#but like genuinely I'm at a loss for words. this drawing is STUNNING like

[orchideous-nox]

The Amazing Devil are underrated storytellers

Like I'm sure many people did, I discovered alt-folk band The Amazing Devil through Joey Batey as a fan of The Witcher. Someone on TikTok was talking about the song Fair and how the actor who plays Jaskier (or Dandelion, depending on preference of material) from The Witcher sang it.

Instantly, I knew I had to listen to this song and I sat with it on repeat for an hour, picking through references and laughing at how pure and simple the love conveyed in those words was. It's the kind of love you dream of, where your partner completes you and life without them seems impossible. A love that goes beyond you both, as if there was no choice but to fall for one another. It's not pretentious or impossible to understand. It's universal and I fell in love with it.

Months later, I found Battle Cries, a song of overlapping whimsies. It tells the tale of two lovers ending their relationship and trying to find pieces of calmness in the uproar of their breakup, comparing it to a war not just between each other but within themselves. There a metaphors deeply woven within the lyrics and each line is magic as Joey and Madeleine sing over each other, words occasionally syncing up, representing the way they struggle to feel in tune with each other at the end of their relationship.

Battle Cries lead me to Marbles, the story of a couple where one of them is suffering from memory loss, the trials and tribulations of watching the person you love forget who they are and who you are too. It is a beautifully told story that feels so genuine, making me wonder how close to home the inspiration was. This song is an absolute guarantee at tears while also making you laugh.

Ruin came to me next, as wells as Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious and The Horrors and The Wild, three songs with such incredibly different vibes that don't just need to be listened to but thoroughly devoured.

Finally, a song I can never praise enough, Inkpot Gods. This song brings together so many ideas and images I love. Again, it is heavy on its use of metaphors but contains one of my favourite references they have ever used. The song discusses the love you can hold for another person and the lengths you will go to so you can protect them. It talks of breaking generational expectations and being there for someone when they can't defend themselves.

The best part of Inkpot Gods, however, is the Lord of the Rings reference where Madeleine sings "you might not fear a man//but to a woman by the end you'll kneel and plead". This is popularly theorised to be about Eowyn in The Return of the King and the line "I am no man" she speaks as she ends her foe's life, a show of her strength not despite of her gender. Easily the best line of the trilogy to me, and hearing it in song form cements this, following it with "I'm more than what my mum told me", breaking this tradition what what a woman can or should be.

While Joey Batey was the draw to The Amazing Devil's music for me, Madeleine has kept me there, she has such a beautiful voice and her and Joey together have made some stunning music that I will always love. They tell these fantastic stories within a few minutes, creating characters worthy of epic tales and narratives so deep and complex it leaves you thinking for long after.

[intangibly-here]

if I'm let go now (i’ll just fade to blue)

xiao x gn!reader

⁃ scenario; 1.7k words ⁃ forest child!reader ⁃ angst ⁃ hurt no comfort

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he holds your heart (warm red, steadily beating) in his palms without even knowing.

title from chevy - floating.

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your first memory is one of a forest.

the emerald green canopy of draping leaves, the mossy trails dotted with mushrooms. the singing of birds, small sparrows and rounded bluejays, filling the skies. the dry bark pressed against your back, but a small form nestled in the hollow of a tree stump.

you are a child of the forest.

and as a child of the forest, one without origin, one without mortal ties, one that only knows itself and it’s own longing - you know deep inside your soul there is only one thing you’re looking for.

what that thing is, you’re unsure of;

nonetheless,

you must look for it.

and so you pick yourself up and travel.

-

distantly, you know you’ve lived these lives over and over again.

the very first one was as a sand-built traveler of the desert, born encircled by a patch of cacti. in that life, you had searched for an oasis, a single child by your side.

the child spoke of a land where plumes of magic spiraled through the lands, where islands remained suspended in time, hovering over grounds unchanging.

you smiled and patted the child on the head.

upon arriving at the oasis and returning the child to their family, you felt a tug. the tug was not one of great strength and painful efforts, but one of a  gravitational force that exceeded physical abilities of all kinds.

you followed it, retracing your steps back to the ring of cacti.

where everything begins, everything similarly ends.

you crumble and dissolve into golden pools of sand.

-

of the endless trail of lives you’ve lived, most have become inescapably forgotten, merged into a blur that made them indistinguishable from one another.

the most memorable would be the one you’d lived last, as a wisp of a spirit clinging to the shoulder of an ethereal woman.

though in the midst of war, she remained a gentle, kind, innovative soul, always seeking to change for the better.

she was stunning.

and as you watched her live her life out, eventually (inevitably) returning once more to the field of glaze lilies, lain on the flowering plants to drift away, you wondered.

wondered how immortal beings could care so much about loss, when endings were only the relieving path of entering the cycle of reincarnation. the path to wipe clean the slate of life and start anew.

staring at the regal man kneeling by the goddess’ side, silent tears running down his face, you disappear with the wind.

-

as you travel, you slowly realize the world you’ve manifested in is not one of roaring vehicles nor bustling machinery like several before, but of the last one you’d visited, the one of the goddess and the heartbroken man.

you make your way back to the same land, where once stood a ruined fortress now stands a flourishing city. you can see how stalls line the sidewalks, even from where you stand on the cliffs of the outskirts, paved pathing making for a guide towards the entrance of the harbor.

as you’re thinking about how far this city has grown since you last walked the land, you catch sight of a quick-footed figure, alert and patrolling the vast land that is liyue.

this is who you’ve been looking for.

-

at first, it was just an obligatory interest. one that is duty-bound, directed by a play-writer hidden behind the boundaries of the world and tied together by the strings of fate.

then, as the weeks, months, and then years go by, you find yourself watching the little things he does, inadvertently noticing things you wouldn’t have realized without paying even closer attention.

the way that he protects the city both day and night, even when there are hundreds of other adventurers like yourself (a side job you’d picked up where you’d complete commissions whenever you were free) to do that.

the way he lets his short hair flow loose and untamed, the mark on his forehead only drawing out the elegance he exudes.

the way he’s quiet, caring even in the silence when he still suffers. the hope that you can ease his pain, even if only for a moment, with a comfortable silence.

it all makes your mind spiral out of control, your emotions coming undone from the container you had them sealed in.

you wonder what it is.

(you might have an inkling of the answer already.)

-

“today’s your birthday?”

you turn around, brightening slightly at the sight of the adeptus. you could get lost in the mirrors of his eyes if he would let you.

maybe he would let you.

“..something like that.”

you’d only revealed it last year when mrs. goldet had asked. it’s been a few years since you’ve made your way to this inn when you think about it.

he shifts where he stands for a moment, maybe a little nervously, and then presents you with a neatly wrapped gift box. he must’ve taken time with it.

“may i open it?”

he gives you a brief, confirming nod of his head.

when you undo the ribbon and carefully open the lid of the small box, you come to see a finely weaved butterfly of leaves.

you lift your gaze from the tiny creation, and xiao immediately looks to the side.

“take it. it’s an adepti amulet- staves off evil.”

you look at the reddened tips of his ears and the defensive scowl on his face and file it into the archive of your memories.

“thank you, xiao.”

-

“please hand this to xiao.”

you look at the packet the geo archon (zhongli, you learn he’s called) presses into your palms with utmost sincerity.

“it’s... to relieve his pain.”

your eyes soften unconsciously, and you dip your head in silent agreement. now, to look for him.

-

ah, so this is where he was.

your heart aches, the feeling of an overwhelming, all-consuming urge to cry rising up in you.

the wind picks up, tree leaves swaying in the breeze, following the movements of the two figures residing in the hollow of the forest.

a safe place for just the two of them.

you are intruding.

the longer you stand, watching, staring, unable to look away no matter how desperately you wish to, the more your chest throbs, the bone-deep ache of wanting to disappear spreading throughout your body.

the sound of a flute, clear and sweet, floats through the air, slim fingers smoothing over the sides and playing with skill you could never imitate.

the figure you’ve been looking for, upright and powerful and all that you have ever seen (all that he has ever allowed you to see), is relaxed for once. you can see it in the way his shoulders slump, the way his spear is left untouched, rested upright against the trunk of a tree at the edges of the clearing.

you do not belong here.

then, to the sound of the flute, xiao begins to dance. the field of flowers blooms with his gentle, languid movements, petals surrounding him as he flows around the serene space.

it is exactly as he’d described to you once before, that his sweet dream would be to dance in a field of flowers to the sound of a flute.

his dream has become a beautiful reality.

you cannot dream that it would be you he dances with anymore.

as he spins around, a stunning dance that displays his years of experience with agile movement, he turns, takes off his mask, and smiles, the genuine kind that is both awkward due to disuse and tooth-rottingly sweet at the same time. a full blush covers his face warmly.

you should’ve realized long ago whose flute he was imagining.

you blink once, twice, and the tears start to fall, ones you never thought you would cry.

if you could, you would offer your entire being up to him, your heart, these thoughts, these new feelings, on a platter for him to keep, stored away from where anyone could ever reach them. it is not theirs’ to see, only his. it would never be anyone else’s, only his.

(he does not need them, not your heart, nor the medicine.)

the pain in your chest doubles over.

(he does not want them - except it’s only your heart he does not want.)

you understand now what morax had understood hundreds of years ago, where you as an immortal spirit did not.

(he does not want you.)

your gaze tilts upwards from where you stand in the shadows of the greenery, watching the picturesque scene in front of you unfold.

you are a child of the forest, but for once, this forest is not for you.

-

the moment you walk back to the inn, you feel the otherworldly tug.

how convenient.

(oh. you love him.)

it’s to be expected. your time here is up.

you smile at the owner, and maybe she sees something in your eyes because when you hand her the packet (“give this to xiao when he returns, please.”), she nods and says nothing.

(love, love.)

and so you return to your forest, steady footsteps over hills and plains and lakes and rivers. the blue of the sky melts to orange-reds, then to navy-blacks, then back to orange-reds once more, and the cycle repeats over and over and over again.

(lovelovelovelove-)

the moss greets you first, shifting under your feet in semblance of the way his eyes would whenever you met his gaze.

then, it’s the birds, singing slow melodies you know he loves, their clear song a reminder of how he would hum familiar tunes.

finally, it’s the trees, their leaves falling and submerging you softly, like how you would to him with blankets when he fell asleep out on the balcony, tired from the weariness of an immortal life.

you too, are now tired.

for one last time, you sob your heart out, sitting on the forest floor with nothing around you but the animals and plants.

what do you cry for? the birth of these painful feelings? the lack of reciprocation?

(you’re unsure.)

(maybe it is for your unimportant existence.)

you blink your eyes closed for the final time, and your body falls to the ground with a thump.

the butterfly of leaves drifts out of your clutches and fades with a desolate glow.

where everything begins, everything similarly ends.

(may you stay asleep for eternity so you don’t have to remember.)

you disappear.

[bitchfitch]

Copper artfight resource

big soft boy. if a cup of spicy hot chocolate was a massive apex predator/ obligate carnivore.

mikely stabbed him the first time they met and he fell in love Instantly.

an excerpt:

Death crept through the lavish halls of a rich man's home. Old cracked paint flaked beside sun faded tapestries and over well worn wood floors. The raged leather soles of of his boots softly thumping along with the creaking of old wood that accompanied his every step. He found the room easily, following the sound of a fading cough and short not quite gasping breaths that failed to draw enough air. 

He ducked through the door and the dying man greeted him with age hazed eyes and a broad grin.

"Copper!" his exclamation carried joy even if his lungs couldn't support more than a creaking whisper, "Bastard, it's so good to see you again," he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes closing as he did so,

"And you as well," Copper returned the smile as he sat in the chair beside the bed, "But to be honest I'm a touch surprised, both that you can see anything through those cataracts, and that you would… Appreciate my presence," 

The rich man chuckled, "Not many people have hair that color, even fewer are as tall as you. I may not be able to see much, but I can still see that,"

"I suppose you're right," Copper huffs with a hand going to his dark red mess of a mane "Still, you must remember the terms of our deal and what my presence means for you now?"

"I do," he nods, "I'm going to die tonight, going to see Min again," 

"Min?"

"My wife," he smiles as he speaks of her even as his words become more labored, "That quill you gave me, I wrote a letter to the girl I had fallen in love with when we were young. I didn't know she couldn't read, so she had to get someone else to read it to her, but when she'd heard what I wrote she came all the way into the valley to slap me and call me an idiot," he laughs, "Told me we should've eloped when we were both still fresh, before she'd found another man to call her own,

I'd not even thought that she'd have gone on like that. It made sense, she could have, and did, do so much better than me. But luck of lucks saw that husband of hers dead not long after. I felt bad for being so happy, but I couldn't stop smiling when she and I married,

That quill- You, gave me the happiest life I could have imagined. I'm glad to pay my end of the deal now, because it means I get to see her again,"

"It's a rare treat to find someone with no regrets, thank you for your story," Copper smiles softly, genuine and warm,

"Oh, I've got regrets," the rich man say "Many, but I don't care to dwell on them, not now… or… Well, one, there's one,"

"Hmm?"

"Min and I, we had a fight right before… She was so mad at me last time I saw her. Do you think she still is?"

"I don't know, but you will have plenty of time to make it up to her soon,"

"Yeah, yeah that's true… It's close now is it?"

"Moments if I had to guess," Copper shrugs, "The clot in your lung is migrating and will soon block off blood flow to the area completely. After that happens you won't be able to get enough air and will… fall asleep, then you will suffocate over a few minutes. It won't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it won't hurt badly," he simplified things greatly, not caring for the slight inaccuracies so long as they helped keep the rich man calm and peaceful in these final moments.

"Any final requests?" Copper cocks his head,

"I think… yeah, I think I want to be alone for this. Thank you," 

"Of course. Rest well then, and may your sleep bring great growth" Copper stood from his seat, the blessing leaving him without thought as the rich man closed his eyes a smile still tugging on his old, withered face.

The door to the rich man's room shut with a light thud as Copper drifted down the halls, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He rarely visited the dying, usually he only came to the deceased caught between their death's and their afterlives to guide them across, and this was why. He knew where the clot was, it would only take a moment and a little bit of concentration to break it up enough that the rich man's body would be able to handle it on it's own. Sure, doing so would probably only buy him a few more bed bound days, a week maybe, but healers can rarely be trusted to leave the sick and dying to the whims of nature and he was no different. 

He wandered through the empty halls decorated with treasures that, do to a single deal made half a century ago, would soon be his, and found his way into a shrine room. Shelves upon shelves of precious jewls and metals, fine fabrics and sculptures filled the room. Though the alter beneath the stained glass window held only sea glass and shells that glittered from around a poorly made tapestry that depicted a stormy ocean.

The threads were too loose in some places too tight in others and there were places where it was clear the weaver ran out of one color and had attempted to dye more only for it to come out just wrong enough to be noticed. It was clearly made by inexperienced hands and now stood displayed still in it's loom in the place of honor on this shrine. Pride in its existence radiated from it and that made it stunning despite it's flaws. 

Distantly, he felt the rich man die, quietly and peacefully.

One of Copper's aspects would guide him across and later while Copper slept he'd dream of the conversation that aspect and the rich man would have, and he would dream of the conversations his other, near innumerable, aspects would have, and have had, and have been having with every other human who has crossed into his domain since he last slept. Then he would wake, and forget almost everything said during those conversations as they meld together into a messy but beautiful tapestry. All the threads visible and traceable in their places but ultimately he saw it not for the individuals, but the grander thing they made together.

He picked at the stones and shells scattered on one of the shelves, his dulled claws scraping against the rough surface. He should probably go find someone to deal with the body…

The soft creaking protest of a floor board that no longer fit in it's place being tread on called from behind him. Copper turned, curious to who or what would be intruding on this moment, but he was left slack jawed with a greeting trapped behind his lips as he saw the man.

Surrounded by gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the low moonlight that flowed through the windows, this man outshone them all. He was tall for a human, coming up to just below Copper's collar bones, with broad, strong looking shoulders. His sharp features highlighted by the silver light caressing his warm tan skin and haloed by that same light echoing through the broken strands of bleach blonde hair that fell from his neat bun to frame his narrow face.

Light agitation turned to wonder and awesrrucked silence as Copper struggled for a second to find words, but once again those words died when he met the man's eyes, they were probably a deep brown but the low light turned them onyx. His gaze was sturdy, not cold or calculating, not bored. Determined but practiced.

The strange, beutiful, human man wore the expression of a butcher or a slaughterer, he did not draw perverse pleasure or joy from what came next. He was so obviously merely doing a job as he moved faster than Copper's confusion addled mind could react to that that alone struck more fear into Copper's core than if the man were hissing and snapping with rage.

The ice hot cut of an iron blade dug past the flesh between his ribs and into his chest even as he recoiled. On pure instinct he growled an awful rumbling sound that made the butcher- the hunter, flinch as Copper managed to stumble away, nearly falling to one knee as his own lung struggled to inflate. He could feel his magic burning along the wound as it tried, and failed to pull it closed. His hand going to his bloodied side in a vain attempt of staunching the flow. 

The hunter advanced, cautious and silent, his blade, slicked with Copper's own viscous black blood, raised as he followed the retreating god.

Copper hissed as his back collided with a shelf, cornered he pulled his attentions together just enough to attempt to teleport away, only to feel his magic jolt painfully within him as it failed completely.

The hunter advanced, already readying another swing.

In that moment Copper forced himself to focus on the warm summer night air, on the flickering candles and the heat of the hunter's body, most seals could be overpowered, he just needs to rush it hard enough. 

Heat leaves the room, the hunter stumbles with a pained gasp as the heat leaves him too. Copper doesn't see if the hunter falls because the seal gives as he uses all of that stolen energy to burst against it.

He drops to his knees on the cold stone floor of the cave he calls home. His blood singing through magic seared veins, his hands shaking as he braces one against the floor below him as his world swims, both from blood loss and the disorientation that always came with pushing his power that hard,

He struggles with his wound, gasping with effort as his magic finally starts working again. The wound tieing itself closed beneath his palm, a thick black scar forming as he comes down from the mountain top high of fearing for his life for the very first time since before the advent of this universe.

Copper slumps against the water-carved wall of his home, his head falling back against it with a deep buzz running beneath his skin, and he Laughs, deep and hearty and Alive in a way he has not felt in centuries.

---

A day passed, and Copper's wound still ached every time he bent wrong, sending a pang through his chest as his heart picked up at the memory that accompanied it. Truly, he could only go a few moments without thinking of the death dealing adonis that had, very litteraly, struck him to his very heart. He needed to find the man again, to see if a second meeting would make his blood race the way the first had.

Perhaps he would even find out why he'd been attacked, but if Copper was being honest with himself, he didn't care to know. The Hunter was a mystery, and like many mysteries, he was one that could be enjoyed as is, and did not need unraveling quite yet. Still, Copper couldn't wait around for fate to bless him with a second chance meeting. He needed to find The Hunter on his own, and that meant doing a little investigating.

The moment Copper had had time to rest he laid in his bed and let his consciousness drift to the aspect that could interact with the grand tapestry. The Hunter had not hesitated for even a moment, had not flinched at spilling blood, and so there was no denying that he was experienced. That, perhaps, killing was something that either came easy to him or that he was very well practiced in the art of it.

The hunter was young, maybe mid twenties to early thirties, which narrowed his search, and the location narrowed it further. That valley was a hard month long trek through ice capped mountains from the next nearest settlement. The Hunter probably lived and prowled within its confines.

Copper focused on the last ten years worth of threads from that area that ended in white knots, the tragic, violent deaths. This would be where he found what he would need.

Going by date he gently tugged the ends through the weave so that he could examine them closer. He was careful to not pull anything more than an hours worth at a time, dreading upsetting the careful balance of the fabric and the places of the souls that he examined within it. It took a few tries, a few years worth of deaths until he found the first one that he could catch a glimpse of The Hunter from. 

And oh how Copper dreaded what he saw. Five years before he'd met the man, an older boy, maybe sixteen with sharp, fearful and wild, onyx eyes and short, jagged ink black hair cried with blood stained hands, one still holding a blade, the same one Copper would become familiar with, it was still slick with the red of human blood as the boy stumbled back against the wall as the man he'd just killed gasped his last breath.

Copper found the conversation he'd had with that spirit, a man who'd heard screaming from within a home. He'd gone to help only to be found by the Chief's boy before he could find the source of the screams. Copper had reassured him, had praised him for his bravery, had not paid enough attention. He'd guided the kind man to his afterlife while the chief's boy who would become The Hunter silently wept beside the man's body, struggling against the tears as someone called out for him. 

Tucking the tread back into place with one hand and pulling another free with the other. He grimaced when he realized it was merely a visitor's thread. Someone from Copper's own home universe who'd come into this one for one reason or another only to find their end here.

The visitor's soul had not been theirs to keep stored away amongst those of their creations and so had already been returned home. Where it would have dissipated into the background energy to eventually become the fuel for something new. No life was stored in this thread, it was merely a place holder.

Copper found more threads like that in his search, nearly twenty pale threads all from the last few years lined side by side. Tragic human deaths surrounding them but none of those human deaths involved The Hunter. That was odd, very few places in his tapestry looked so strange and knotted, and most patches that did were of wars and disasters not… whatever this was.

If he had been tangible in that moment he would've been nipping at his claws as he tried to piece together what something so strange could mean. But no answers came to him.

He found the next, and most recent, human victim of The Hunter, a man now, still too young, but undeniably a man by Copper's math, cold and stoney eyed, tangled bleached hair and a badly bruised and swelling jaw. Copper would have been surprised if The Hunter didn't have a few cracked or missing teeth from the injury, the mandible itself might be broken, a serious wound that needs setting and cleaning imeaditly. Copper's mind supplied him with the diagnosis without him meaning to think of it, so focused was he on that wrecked face and the lack of answers it presented that his mind tried to give him what few answers it could, even if those answers were worthless.

The woman The Hunter had killed had sat silent and glaring at The Hunter who silently watched her die,  his blade dripping with her blood. She'd not spoken a word to Copper. Fuming as she stormed through the gate without any guidance from him.

He wished he had insisted on actually speaking to her, on finding the answers. The iron eyed Hunter was a far cry from that sobbing boy, and yet they shared a thread.

More visitors, more tragedy, and no more answers came from the grand tapestry. 

He needed to return to that valley, surely if tragedy struck this often they'd welcome a healer? Even if they didn't, the Oracle made her home at the very center, and while Copper tried to avoid his sister's emissaries, The Oracle would be able to tell him what he needed if all else failed. Besides, her daughter was such a cute little thing, it would be a joy to hold a chubby baby again. Would the daughter still be a baby? maybe she was toddling about already, having her first little prophecies as she explored the world she would be entrusted to protect.

Oh Copper couldn't wait to visit.