vesselandmoon

[vesselandmoon]

IV.

Rock Im Park/Rock Am Ring June 7th, 2025

(Source - once more the amazing EepyStella)

[vesselandmoon]

[vesselandmoon]

[vesselandmoon]

[vesselandmoon]

I still live here

[vesselandmoon]

IV doodle ❤️

[vesselandmoon]

That is odd

[vesselandmoon]

if you think you understand everything Vessel writes, please keep reading.

no matter who analyzes the lyrics, no matter how many of our little brains we put together, we’re not in his head. we’re never going to understand all the references he makes. and we are going to put pieces together that he never made fit. honestly, as a writer, sometimes things just repeat subconsciously because they sound “right.” our theories and ideas aren’t true just because we think they are. some of us need to accept that.

[vesselandmoon]

XXII -  The Offering

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Sleep Token fanfiction exploring lore and a few things between. I will TW scenes/chapters as needed, if I miss something please DM me.

Please be aware that this story is 18+

CW: Hallucinations of cannibalism

Previous Chapter - XXII- The Night Does Not Belong to God

Word count: 1295

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“It is nearing time for you to return,” Sleep said, stretching across the dirt. Her body was covered in grit, sweat, streaks, and fingerprints. Vessel was similarly covered and yet he felt connected, not dirty. There was no desire to bathe, to wash away the evidence of their night together.

“I don’t want to go.”

“I will always return to you,” she said, tracing her fingertips across his jaw.

The way she looked up at him made him believe it. The moon reflected in pale pink eyes which searched his face as if she was memorizing every inch of him. Vessel drew his thumb across her lips and she allowed him to part them, the calloused flesh pressing on the sharpened point of her canines. They were similar to Whisper’s; small but sharp.

“You never bite me,” he said, gaze roaming her body to the many angry red welts on her skin.

Her head shifted a little and she kissed his thumb, removing it from her mouth.

“I told you I wanted that from you,” he continued when she didn’t reply. “That I wanted you to consume me. That I want to be a part of you.”

Sleep sat with a sigh and plants began to spring up from the dirt where she had lay; tiny leaves unfurling in the moonlight. He noticed that all around the bare earth where they had taken one another, the garden labyrinth was a tangle of vines, bright flowers, tall grasses, and thorns. There was no order here. No neatly trimmed hedges, no division of plants into carefully considered positions. It was wild. Untamed. A sense of pride welled up in Vessel upon seeing the wild beauty their love created.

This was part of what he wanted. What he desired most. To see the side of her she kept hidden. Had the others seen the untamed garden or was this a special scene? A moment to see beyond Sleep’s perfect mask to the imperfection that existed beneath the surface. He needed to believe he was the only one who had experienced this.

“I cannot devour you,” she said slowly, as if choosing the words carefully.

“It would be my offering to you,” he insisted. Her hand seemed so small in his own as he clutched it to his chest. “Please. Just a bite.”

Her gaze met his with quiet curiosity. Doubt. Did she not understand why he needed this?

“You wish me to take your flesh?”

“Yes,” he replied, surprised at his own enthusiasm.

“I can take your blood, not your flesh.”

“But why?”

“Do you wish me to take your blood or not?”

Vessel’s heart sank at the frustration in her tone. “I’m sorry my love, I only want… to…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know, my vessel, do not apologize.” She got on her knees and neared him and suddenly his heart was in his throat.

Her lips were warm and calm on his skin. She took her time, peppering him with soft kisses before lingering over the pulse point. By the time she opened her mouth he was trembling, expecting the familiar sting of a lover’s bite but when her teeth pierced his flesh he winced.

Blood pooled in her mouth and pain, unlike anything he’d experienced, jolted his system. He gripped her shoulders, but she did not relent. It felt as if poison seeped from her mouth, slowly working its way into his veins like sludge. His vision blurred around the edges, colors-tinged red. He could feel the pull of his own blood leaving his body and rushing into her throat before the sensation vanished with an empty chill.

The copper scent overwhelmed him, overpowering the smell of flowers and sex and the sea which he could now hear rushing in his ears. Or perhaps it was his own heart. Every alarm bell in his head rang out but he couldn’t escape, couldn’t pull away.

He was on his back, her naked form pinning him, moon swimming overhead. Images flashed in his mind of his body torn asunder, chunks of flesh sliding down her throat. Being consumed by her, bloodied hands caressing her thighs, her breasts, tracing along her jaw. She licked the gore from her fingers with needy moans and the pain he felt mixed with the urge to pull her closer, force her to take more of him in every imaginable way.

“Fuck!” he cried out, back arched, and suddenly he was in his bed. Sweat poured from him, soaking his sheets. Bile rose in his throat and the realization of what happened lingered just like the pain of her bite. He could feel a slick wet place on the sheets as his arousal dwindled. Had he really—?

Vessel practically threw himself out of bed, panting and clinging to the doorframe for support. His head swam, stomach knotted, but when he drew his palm across his throat there was no wound. Whisper was nowhere to be found and exhaled at the relief that she’d not seen him like that. He ripped the sheets from the bed, cleaned himself with them, and donned sleep pants before heading for the shower.

The sound of rushing water turning on in the bathroom caught his attention and he found Whisper trying to drink from the sink. Her hands clutched at the edge of the counter and she struggled.

Thirst?

Pain, fear, and arousal shifted into annoyance.

“How do you manage to fuck up everything you do?” he snapped as he stepped up beside her. He thrust a hand under the running water, cupping it to show her how to do it but instead she began to drink. She held him steady as she drank in greedy gulps from his palm as if she was dying of thirst. It was a reminder that he was all she had. She relied on him and if he was gone?

He had to stop these moments of emotion toward her. Sleep warned him. Whisper was his personal demon. She would try to turn him against Sleep. The shadows in the dream realm… he needed to understand. What were they, what was their purpose? Did Whisper really draw them to him? How?

A sob escaped her, a helpless whimper and he realized he had done it again. Torn into her. Memories of the drink filtered through and he could practically see her crumbling before him. An apology would be simple. ‘I’m sorry’. As easy as it gets and yet he couldn’t force himself to say it.

“Not too much at once,” he said, his tone calmer. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

She came up gasping, water trickling down the curve of her throat. With her head thrown back he noticed something different about her. A solid quality to her form despite the swirling of shadow within her. For a moment he wondered if she was becoming more human until she turned her gaze to him and her pinprick pupils scanned his face. She was still a monster.

“You are crying.” Her thumb swiped across his cheek. He’d been crying? He hadn’t noticed.

“It’s nothing.”

“She has bitten you?” While her words were straight forward it was as if she struggled with something deeper. Her expression shifted to something akin to confusion. When she touched his neck he flinched away.

“It was my offering to her.”

“Did it hurt?”

Vessel saw himself in the mirror but there was no sign of what Sleep had done to him. No blood, marks from fangs, bruising. His skin was perfect and smooth and yet she stared at the place as if he’d been wounded.

“You can see it?”

She nodded. “Did it hurt?”

He hesitated. “No more than the fear of losing her.”

[vesselandmoon]

sorry for the delay in responding to your message. I was walking around the house with unclear intentions

[vesselandmoon]

Reblog if you want people to send you asks.

Please, my inbox is so empty and devoid of life

[vesselandmoon]

XXI -  The Night Does Not Belong to God

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Sleep Token fanfiction exploring lore and a few things between. I will TW scenes/chapters as needed, if I miss something please DM me.

Please be aware that this story is 18+

Previous Chapter - XX- The Way That You Were

Word count: 1212

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Silence met him in the dream world. He was in the labyrinth again but this time it was different. The walls stretched so high over his head they were lost in darkness and fog. Instead of stone, slick with water that threatened to consume him, he was surrounded by hedges full of thorns and dead flowers. Colors faded on decaying petals, Sleep’s perfect garden withered.

Vessel thought to call out to her. To reveal her location so he could find her but before he could speak a rustling behind him caught his attention.

A shadow lurked between the rows, shifting the fog into slow swirling shapes. It was small and as withered as the garden with abnormally long limbs on its dog-like frame. Joints bent at odd angles as it moved, as if the ligaments were loose, muscles wasted.

It disappeared before he could see much else but his body told him to run. To flee the shadow before it noticed him. If this was anything like the last time he found himself in the dark labyrinth, there were larger monsters lurking.

He moved away from the creature until the corridors narrowed, thorns pulling at his clothes and scratching exposed skin. His heart pounded but he tried to breath through it, keep calm and continue on despite the walls closing in on him.

Soon there were no more turns, nowhere he could hide. Simply a narrow path with no end.

Vessel looked back. He could return the way he came, try for a different route. Before he turned the gentle sound of weeping drifted through the maze and he knew there was no turning back.

The walls kept drawing closer until he was forcing his way between branches, thorns gripping his clothes like tiny hands trying to pull him back. The crying became louder.

“Sleep?” he called. “Open a path for me, love.”

Growling from behind caught his attention but he couldn’t even turn his head to view the threat. His heart leapt into his throat and he began to push harder, flesh tearing on his arms, neck, and face from thousands of thorns and branches that sought to stop him.

The beast behind cracked and groaned with every move, its existence labored. Pained. Still it pursued. Jaws snapped as raspy weakened barks escaped the creature’s throat. Vessel could swear the thing was trying to speak. Chills raced up his arms as he tried to run through the briars, the beast growing closer. Claws tore at the earth, the scent of blood heavy in the air.

“Sleep!” Vessel cried out and the wall before him collapsed, sending him to his hands and knees as the resistance vanished. The shadow beast leapt out into the clearing Sleep created for him, its rickety limbs giving way with the force of its landing.

There were too many legs, too many protruding bones. Ribs and spine and thick gnarled joints. Six eyes rolled around in its head, pinpoints of white in a sea of black, as Sleep stepped on the creature’s throat.

Vessel panted, glancing up at her as she stared down at the beast with cold detachment, a hint of disgust. She was more beautiful than he had ever seen her; clad in silver armor that shimmered in the moonlight. Her eyes flashed as brightly as the sword in her fist, flowing snowy hair shifting around her.

“You see what you have brought?” she said, though he was uncertain if she spoke to him or the shadow under her heel. It writhed and squirmed, the strange almost-voice seemingly begging for release. Or death. “Your connection to Whisper has weakened my hold on this world and thus these beings gain power.”

The beast’s expression shifted to one Vessel might consider confusion. It met Vessel’s gaze with a sort of pleading whimper before Sleep drove her sword into its side. A blood curdling squeal mixed with a scream as black blood soaked into the ground. Still it did not die. Elongated toe-like paws scrambled at the dirt and Sleep released the sword, leaving the creature to scurry away with the blade through its body.

“It will not die,” she said as Vessel watched it vanish into the labyrinth.

“You saved me,” Vessel breathed, crawling toward her on his knees. Sleep loomed over him, the disgust in her expression melting as her armor turned to petals that drifted away on the wind.

“You are not careful enough.” Her fingertips grazed his lips as she knelt before him, eyes scanning his body for injury.

Vessel could see her skin through the sheer white fabric that draped from her shoulders and it sparked desire in his belly. He grabbed her chin and kissed her, tongue seeking entrance in desperate need but she pushed away, a hint of humor in her eyes.

“I am not finished with you, vessel,” she said, her tone harsh. The amusement faded as she settled to sit more comfortably. “There are dangers to this world I have shielded you from but the more you allow Whisper to cloud your judgment, the more these beasts will be drawn to you.”

He hesitated. Had she been aware of the dream? Had she seen his interaction with Whisper?

“I love only you,” he said. It was all he could manage. There was no excuse for how he’d felt, for the pity in his heart.

Sleep sighed and stroked his cheek. “This is what she is designed to do, my vessel. I told you before that she is as the devil, meant to lure you away from me. Meant to disrupt your devotion, your worship. Do you not see all I have done for you? The eyes of the world will be upon you, my vessel. The journey has already begun, I have toyed in the minds of those who might lead you to greatness. Do not lose sight of my gifts.”

“I haven’t and I won’t, I swear it. What do you want me to do? I’ll prove it. Anything.” The words slipped from his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

“I cannot have you in the real world, I lack the strength but I will become powerful once more. Until then—”

“The night belongs to you.”

He crawled over her, guiding her to lay on her back. Something about seeing her in the dirt felt wrong. Her form should never touch filth in such a way and yet he needed it. Needed to see her pale skin marred. He needed to see his handprints on her thighs, teeth marks on her breast, streaks down her belly.

“Offer yourself to me,” she whispered before he silenced her with a kiss, driving his tongue between her lips with a desperate moan. She hesitated only a moment before pulling him in, matching his intensity. Nails tore at his shirt and he winced, his body covered in scratches from the thorns.

Panting she parted from his kiss and instead began to suckle at one of the deeper cuts across his throat. He could feel her drawing the blood from the wound and he replied by pressing his hips between her thighs, pinning her down. Her legs wrapped around his waist and once more he was undone by her.

[vesselandmoon]

XX -  The Way That You Were

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Sleep Token fanfiction exploring lore and a few things between. I will TW scenes/chapters as needed, if I miss something please DM me.

Please be aware that this story is 18+

CW: Minor implications of past suicide attempt

Previous Chapter - XIX- Space Between Pt. 12 - Sigils

Word count: 1654

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Whisper spoke with passion in a way Vessel had not experienced with her.

She looked as she did in the bathroom mirror the night he and Sleep had destroyed her. The flashes of human, of flesh and bone, but her expressions were happy, full of life and devoid of the pain he had caused. No blood, no tears.

A flush in her cheeks. A light in her eyes. She gestured with delicate hands as she spoke of alchemy and the mysteries of old sciences. Ancient landmarks, connections and puzzles and the missing pieces of those puzzles. Vessel was amused. She’d never spoken to him of these things before and yet the moment felt oddly familiar. Like a memory of a long-forgotten dream. Faceless forms surrounded her, friends he presumed but there was something strange about this scene.

Vessel had been here before.

Whisper’s words were his own. This wasn’t déjà vu but a true memory.

Someone changed the subject and Whisper paused, a smile still on her face as confusion pricked the surface of her mind. The others followed the new line of thought, laughing and joking as Whisper’s shoulders slowly sank, her smile less genuine. She laughed with them. Put in a word here and there but all that passion was gone. She twisted a lock of dark hair around her finger as she stared into the depths of a cup of coffee.

Sounds beyond the conversation trickled to Vessel’s ears and the scene expanded.

He was in a small café down the street from where one of his friends once lived. This happened years ago but instead of Whisper, that had been him sitting there. That was one of the moments in which he had begun to realize he had to temper himself for others. That he had begun to pull away from them and no one noticed.

Was this a dream? It blurred along the edges in a way that Sleep’s realm never did. Words on menus were jumbled or missing and people had no faces other than Whisper. There were no scents like in the dream world. He was surrounded by people indulging in coffee, tea, sweet pastries, and still there was nothing.

When Whisper stood to leave, Vessel mouthed the words of the excuse he had used to escape that situation.

“I’m meeting a friend for a movie.” An easy lie. He met with no one.

Whisper walked through him as though he were the ghost, the shadow in the hallway, and he turned to follow her. He couldn’t remember what he had done that night only that he had felt defeated. Broken.

Her boots on the sidewalk became his focus, as if the rest of this world was too much of a blur and though he did not move his own feet, he was pulled along behind her. Suddenly there was stone beneath them and the flickering of candles.

Yes, the cathedral. Rows of pews with lifeless forms sitting scattered in silence. No, not silence. Quiet whispered prayers drifted in and out of his awareness as she approached the altar. For a time she stared up at the crucifix and he came to stand beside her. Was this the same night? He couldn’t recall. She was paler than before. The flush gone from her cheeks. She seemed… thinner. Wasting away.

Had he been through such a change back then? He touched his cheek. Surely he’d seen himself in the mirror. Seen himself withering.

There was a time in his youth when he had seen an old friend struggle. He could recall the conversation in detail. His friend stared into nothing, smoking his cigarette and Vessel had asked what was wrong.

“I’m just tired,” his friend had said and with good intention and innocence, Vessel had told him to rest. To sleep.

The friend smiled and said he wished it was that easy.

Vessel hadn’t understood what his friend meant then, but the years following had shifted his mindset entirely and though that friend had succumbed to his exhaustion, Vessel always remembered the conversation. Almost obsessively ruminated on it at times. What he might have said differently had he known.

When Vessel felt himself drifting, he’d been upset with his friends for not noticing his decline but Vessel himself ignored the more dangerous signs for far too long. Besides, he was guilty of the same. He noticed that one friend’s struggle and yet he said nothing. Didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to help. Sometimes he wondered if he could have saved him or if… or if it would have happened despite any effort he might have taken. Was it inevitable?

Vessel could see that same tired expression in Whisper’s gaze.

He blinked and suddenly they were in his old flat. She lay naked on the floor of his bedroom, the light from the window crossing her pale form but cutting off at her collarbones. He remembered this and yet Whisper was different. Her body bore not only the scar on her side from when he had stabbed her, but his own scars from years accepting a blade as comfort. For a split second he thought she was dead lying there, but she began to hum a little to herself and he exhaled.

Yes, he had gotten close that night. How much time had passed between the first scene and this? The calendar beside the bed was a jumble of numbers and symbols.

Strange, he felt no emotion at these visions. Nor did he remember humming. He did, however, have a moment when he felt oddly calm. Not rested, but no longer on the brink. Had that been Whisper? If she was him, she was always a part of him. Was she the one who brought him comfort that night as some internal peace?

He blinked again and he saw his own body laying there and Whisper as a ghost beside him, humming softly and touching his hair.

Over and over he saw these visions, heard familiar voices, remembered discouraging words. All the things that made him lock away pieces of himself until all that remained was the man that currently existed. That time before. The passion he felt. The joy and innocence. The way she was in the beginning when he had smiled at her excitement… that was what he missed. The way they were. The way he was.

His Eden. A time in an easier world when the weight of existence hadn’t yet buried him.

How had he missed the warning signs? He blinked and was in his own flat, in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Vessel inhaled deeply and realized he was awake.

Down the hall he could see the flickering of the television and he slowly eased out of bed. Whisper didn’t notice him watching but she stared at the screen, unmoving. She was as he knew her. A shadow. Not the humanlike woman in his dream. The clock on the wall spun constantly and faster than it should. Was he still dreaming? Light passed the window, birds chirped at an accelerated rate, then it was dark again and the cycle continued. The images on the screen flashed by so fast he couldn’t tell what they were, and she remained still. Silent. Unblinking.

Days passed in a matter of seconds and without realizing at first there was no sound, he startled at his own voice repeating all the things he had said to her.

“Are you a demon?”

“All I can see is your smile and your pupils and that's spooky as hell.”

"You can help by going away."

Her body began to take form. Instead of swirling shadow she became solid. Her skin dark and hard like stone. Still she remained.

"Leave me alone, Whisper."

"Fuck off. You don't feel anything."

“Wear my mask.”

Not just his words but his thoughts toward also became audible. Every time he’d yelled at her, been rude or sarcastic. The times he was disgusted at her form or annoyed at her very existence. These things swirled in the air and she began to crumble. She fell away as if she were made of ash. There was no screaming. No pleading for him to stop. There was no blood to stain his hands, she simply faded away without a trace.

Vessel woke gasping for breath. Sweat beaded his forehead.

“Whisper?” he peered over the edge of the bed to see her sleeping on the floor nearby.

She was still in his clothes and was curled up tight like a cat. Was this guilt he felt toward her?

Whisper didn’t stir as he rose from bed and approached. He could hear her gentle breathing but when he knelt to lift her, his arms moved through her, pulling the clothing into distorted shapes as they were forced through her body. He collected them up into his arms, the chill of her body lingering on the fabric like the cool side of the pillow.

He sat beside her instead, trying to figure out if the dream was from Sleep, or from his own subconscious. It had to have been him. Right? Sleep’s dream world was beautifully detailed and complete at all times. What he had experienced was flawed and strange. He’d been so cruel to Whisper and for what?

“No,” he huffed and stood, unwilling to allow his heart to soften toward her.

Sleep warned him. Told him that a person’s shadow was like a demon trying to separate man from their gods. If he was to remain loyal, to give himself entirely, he’d have to shield his heart and mind against the being that sought to rip him from his devotion.

He went to the living room, wanting distance between himself and the creature on his bedroom floor. Heaviness settled into his chest. He’d feel better once he was in Sleep’s arms. An offering had to be made.

[vesselandmoon]

[vesselandmoon]

tear my arms off

[vesselandmoon]

One more thing I need to get off my chest. I'm kinda sick of the term "parasocial" being thrown around for every single little thing. Parasocial behaviour generally isn't inherently wrong or bad. We are humans, it's in our nature to seek connection. It is not strange that we connect to fictional characters, actors, or musical artists. Where parasocial behaviour starts being an issue is when you take it too far.

It's ok to make jokes and be dramatic. It's ok to project onto songs or the artist. It's ok to write fanfictions. Honestly, it's even ok to be a little obsessed.

It's not ok to doxx people. It's not ok to release birth certificates and other personal information. It's not ok to behave like a stalker. It's not ok to pretend to be in a relationship with a person who doesn't know you and cause them real life trouble over it. It's not ok to harass others for selfish reasons. It's not ok to yell disrespectful shit at them.

Just don't go real life on them and fucking respect clear boundaries. It's literally that simple.

[vesselandmoon]

Having finally sat and listened to Caramel with the lyrics in front of me and considering just how this fandom literally bullied RCA into dropping the title and release date early.....

It's really karmic that y'all did that about your own fucking call out post, huh?

He's calling achieving his lifelong dream a nightmare, he's mentioning he's afraid to check his front door, he's talking about how disrespectful he finds people shouting his real name during these shows actually is. He frames this all in a music box and talks repeatedly about how he's still going to dance for us. How he's too young to be allowed to be jaded, but too old to be allowed to lash out in frustration. He's a big star now, anyways! It must be so easy for him, right? There's no way all of this deeply intense and parasocial sudden attention is existentially terrifying or anything, especially of the sheer scale of it now.

If you've ever been one of those fans that hasn't cared about any of those boundaries- listen to those lyrics and think about your behavior and understand that he thinks you're no different than the other monstrous people in his past that he's written songs about.

And realize the fact that despite all that, he's still here, wanting to perform for us.