak enthusiastically, folding their hands in their lap and sitting up straight.

“What are your thoughts on Patrick and Julia being an item?”

Scruffy’s smile drops. “What?”

“Damn, right, I forgot that you don’t have internet access here. Patrick and Julia are an item now! Considering your close friendship with Julia, a lot of the fans are wondering…”

They force another smile. “That’s great! That’s so cool and awesome, I’m SO happy for them! Haha! Even though Patrick’s style of antagonism directly conflicts Julia’s and they’re way too different and he knows nothing about her. I’m fine! You know what? I didn't even want to do this interview anyway- I have to go!” Scruffy stands, running outside the trailer. 

---

Scruffy sits in the confessional, wailing.

---

Scary and Max watch them running into the makeup and hair confessional, covering their face. “What got up their ass this time?” Max asks. 

---

Peter and O watch the two from inside the mess hall. "What do you think they're doing?"

"Nothing good," O responds, shaking his head. "Anything those two can agree on has to be trouble."

"I don't know, maybe we're being too harsh..." Peter starts, twirling his thumbs around each other. "I don't want to be mean..."

O sighs and takes a seat at the table. "Listen, man. Speaking... as a friend, I think you can be pretty soft when it comes to people messing with your feelings. And I know that... I haven't been doing a good job at regulating that for everyone. I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I feel like therapy just pushes positivity onto people instead of validating their feelings!"

"I don't think that's crazy at all," Peter says. "Didn't your therapist get you to come on reality TV to face a fear?"

"Yeah... maybe... that wasn't the right move," O sighs. "I know it's unprofessional, but I see you guys as friends, not clients, and I would never subject my friends to that same crap."

"I don't think that's unprofessional, I think that's empathy. It's sweet," Peter smiles. "If only everyone else felt that way..."

"Hey, man, if you need me, I'm here for you. What's been happening to you isn't fair, and if you wanna get mad-"

“It’s just so unfair!” he suddenly shouts, slamming his fists on the table. “Why do these things keep happening to me?!”

“That's it- stand for yourself! Don’t let your fear take over!”

“You’re right! I’ve been letting myself get walked on for too long!” Peter stands. “I’m going to confront Max and Scary and tell them exactly what’s on my mind!”

He storms out of the craft services tent and to the impromptu camera tent, where the Reality, Weekly crew is having their dinner break. Max and Scary are hovering around the group, using their lights to read through the notes. 

“I’m no scientist, but this all seems right to me,” Max says. “If your readings are correct, and your evidence can be held up in court, you definitely have a case.”

“I knew it!” Scary grins. “Chris McLean is SO going down!”

“MAX AND SCARY!” Peter shouts, pointing an accusing finger at them. The two look up from their notes and squint at him. 

“Great. What now?” Max mutters, crossing his arms. Scary hands him the notes and walks up to Peter, hands on her hips. 

“What’s the deal, pipsqueak?”

“The deal is that… that…” Peter quivers, a little unsure of himself, before he takes a deep breath and stands his ground. “You’re MEAN!”

“You’re RUDE. You’re EVIL!” he takes a step forward. “And you’re not even that much smarter than anyone else! We can ALL TELL!” 

Scary scoffs. “God, this is pathetic. You really think that-”

She takes a step closer and triggers a sudden hidden trip wire. The sound of twanging makes both her and Peter stop dead in their tracks and turn to the sound of fizzling under their feet. They both jump to the ground, covering their heads as a landmine goes off behind them- sending Max flying across camp and instantly disintegrating all of Scary’s notes. She watches the papers turn into ashes in horror. 

Chris chuckles, watching the display from afar. “Man, I love fireworks,”

---

A medical helicopter takes off, Max tucked inside. Scary is seething, fists clenched. 

“Well… that was fun,” Nadie says, waving goodbye to the chopper. 

Chris smiles. “Yes. Yes it was,”

"MONTHS of evidence- gone!" Scary turns to Peter. "You're dead. You're dead meat, and I'm gonna eat you!"

"Weird," O breathes, then turns his head to either side of him. "Hey- where'd Scruffy go?"

---

Scruffy remains in the confessional, wailing.

---

[ancientbygone]

intro post

Copper, 18 years old, it/its pronouns (he/him acceptable; no they/them). made this side blog as a contained space for my own Sleep Token art and ramblings and such first and foremost, as well as others' Sleep Token posts i like.

if you want to support me, consider donating: https://ko-fi.com/copper_sands

autism creature Vessel keychain preorder: https://ko-fi.com/s/3e86930c7f

DNI:

the basics (racist/queerphobic/etc)

unmasking the band members

RPF supporters/creators

if you romanticize/glorify incest, zoophilia, sexual depictions of children, etc. (fictional or not, either way it's block on sight)

if you use, support, or in any way condone any use of generative AI (images, music, text, anything at all)

strictly/mostly NSFW blogs (if it's just occasional NSFW content that's chill)

taglist & more info under the cut:

notes:

DO NOT REPOST MY ART. if you wanna use it for non-commercial means, ask for permission & if allowed, credit me when used. if you wanna use it for commercial means, fuck right off.

my native language isn't english. if i fuck it up i fuck it up.

i do not ship the band members themselves or their stage personas and i find it uncomfortable in general (for myself). i know i listed RPF in my dni but i feel the need to elaborate that for the sake of personal taste, it applies to their stage presence, too.

adding onto the previous point, whenever i talk about the vessels in terms of lore/adjacent, i am talking about them as characters. always. this blog is not for speculating on their private lives, and if you do so, you will be blocked.

i'd prefer not to discuss any of the sexual connotations in the lyrics for my own comfort. i know they exist, i just prefer not to think about them for my own interpretations.

i would appreciate people not leaving NSFW comments on my art, especially the more emotionally heavy stuff, thank you very much! if you really Have to say something, please do it in a separate post or just in a place where i'm unlikely to see it.

even if i might tag my writing as "theories", they aren't necessarily intended as such. if anything, i'm telling a story of my own based on the lyrics. if you try to claim there is one correct interpretation and it's yours, you're getting blocked.

adding onto the previous point (x2), a lot of the time i interpret the lyrics in tandem with my personal life experiences. it will absolutely get a little too real here. if the subject matter is too heavy, it will be tagged with #[subject] and #[subject] tw.

let me know if you want/need me to tag anything specific! either in an ask or in my DMs. don't hesitate to reach out about that :]

in addition to everything, i will be posting about my Sleep Token D&D AU, which is as simple as it sounds and also not at all. it's also very removed from my "main canon" or most of the band IRL, so it's really just me (& @mapleborealis !) fucking around. also, unlike the "main canon", they are a polycule and all kiss with tongue /hj

blog tags (WIP):

organization:

#bygone art - my own art

#bygone talks - my ramblings & the more disconnected bits of writing/theorizing

#bygone writes - the more coherent writing/theorizing

#bygone lore - everything related to my version of the lore of Sleep Token, be it art, writing, or anything else

#bygone silly - my memes

#bygone shows - any post of mine related to a personal Sleep Token ritual experience (pics, rambling, etc)

#bygone footage - images/videos/etc of the band, mine or not (credited as much as possible)

#bygone beloved - posts i particularly like and want to archive, mine or otherwise

#bygone off topic - things vaguely related to sleep token or not related at all

#others' [___] - a post of any variety listed above, just made by someone else

d&d au:

#sleep token dnd and #dnd au - general au tags

#dnd au vessel/ii/iii/iv/etc. - character-specific d&d au posts

little clarifying moments:

#espera - tag for vesselettes (hopefully no maskless posts; won't call them vesselettes either)

#sleep token him - separate tag for whatever Vessel and Sleep were pre-Sundowning. you can glimpse more on that in my posts about it.

#sparrowverse (thank you @fivewholeminutes for the name) - everything related to the lore of a timeline alternate to my main lore in which each vessel of Sleep has to kill the one before them to assume their place. outlined in my fanfic "kill the sparrow". there isn't much to it right now but there might be more trust

[signalterminated]

puella madoka magica au

Reality is coming down around them.

II can feel the fabric of it warp and bend, tears carved at a molecular level spilling antimatter across the sky. A kaleidoscope of color shimmers high above them like a bursting star. Scattered infrared trickles down as particulate, psychedelic nuclear fallout. The taste is akin to pop rocks candy mixed with battery acid. It fizzles on the tongue. Nauseating like a free fall, that split second suspension before a roller coaster drop.

II hasn’t been on a roller coaster since he was a teenager. He breathes out slowly, trying to orient himself in the non euclidean geometry reshaping the ruins around them, spreading like an infection. 

To say they’ve fucked up is an understatement.

They were fools for thinking they could bring Sleep through to the other side. As if they could contain the endless possibility of a thing not meant to be contained, not meant to walk or float or do anything other than be. Oh, He had wanted, yes, and wanted so badly, but He’d been unable to conceive of what that wanting truly meant. How do you picture a color that doesn’t exist, the inversion of everything you are?

It turns out neither had they. They’d simply listened to the want that throbbed in their bones like an ache, trusting blindly that a god would have figured it all out already, gifting them glory and ascension with His emerging as promised. 

But collapsing the barrier between domains hadn’t brought anything other than the collapsing, and now III and IV are gone. 

The First Vessel writhes at his side, and this concerns him more than anything else. 

II musters what energy he has to lean over, chewing his lip to pieces, hands hovering over his beloved friend but unsure of where to place them. This wasn’t supposed to happen. III and IV’s demise, the agony The First displays as he claws at the ground, it's all a composite of every nightmare he’s ever had — only pinching himself won’t make it stop.

“What’s wrong?” II’s voice is tight with worry bubbling over into panic. How quickly helplessness can chew away at his resolve and leave him scrambling. “Please, tell me how I can help.”

Vessel’s throat strains but the only thing he can manage is a whimper. He’s jerking side to side as if he’s trying to hold on, or…no, like he’s trying to keep something in. Fighting back an invisible force raging within.

II’s blood goes cold. His hand darts out to cup a masked cheek, calling out his name yet again, pleading with him to hold on, to focus on his voice, please, he’s right here — 

Vessel’s body snaps upward like a stop motion marionette. II barely has time to register the crack of snapping bones before Vessel’s jaw drops open to let out a scream unlike anything he’s ever heard. It lances directly through II’s skull, pure anguish amplified into a sonic tidal wave that has him drawing his arms up on instinct. 

Thinking past that noise is impossible. It echoes off of shattered glass and rubble until II’s certain the whole world will be swallowed by it. It’s like his soul is being dissolved while he’s still breathing, a violent disintegration of being. A blur of opalescent darkness arcs up from him and shoots into the sky like a bolt of cosmic lightning.

The First Vessel is dying. Sleep is dying, too. 

What’s reborn from their desiccated husks is neither man nor god. Misshapen, malnourished, desperate to exist yet unable to bend to the laws of the universe it’s been thrust into. It cries and the air around it emits superheated vapor, blowing out then turning in on itself to form localized vacuums. The dreams of countless minds spill out from a shifting sea of mouths all caught muttering and giggling and sighing and sobbing, vomiting blurs of sound and light that II can’t bear to look at. They morph and tremble, uncertain now that they’re free, painting the landscape in shadows wherever they crawl.

The ground around them is starting to grow teeth.

“Why?” II can barely hear himself over the cacophony rising from the apocalypse in motion. Tears spill down his cheeks and crystallize. “I don’t understand.”

The thing that is not god or a man is laughing. 

“Why did this have to happen?”

The thing that is not a god or a man is weeping.

Black tar is gurgling underneath him, rising like a tide. Hands sprout from the muck to latch onto his limbs and drag him down with exponential speed. He doesn’t fight it. His head is still craned to the sky, to what remains of the man he loves, and he closes his eyes to pray for one last wish. 

This can’t be how it ends. If he could just turn back the clock he’d stop this from ever happening, do things right, save all of them, he could he could he could —

He opens his eyes to a white ceiling and an alarm blaring in his ears. It figures the afterlife would be noisy and...familiar? That's the word. There's an uncomfortable warmth radiating from the soft sheets beneath him and the duvet above, body heat trapped between both after hours of rest. A mundane discomfort.

Wait a second.

He violently kicks off the sheets tangled around his sweaty legs and slams his palm on the snooze button, heart at a gallop. Dull blue light leaks through the cheap venetian blinds at his window.

His window. This is his room, in his flat, in…

He scrambles for the smartphone left precariously at his bedside table, tapping it on. The date on the lockscreen is January of 2016.

Oh, shit.

Either his brain has just taken him on the longest, most wickedly lucid nightmare of his entire life, or he’s been granted a miracle. 

[blueteller]

Question about what you think about WS reincarnation! There was a Convo between him and Sayeru if I recall correctly, that the latter has been with the former for three of the White Star's lives, 198 years to be exact. I find it interesting how that's phrased because does that mean he was with him in three consecutive lifetimes or there was some gap in between. Also, 198 years for three lifetimes... wow, so WS actually lives up to 90+ in a single lifetime. And so, my question is, when WS reincarnates, is there a lag when he gets a new body? Like is his soul stuck in some sort of limbo until it find a compatible body or is it instantaneous that when he dies, his soul immediately transfer to a new body. Can I ask your opinion about it?

That's an interesting topic, certainly!

The thing is, at first I interpreted the sentence of "three of White Star's lives" as "they saw him live his full life three times". Which is probably wrong. If the White Star lived and died three times within 178 years – that's 198 years minues the 20 years in his current body, assuming he's physically the same age as Cale – that would make his average life expectancy about 59 years. Which is not terrible, all things considered, but definitely not impressive.

While the Curse would certainly make it hard for the White Star to live to an old age, as it literally makes fate conspire against him to make him miserable... it would make a lot more sense for him to have grown used to it. After hundreds of years of reincarnating and struggling on his way to achieve his goals, the White Star should know how to preserve his body so he would be able to live as long as possible in each lifetime. In short: the White Star could have all sorts of tricks and cheats in his sleeve to extend his life. So the second interpretation of those "198 years in three lives" as "died twice and this is his third lifetime" would make more sense. So the average of 89 years would logically fit.

Personally, I don't believe there would be a gap between lifetimes. I suppose it's possible there would be a 1-year-gap, to find a new vessel, kick out its intended soul (while infecting the soul with the weaker version of the Curse), develop in the womb and be born again. But personally, I think it's more likely that the instant he died, the White Star got transported to its new vessel at the moment of its birth. Why do I think that? It's because Sheritt's wording made it seem like the thing he would me missing most would be the ability to rest in peace.

Think about it. Everything about the Curse is meant to be exhausting. The White Star is unable to sleep, unable to lay down witout being in pain, and unable to feel the sweet release of death. It would make a lot more sense to transport his dying soul from one painful position – death – to another – birth. Because being in a mother's womb as a baby sounds very calm and pleasant. In fact, it's probably the closest Cale's ever been to his beloved Slacker Life 😂

So yeah, I'm pretty sure there is no time gap between the White Star's lifetimes. He did not wait to get reincarnated and born again. So with his Ancient Powers, even as a baby, he certainly should be able to find his way back to his allies within the first year of living. It would be very tiresome and annoying as a literal infant, but the White Star is definitely stubborn enough to do so.

The thing I'm most curious about, however, is if there are any restrictions on what kind of vessel the White Star could take. As far as I can tell, in canon there are only two:

his body is always human

he is always born male

Which might not be a lot, but it does make me curious if there are other possible criteria. There has never been anything suggesting the possibility of the White Star ever being re-born female, or as a non-human.

So naturally, I wonder about other things, such as: is his eye and hair colors always the same? If not, was he ever born with dark skin, like the Southerner in the Jungle? Was he ever born disabled, for example blind or with missing limbs? (Sure he could have killed himself to get a better body, but could that happen???) Or crippled, or mentally ill? (Which wouldn't do much, seeing as he's already been long past insane for centuries, but isn't that an interesting thought...)? Or maybe mixed-blood? Was the White Star ever born as royalty? Did he use it to his advantage to forge an alliance with some of the Eastern Continent's countries?

As you can see, there are many questions I still have about the White Star. Sadly, I don't think I'll ever get the answer for most of them.

Still, it was fun to think about it. Thanks a lot for your question! I hope you enjoyed my little analysis 😀

[grigori77]

2023 in Music - My Top 5 Favourite Albums

5.  LONELY THE BRAVE – What We Do to Feel

The alt-rockers from Cambridge, UK have completed their reinvention after their post-sophomore record shake-ups with what is arguably their best album to date, a canny mixture of moody, anthemic guitar-heavy muscle and haunting introspective beauty.  Enthusiastically gruff vocalist Mark Trotter definitely seems to have really earned his place now after making an impressive debut on 2021’s similarly excellent The Hope List, taking what was already a strong band producing great music and helping to transform them into something truly special.

Standout tracks:  Long Way, The Lens, Our Sketch Out, Victim, In the Well, Eventide, Unseen, The Bear

4.  HOLDING ABSENCE – The Noble Art of Self Destruction

Looks like it’s third album’s the charm for one of the very best bands to have emerged from the 2010’s second-gen post-hardcore alt rock scene (which also produced my absolute favourites of all, Don Broco … but that’s a different story).  Following up in FINE FORM INDEED from their already MAGNIFICENT second album The Greatest Mistake of My Life, Cardiff’s (no longer) best kept musical secret have crafted a streamlined powerhouse of a record that’s all killer/no filler, perfectly showcasing their ubiquitous double-threat of blistering guitars and lead singer Lucas Woodland’s spectacular, nakedly honest vocals.

Standout tracks:  Head Prison Blues, A Crooked Melody, False Dawn, Scissors, Honey Moon, Her Wings, These New Dreams, The Angel In the Marble

3.  HOZIER – Unreal Unearth

The rightly beloved Irish singer-songwriter has returned with what is arguably HIS VERY BEST record to date, a brilliant ever-shifting musical landscape incorporating subtle, spellbinding Celtic-flavoured gentleness, ear-wormy pop-accented bops and bravely inventive experimentation.  The result is the year’s most effortlessly SOOTHING musical offering, which has done wonders to cheer me up every time I’ve put it on after a rough day.  But I still miss “the woo” …

Standout tracks:  De Selby (Parts 1 & 2), Francesca, I, Carrion (Icarian), Eat Your Young, Damage Gets Done (featuring Brandi Carlile), Who We Are, Butchered Tongue, Anything But, Abstract (Psychopomp), Unknown / Nth, First Light

2.  ENTER SHIKARI – A Kiss For the Whole World

The craziest rock band to have EVER come out of St Albans continues to blow me away with their fiendishly eclectic mixture of edgy post-hardcore grit and anarchic electronic-edged musical MADNESS.  This is BY FAR their most streamlined record to date (I can’t believe it’s little more than HALF AN HOUR LONG!), but in some ways also their most rewardingly EXPANSIVE, Rou Reynolds and co. once again playing in an arena of massive themes and making us think as much as they make us ROCK OUT.  More of this please, lads!

Standout tracks:  A Kiss For the Whole World x, (pls) Set Me On Fire, It Hurts, Dead Wood, Bloodshot, Bloodshot (Coda), Goldfish, Giant Pacific Octopus (I Don’t Know You Anymore)

1.  SLEEP TOKEN – Take Me Back to Eden

It’s fascinating to think that just a year ago I’d barely even HEARD of Sleep Token, and certainly wasn’t at all FAMILIAR with anything they’d done.  Then they dropped The Summoning and everything changed … less than 12 months later this is BY FAR the best record I’ve heard ALL YEAR, and as far as I’m concerned anyone who DOESN’T rate it at the very top of their own 2023 list clearly wasn’t paying attention (I’m looking as YOU, Kerrang!).  The mysterious Vessel and his equally unknowable fellow collective have crafted a work of unrivalled MAJESTY here, a little over an hour of pure sonic MAGIC which constantly flips between the hardest possible progressive metal and a dizzying myriad of other genres from its attention-grabbing opening to the heart-wrenching closer.  The end result is not only the best album of the year but a very strong candidate indeed for, potentially, my album of the DECADE.  Worship indeed …

Standout tracks:  Chokehold, The Summoning, Granite, Vore, Ascensionism, Are You Really Okay?, The Apparition, Take Me Back to Eden, Euclid

The ones that didn’t quite make the cut:

STONESIDE. – God of the Mountain (the Texan prog metalheads amaze us once again with their long-awaited debut album); PVRIS – Evergreen (multitalented musical genius Lynn Gunn delivers her most eclectic and full-on electronic alt-rock record to date); TESSERACT – War of Being (the latest offering from the endlessly inventive Milton Keynes prog metal maniacs just might be their best yet, and it’s DEFINITELY their most memorable); BABYMETAL – The Other One (quite possibly the greatest metal band to ever come out of Japan have done it again with another stone-cold banger of a record); STAIND – Confessions of the Fallen (one of the greatest secret weapons of the American post-grunge era makes their long-awaited return after a 12-year absence with one of their best albums to date)

Honourable mention:

EXPLORING BIRDSONG – Dancing In the Face of Danger

Much like with Sleep Token before them, I was genuinely ignorant of this emerging prog rock band from Liverpool up until mid-November, when Kerrang! Radio introduced me to them through their haunting cover of Deftones’ Diamond Eyes.  Then I did what I always do, see what else they’ve got knocking about on YouTube, and within two videos I was LOST.  Their second EP is completely fucking AMAZING, a magnificent musical adventure of pure imagination and experimental GENIUS which goes a long way to prove you don’t actually NEED guitars to rock out, lead-singer and pianist Lynsey Ward doing a genuinely beautiful job with just her keys.  All five tracks are absolute FIRE, but the undeniable standouts are Bear the Weight and the killer closer, No Longer We Lie.

[fivewholeminutes]

i am in fact the same TMBTE anon both times (sorry!! 😭). again, such a cool analysis!!! i'm new to ST and IMMEDIATELY got invested. i haven't seen an artist do something like this before, so it's really amazing trying to connect the dots based on what everyone thinks. and yes, i do think it's the same girl in the music videos, which is interesting because of the whole "he planned everything from the start" theory. then i wonder about what the music videos mean (though i do agree that the vision shifted a little after TLYW)! i loooveee the idea that Sleep is coming from within Vessel, cause he's literally a host as in an empty holding vessel. and the white mask thing omg......so crazy cool......cause then it goes into after being "taken hostage", they change their masks as like some sort of acceptance (which kind of mirrors Vessel's black body paint transformation cause the current masks are black too?). idk, i do think that sometimes we/the fans stretch things, but that's also the fun of it. always love hearing the Think™

and in true sleep token fashion, i think i'll remain anon - 🪼

Hello again, Anon!! Sorry this one took so much time! I am stuck in a car now, so I can finally finish it. The editing on mobile is an absolute fucking nightmare though

Don't be sorry for being the same Anon! I was just listing all possibilities and now, knowing it was you all the time, I hereby pronounce you My Beloved Anon. No take backsies. (Kidding, if you're not comfortable with this title, let me know!)

Alright! Let's make a list:

Immediately getting invested in ST? HIGH FIVE, this is what happens to approx. 98% of us (at least here on tumblr). And everybody agrees that there is Something about them. And nobody knows what that is, only that it works. So we're actually in a cult, sorry everyone!

Ok, no, it's not entirely true that we don't know, people have hinted that their uniqueness might be in a. extreme fucking talent, obviously and b. letting the audience fill in the gaps that lack of the band members' identities provides with whatever suits everyone's needs best.

The videos switch their vibe dramatically, don't they? The early ones feel more... I don't know, based in reality (maybe except for the Fields of Elation), while TPWBYT ones feel more like they are set in those dreamlands Vessel mentions in The Apparition. Okay, TLYW is more dreamland-ish, Alkaline looks like it's set on Earth/waking world, but Vessel gets too much power from Sleep and needs to be stopped by the ancient-gods-slash-eldrich-horror-hunting version of Ghostbusters. So the older videos seem more human to me, you know what I mean? Maybe they wanted to show that with time, Vessel looses more and more of his humanity. But we can't rule out the "they just had more money for the videos, so they went off" possibility. Also, I think they don't make much videos to not let the fans think there is some "canon" here?? Or they just don't like making them lol

EXCELLENT IDEA with that whole hostage mask situation - I've just had a loose thought they looked like sacks, but i haven't connected it to the lore, thank you, Anon!!!!! Now, as usual, it made me Think™. Cause we have interpretations floating around (which i love, btw) with the other Vessels being "drafted" into the band to relieve the first Vessel from the toll Sleep's power has on him, cause after all, his human body cannot manage it by itself when Sleep grows in power from all the worship. BUT what if they didn't join voluntarily? They weren't persuaded to join the cult, but they were kidnapped instead. Carefully chosen, to fulfill the plan of greatness. Hence the hostage-looking-masks. And then stockholm syndrome kicked in (i know, i know, the term is not exactly correct anymore, but for the lack of a better one 🤷‍♀️) and they were like "ye, you know what. That's actually better than a 9-5 job" and the masks changed. They have embraced the dark side. (I am cataloguing this under "unhinged theories", btw. But yeah, it's just a thought, possibility, me fucking around etc. That's a long-ish car trip, I gotta do something with myself, you know.)

Oh and we absolutely DO stretch things (see point 4, for example)! See things that aren't there. Make 2648585 interpretations. It's fun (when we remember not to involve the real people behind the masks in the mix)!

Anon, i respect you deciding to stay on Anon so much. You're making the band proud, probably!

[pepperwebsblog]

Love Letter 3

Here's the plain English version of the love letters from my fic (Love Letters)

Dearest, The unthinkable has happened. The thing which I dreaded the most, above all things has occurred. Dapper lost a life today. My love, I don’t even know how I can explain it without breaking down. I am barely holding myself together. Dapper now sleeps, he is currently in my arms as I pen this letter to you, he is safe for the moment, but it has been a truly horrific day. Cellbit and I were busy building a satellite as part of the secret work we are doing to investigate the Federation and we were attacked by a binary code monster. I have mentioned them before, they have threatened but never before committed outright murder. It set its sights on Dapper and wouldn’t give up until my son was dead on the floor. I did all I could to defend him, but it wasn’t enough. I failed. It’s strange isn’t it, how loss and grief, are perhaps the form of love most acute; the feelings that make you realise how strong that love was to begin with. I felt everything within me cry out at the injustice of my son’s lost life. I would have torn the world asunder, I would have dived down deep into the River Styx to retrieve his soul myself had the gods permitted it. I would burn this entire world for him my dearest, such is my love for my son. I know not what the future holds for us but I know Dapper is integral to it. Life without him is not worth living. How one small being could change my entire reason for existing is….unreasonable. Someone, somewhere is having a laugh at my expense. This was not how I envisioned my life panning out. Fatherhood has changed me. I see the world though his eyes now, the wonder, the fascination, the passions, the cares, the love. This letter has been an indulgence. Forgive me my dear, it has become a reflection on that which so many have experienced, but until this moment, not I. Parenthood. My soul is forever changed. One day I hope you can share in this too, You have my heart as always, it’s just a little bigger now thanks to Dapper, Bad

And here’s how it translated into the flowery version.

My Dearest, In this darkest hour, I must convey the gravest news. The unthinkable has happened. That which I feared above all else has come to pass. Dapper, my beloved, was robbed of one his lives. Oh, my love, words fail me as I attempt to articulate the depth of my despair. I am but a shattered vessel, barely able to contain my anguish. Even now, as I pen this to you, Dapper rests in my embrace, sheltered for this moment from the cruel hands of fate. Yet, the horror of this day weighs heavily upon me. Cellbit and I, engaged in our clandestine efforts to unravel the mysteries of the Federation, found ourselves beset by the monstrous binary code entity. This foe, of which I have spoken before, had hitherto only menaced us with its threats. But today, it descended upon us with lethal intent, fixating its malevolence upon our dear Dapper, until his first life was cruelly extinguished. I fought with all my might to shield him, but alas, my efforts were in vain. I have faltered, I have failed. Is it not a cruel irony, my dear, that in the face of loss and sorrow, the truest essence of love reveals itself? My heart cries out against the injustice of Dapper's untimely demise. I would tear the world asunder, I would dive into the inky depths of the River Styx, defying the gods themselves, if it meant I could reclaim his precious soul from the clutches of death. For him, I would lay waste to all creation without hesitation, such is the depth of my paternal devotion. The path ahead is shrouded in uncertainty, but of this I am certain: Dapper is now forever woven into the fabric of my destiny. To contemplate existence devoid of his presence is to entertain a life devoid of purpose. The notion that a single, young, innocent, child could so profoundly alter the trajectory of my being is beyond comprehension. Surely, Fate, that capricious arbiter of destinies jests at my expense. This was not the life I had ever envisioned, but it is now one I embrace. Fatherhood has wrought a profound metamorphosis within me. Through Dapper's eyes, I now perceive the world anew—the wonder, the awe, the boundless affection. This letter, though born of sorrow, and indulgent in its musings, serves as a testament to the transformative power of parenthood. Parenthood, with its joys and trials intertwined, hath left an indelible mark upon my very being. Mayhaps, one day, you too shall partake in this sacred bond alongside me. Know that my heart, though heavy with grief, is yours, its capacity for love simply expanded now thanks to Dapper, Yours, in sorrow and in love, Bad

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 293

John 1:4

HONOURING THE ALTAR 12: IMPORTANCE OF THE ALTAR 7

Mat 23:18-21 You also TEACH that IT DOESN'T MATTER IF A PERSON SWEARS BY THE ALTAR. But you say that it does matter if someone swears by the gift on the altar. Are you blind? WHICH IS MORE IMPORTANT, THE GIFT OR THE ALTAR THAT MAKES THE GIFT SACRED? ANYONE WHO SWEARS BY THE ALTAR ALSO SWEARS BY EVERYTHING ON IT. And anyone who swears by the temple also swears by God, who lives there. CEV

There are those times you come to Church regularly but the messages are so dry that you are always fighting sleep.

You know it is not because you don’t take the “Word session” seriously but that you simply can’t connect with the messenger and his message.

The reason could be either one or more of 7 points.

Job 6:6-7 CAN FOOD THAT IS TASTELESS BE EATEN WITHOUT SALT? OR IS THERE ANY TASTE IN THE WHITE OF AN EGG? I HAVE REFUSED TO TOUCH SUCH THINGS; they are like loathsome food to me. NET

1st, there must be some Divine seasoning that comes with every Word of God.

So, the man who must Preach – though he is called – should also prayerfully prepare very well before coming to the Altar.

Col 4:6 LET YOUR SPEECH ALWAYS BE GRACIOUS, SEASONED WITH SALT, so that you may know how you should answer everyone. NET

The seasoning in Messages must pass down unto the lives of God’s people, who are His Sacrifices.

This is a divine mystery but simple enough to grasp, if you’ve followed carefully with recent lessons here.

Mar 9:49 "EVERYONE WILL BE PURIFIED BY FIRE AS A SACRIFICE IS PURIFIED BY SALT. GNB

2nd, the Messenger must seek to receive the word from God daily: there’s a Word for each day & time.

Isa 50:4 THE SOVEREIGN LORD HAS GIVEN ME THE CAPACITY TO BE HIS SPOKESMAN, so that I know how to help the weary. HE WAKES ME UP EVERY MORNING; HE MAKES ME ALERT SO I CAN LISTEN ATTENTIVELY AS DISCIPLES DO. NET

Take note there that you listen as a disciple, not as a “master” of the Pulpit Ministry.

Many start losing savour of Ministry when they begin to assume they know what to say always. Humble yourself beloved.

Take note of: “God wakes me up”. God Himself is ever ready to “load” us daily.

The problem has always been that when he looks for His messengers, they are commonly unavailable or slack in attendance.

Eze 22:30 "'I LOOKED FOR SOMEONE AMONG YOU WHO COULD BUILD WALLS OR STAND IN FRONT OF ME by the gaps in the walls TO DEFEND THE LAND AND KEEP IT FROM BEING DESTROYED. BUT I COULDN'T FIND ANYONE. GW

3rd, every Minister must spend time to “soak” himself 1st in his message and be filled with it before he goes out to deliver.

The “Upper Room” experience was about [first] filling up the Vessels to be sent out.

Before Moses was sent to the people, he first went through the experiences of the miracles himself (Exo. 4:1-9).

Imagine him [first] seeing the miracle of the Rod turn to snake before the people and fleeing?

Act 4:8 THEN PETER, BEING FULL OF THE HOLY SPIRIT, said to them, O you rulers of the people and men of authority, BBE

The Message God sends us to deliver must first permeate our own souls and work in us, before we can impactfully deliver to people.

Many messages are “lifeless’ because they are in our heads and not hearts.

Many copy or plagiarize other’s messages because they think it should excite people as it excited them.

2Ti 2:15 DO YOUR BEST TO WIN FULL APPROVAL IN GOD'S SIGHT, as a WORKER who is not ashamed of his work, ONE WHO CORRECTLY TEACHES THE MESSAGE OF GOD'S TRUTH. GNB

4th, just like point 3, you must spend time at the “Work” of Word Ministration.

Apart from filling yourself, every job done well, requires serious concentration, dedication and undivided focus sometimes.

Pro 22:29 DO YOU SEE A PERSON WHO IS EFFICIENT IN HIS WORK? HE WILL SERVE KINGS. He will not serve unknown people. GW

Your dedication and commitment to your Work will confirm that you are indeed called for it.

I’m not boasting but I have told us before that I spend about 4 hrs on each of these lessons, not because it takes that much time to prepare but I have to [first] be infused with it and carry the weight in my own soul, then I have to see the “flow” and sequencing of the whole message as the Spirit helps me to order them.

2Ti 4:5 But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, DO THE WORK OF AN EVANGELIST, MAKE FULL PROOF OF THY MINISTRY. KJV

5th, every messenger must develop & improve himself to ensure he gets better daily, at what he is doing.

Jud 1:20 But you, my delightfully loved friends, CONSTANTLY AND PROGRESSIVELY BUILD YOURSELVES UP ON THE FOUNDATION OF YOUR MOST HOLY FAITH BY PRAYING EVERY MOMENT IN THE SPIRIT. TPT

If you Word Ministry is always about “Woman with Issue of Blood”, “Peter & multiplied fish”, “sick man of Bethsaida Pool”, and yet you have no new illumination each time, you will soon “lose taste”.

6th, if otherwise, you discover that you are not supposed to be on the Altar, please withdraw or stepdown, Or else, you will only be an “actor” with many “fictional effects” and no living, profound or divine impacts.

Jud 1:12 These people are filthy minded, and by their shameful and selfish actions they spoil the meals you eat together. THEY ARE LIKE CLOUDS BLOWN ALONG BY THE WIND, BUT NEVER BRINGING ANY RAIN. THEY ARE LIKE LEAFLESS TREES, UPROOTED AND DEAD, AND UNABLE TO PRODUCE FRUIT. CEV

7th and lastly, you who is to receive the message from the Altar, must prepare your souls as “fertile soil” to “nurture” the Word sown.

Even if a preacher who is not ordained, stands at the Altar and reads the bible [at least], you will be blessed if you’ve taken time to pray and prepare an open heart before God.

Mat 13:23 But as for THE SEED SOWN ON GOOD SOIL, this is the person who hears the word and understands. HE BEARS FRUIT, YIELDING A HUNDRED, SIXTY, OR THIRTY TIMES WHAT WAS SOWN.” NET

You will never miss the word of your deliverance and upliftment, in Jesus name.

Join us on Wednesday for more digging in as we conclude this enlightening subtopic.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Monday, December 26, 2022

08055125517; 08023904307

[god-whispers]

oct 18

times of refreshing

"repent therefore and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, so that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord." acts 3:19

there's something refreshing about repentance.  it's kind of like how everything seems to be fresh after a rain.  you can almost smell it in the air - so clean, so refreshing.  it's like a winter day after a snow fall where everything just looks and feels so pure - like the driven snow.  repentance makes us feel that way with our maker; clean all over again, restoration.

i'm not just talking about one's initial coming to the Lord.  i'm also talking about seasoned christians who sometimes drift from their first love.  they forget what it's all about.  even the task before them (even though it be for the Lord), may become routine and perhaps little foxes creep in to steal your joy.

i had gotten a little like that recently.  yes, my morning prayer times were still intense with burdens on my heart.  i was still doing my daily bible readings and performing what i felt the Lord had assigned me to do, but something was missing.

the other day as i lay in bed awaiting sleep, i just started to thank God for all His mercies for me and repented over anything i had done wrong or "missed the mark" on.  after a little while i began listening to some worship music and again i entered into the holy Presence.

i was lost in worship once again.  there's nothing else quite like it.  i had forgotten how long it had been since i had done this.  i am reminded of the verse from the worship song - it does as much for us as it does for Him cause we get lifted up.  worship is our strength.  it is our time of refreshing.  we were created for this.  we are creatures of worship but we decide what to worship - money, people, fame life itself.  none of these other things will bring the refreshing which worship of the Lord will.

yes, we should all do the necessary things which keep us on the "straight and narrow,"  but first and foremost it's all about Jesus.  it's a relationship with Him that He wants and we need.  we must never lose our first love - the excitement and anticipation of being "with" Him.  we should be like the shulamite maid in the song of solomon, abandoning all else in pursuit of her beloved.

i remember when i was newly converted.  i read through my bible so fast because i wanted to know more about Him.  it was instructive and beautiful, but it still wasn't enough to satisfy me.  the Holy Spirit had brought me in.  now He wanted to present me to Him.  that's when head knowledge became heart experience.

the spirit realm can be full of traps and deceptions.  one must be careful to be sure nothing goes contrary to His written Word.  but don't be fearful of where the Holy Spirit may be leading you.  flesh can only be flesh but spirit enters the Presence behind the veil.

in scripture God talks about israel as His chosen, as beulah, the married one.  christians speak of the bride of Christ.  that's the kind of intimate relationship God wants with His people, with us, with you and me.  "that He might make known the riches of His glory on the vessels of mercy, which He had prepared beforehand for glory." rom 9:23

don't anyone into "predestination" here.  just because God knows the end from the beginning doesn't mean He dictates it.  none are predestined to doom or failure, but He has predetermined those who are willing to be conformed to the image of His Son.  "oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!  how unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out!  'for who has known the mind of the Lord?  or who has become His counselor?'" rom 11:33-34

friends, the God of all glory wants to know each of us.  and He wants to know us intimately and personally.  He wants to expose us to the glory that moses could not see and still live.  He does not seek robots that will perfunctory obey.  He seeks lovers of Him and His ways.  and the reward He has for those who will - well, let's just say it is indescribable.  we shall dip into His fountain of life.  we shall truly know refreshing.  we shall be one with our maker.  we shall be children of God.  maranatha!

[myaimistrue]

to hell and back (read on ao3 here)

“Tell me the story,” Dean says quietly. It’s only under cover of darkness, with his head pillowed on Cas’s chest and their legs tangled together, safe and warm in their bed, that he’ll ever ask for this. Cas understands—it’s a story best told somewhere the demons of their past can’t reach them.

“We descended within minutes of you being taken,” Cas begins. He could tell this story by rote, if only because Dean has asked to hear it so often. But Dean always hangs onto his every word in these moments, so Cas chooses each of them carefully. “We all knew the fight would be tough, and it was expected that many of us wouldn’t return. I doubted I would survive, but it didn’t bother me. I believed whole-heartedly in the mission; the Righteous Man had to be saved.” Cas smiles when he says that, thinking that, in many ways, his mission has never changed. 

“When we arrived, it was madness. My garrison had countless battle plans prepared, but when faced with the realities of the Pit, they fell apart completely. So the new plan was to split up, and to get you in any way we could, at any cost.” Cas closes his eyes for a moment, remembers the flashing lights and the screaming, remembers the wild urgency of the mission and the way it matched every beat of the war drums. “My brothers and sisters couldn’t see you. No one could. But I could feel you.”

Cas thinks this is both Dean’s favorite and least favorite part, so he takes extra care to get it right. “I don’t know why I felt you when no one else could. Maybe I just happened to look in the right place. Maybe I got lucky. Whatever it was, I followed that feeling for years, your soul lighting the way as I went. I killed thousands of demons in the process; my blade saw more use than it had in millenia. And when you broke, I…” Cas doesn’t know that there are words for the regret he’d felt in that moment, the shame in not reaching Dean fast enough to stop it. He doesn’t think Dean would want to hear it, anyway, so he pushes forward. “The Host wanted to pull my garrison out and send another one in to get you later, since the seal had already broken. They felt like a delay wouldn’t matter. But like I said, I could feel you. So I asked for more time.” Cas feels his lips quirk into a small smile. “Well, maybe I demanded it. At any rate, they agreed to remain a little longer.”

Dean huffs out a little laugh, and fondly says, “Causing trouble all the way back then, huh?”

“Apparently.” Cas presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, simply because he can. “So I kept searching—I knew I was closer than I’d ever been, but it was still difficult to find you. And then, it was…” Cas lets the memory wash over him: perfect, golden warmth in the midst of all that desperation, all that agony. And he decides to let himself say more than he normally would when telling this story. Dean should hear it, he thinks. “I don’t know how to describe how it felt to see your soul. How there was nothing for so long, and then, all at once, there was everything. You were everything, all things good and right and beautiful.”

Dean fidgets uncomfortably. “Cas—”

Cas was anticipating this, and doesn’t let him finish. He shifts their positions so that they’re both lying on their sides facing one another; Dean’s eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at the man mere inches away. Cas reaches out to touch his face. “Dean, look at me.”

And though it clearly takes a herculean effort, he does. Cas is suffused with such pride and affection that he can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. “My Dean,” Cas whispers when they separate, thumb running up and down his cheek. “My beloved.”

Dean closes his eyes, like it hurts to hear. Cas knows that for Dean, sometimes it does. So he keeps his hand gentle on Dean’s face, and he continues the story.

“I pulled you close to me. Almost like this.” Cas smiles, watches Dean’s lips twitch too. “I wrapped my wings around you so that you’d be safe as we escaped. Nothing could touch you. And when we made it out, I cried out to the Host: Dean Winchester is saved. It was a victory for Heaven, of course, but I was… I was grateful that you wouldn’t be there anymore. A soul like yours never belonged in Hell.”

Dean opens his eyes, shining with unshed tears. Cas runs his thumb along his cheek once, twice, before Dean says, “Did you know then?”

“What? That I loved you?”

“Yeah.”

Cas thinks about it for a moment. “I didn’t know. I don’t think I knew for a long time, and it was even longer before I understood all of its depth. But now, looking back,” Cas says, “I loved you the moment I saw your soul.”

Dean gives a watery laugh. “Love at first sight, huh?”

“Maybe for me,” Cas lets go of Dean’s face, moving his hand to rest gently on his hip. “I seem to recall you stabbing me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Dean grins. “And I shot you.”

“You did,” Cas says, amused.

“To be fair, you were freaking me the fuck out. You walked in that barn and put on a damn light show for me and Bobby.” Dean’s eyes sparkle playfully, and Cas is in love. He’s so in love. “Except that was just for me, wasn’t it?”

Cas huffs, but he’s still unable to cover up his complete and total adoration. It’s okay, he thinks—Dean’s not doing a very good job of it, either. “I was still adjusting to my vessel.”

“You were showing off.” Dean reaches out and threads his fingers through Cas’s hair at the base of his skull. “It’s okay. It worked. I was impressed.”

“Oh, you were?” Cas decides that enough is enough and pulls him closer, pressing lingering kisses along the column of Dean’s throat. “Maybe I should do things like that more often.”

Dean sighs contentedly as Cas sucks a sweet mark below his jaw. “Maybe. It’s fun when you show off.”

They kiss for a few lazy, languid minutes. It’s very late, and as it grows even later, Cas hovers in a space near sleep, so relaxed and peaceful that each kiss feels like it’s part of a dream. Until Dean pulls back and says in a voice that wakes him right up, “Cas?”

“Yes?” Cas searches Dean’s face in the darkness.

“Thank you.” The words are nearly whispered. “Thank you. For saving me, for being here, for loving me. I don’t—” Dean’s breath catches, and he drops his head on Cas’s shoulder. His next words are muffled and warm against Cas’s skin. “Just… thank you.”

Cas gathers him close, and not for the first time, marvels at the precious thing that exists between the two of them. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t say anything else, but he holds Cas a little tighter. It’s alright—Cas understands.