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Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher by spacesix for SnowWolf_gege
Fandoms: Sleep Token (Band)
14 Jan 2026
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Summary
At the top is a door painted deep green, scuffed at the bottom from years of shoes catching on the bottom rail. He knocks once. Then again when a full minute goes by with no answer. He raises his fist to do it a third time, only to nearly deck the poor sap on the other side when the door finally swings open without warning.
“You’re early,” the person says bluntly — sharp-eyed, bleach-blond, in a button down black tunic with sleeves rolled to the elbow, gold embroidery bunching at the hems and collar. They lean against the doorframe, one pierced brow arched. “Or are you punctual? Time’s weird. Social formalities are weird. You are II, right?”
II inclines his head to look them in the eyes, his nose scrunching against the sunlight now in his face. “Apparently I am, since you knew when my appointment was already. And I’m only ten minutes early.”
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Really, he should be in the same little group as III with people fretting over the make of his 8-string and asking him about the finer points of drop A versus drop C tuning or where he bought his pants or something. But he didn’t mind being left out. Not anymore. He was used to being the newest, even if he wasn’t actually new anymore. Newest just meant there were fewer preconceptions about where the line was, and the people with VIP passes were usually very bad at spotting lines.
“Oi, shorty!”
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They both knew exactly what would happen: II would reply in all lowercase, dry as ever, with a subtle compliment about their lighting or their clothes or some background sound bite or something that was very much not the focus of the video. Vessel would ghost them for half a day and then give his rating scale in those stupid sparkle emojis he’d taken a liking to.
Then they’d get a new video within the week. Something smug. Something challenging.
And then they would want to one-up it. Again.
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He imagined III’s laugh if he saw him like this—already undone, hoodie half-off one shoulder, breath hitching on every movement. Imagined IV’s mouth dropping open in that soft, awe-struck way he got whenever Vessel made a noise he liked. Imagined II’s hands closing around his hips, grounding, steady, the warm press of his chest against Vessel’s back as he murmured something firm at his ear.
The thought alone made his legs shake.
And then the guilt hit, sharp and cold, cutting through the haze so fast his breath stuttered out in a choke.
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Sleep called it their “period of release,” though none of them were sure whether it was meant as mercy or maintenance. The god had no use for nor understanding of warmth, of holidays, of the dull pull of human contact that drove them restless during the long, cloistered months of worship and work. But it understood enough to grant permission. Every year, as the first snow touched the ground, they were told to go. To live. To remember what they were before devotion carved them into vessels and to refill themselves enough to survive another year.
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Kinktober in Arcadia Week 5: Consent Play/Role Playing/Ritual Sex/Non-Human Partners
II stepped inside with no hesitation, backlit by the stairwell light like some goddamn prophet, all quiet authority and patience that never asked permission. He was dressed in black, down to the dress shoes and the stupid skinny tie he only ever broke out for funerals and weddings. Calm, collected, as if he was coming into their bedroom with the intent of a casual cuddle and not into a furnace full of angelic molt and misery for… whatever it was he was planning.
Vessel didn’t lift his head. He didn’t need to. He could feel the familiarity of that particular gravity shift.
Series
- Part 5 of Kinktober 2025
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 7 + Angstober 31st: "Torture" and "Close the Door"
The whole set had been hard — too much heat, lights pointed just far enough into the stage to nail them in the face every cue, wrong pacing in the second half thanks to the mic screaming feedback partway through, half of their pedals shorting out before the encore. But they had all powered through like they always did. III especially, sweat-slicked and grinning like he had something to prove, even if his chords sounded on the edge of too harsh, and his smile was just slightly too sharp.
IV hadn’t seen him since.
Series
- Part 7 of Angstober 2025
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A lazy breath huffed against the back of his shoulder.
“Mm... morning,” II mumbled, voice still rough with sleep.
Vessel smiled, eyes still closed. “Morning,” he echoed, quieter.
There wasn’t a rush to do anything. The room was dim and still. Far off, birds chirped through the cracked window and a breeze came in. II shifted slightly behind him, closing the gap under the blanket and keep out the chill, adjusting so their bodies slotted together more snugly. Vessel could feel the heat of him everywhere — the warm spread of his chest against his back, the brush of his knee between his thighs, the weight of his palm resting low across his stomach.
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 6+ Angstober 30th: "Serial Killer" and "Last Chance"
IV didn’t think of himself as obsessive.
He was organized. Detail-oriented. Thorough in ways that got results and drew praise instead of suspicion. The station called it diligence. His reports were clean. His memory was better. He remembered every name, every face, every camera angle in every convenience store. He remembered crime scenes by smell alone. He remembered victims like they were people.
It made him good at his job.
Series
- Part 6 of Angstober 2025
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 5 + Angstober 29th: "Possession" and "Picking Up the Pieces"
The chalk kept breaking.
Every time III dragged the stub of it around the circle's edge, it crumbled under his grip like bone too old to hold its shape. The first three times, he swore under his breath. The fourth, he didn’t say anything at all. Just breathed out — slow, shallow — and picked up the next stick with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking.
Series
- Part 5 of Angstober 2025
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 4 + Angstober 28th: "Nightmare" and "Eleventh Hour"
III sighed, thumbing the bridge of his nose. “He’s fine. He took his meds. You even made sure he ate. Let yourself sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“Then blink, for fuck’s sake.”
Somewhere upstairs, a door shifted in its frame. Both of them stilled.
Series
- Part 4 of Angstober 2025
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 3 + Angstober 27th: "Isolation" and "Worth It"
The ship didn’t scream. It didn’t groan. It didn’t explode in some glorious fireball that shatters across the black.
Tragic, really.
Now, it just… drifts.
A half-dead carcass with a pulse so faint it barely registers on its own systems, listing in the vacuum like it forgot how to move. The solar wings are shattered, glass teeth pointing in all directions. The forward observatory is caved in. One engine burned out. The other one still sparking, useless and angry, like its tired of waiting doesn't realize there's nowhere left to fly.
Series
- Part 3 of Angstober 2025
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 2 + Angstober 26th: "Ghost" and "Getting Cold"
A sound. Faint. High, almost imperceptibly so — not quite a whistle, not quite a voice. More like the kind of hum a person makes without realizing they’re doing it. Thoughtless, unfinished. A single thread of tone.
IV froze. Tilted his head. The rag slipped from his hand and dropped to the floor, muffled by dust. He didn’t move to pick it up.
The hum continued, soft and unhurried, coming from the front of the chapel — near the altar, or maybe behind it, where the old choir loft had once been.
Series
- Part 2 of Angstober 2025
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Sleep Token Creative Guild Spooky Week Day 1 + Angstober 25th: "Abandoned" and "On Your Knees"
It was the twitch that gave him pause.
A hand in the dirt — half-buried, skin grey with cold and caked in filth — flinched, then went still again. Just a jerk of the fingers. A muscle misfiring. A brain’s last desperate clutch at life.
Vessel almost missed it.
Series
- Part 1 of Angstober 2025
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Kinktober in Arcadia Week 4: Home Videos
“Alright,” he drawled into the mic, smirking at the flood of usernames flying past in chat. “Who’s next? Don’t make me start rating profile pictures instead, you know I’ll do it.”
One ping. Another. His inbox stacked quick with photos—cock after cock, some hard, some soft, all begging for judgment.
III opened one and squinted like he was studying an artifact. “Mhm. Decent curve, decent veins. Background? Tragic. Bro, if you’ve got dirty laundry on the floor behind your dick pic, I will notice. Have some fuckin’ class” He tapped the mic, lips twitching. “Six outta ten. Fix your backdrop, come back to me.”
The chat exploded with laughter emojis and tip alerts. III grinned, sharp and satisfied, then scrolled to the next submission.
And then—there it was in chat: Rate The Vessel?
Series
- Part 4 of Kinktober 2025
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He’d been awake for almost thirty-six hours.
The airport was starting to feel too much like a living thing.
Humming, buzzing, breathing stale air through vents that never stopped sighing. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered just enough to be noticeable if you stopped to glare at them, and IV couldn’t stop doing just that. His eyes burned from how blue they were.
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Kinktober in Arcadia Week 3: Service Submission
The bedroom was quiet, lit only by the amber glow of the lamp on the nightstand. II sat cross-legged on the bed with Vessel mirroring him, knees tucked close, long frame folded smaller to fit the space between them. They were both dressed comfortably in sweatpants, Vessel in an old band shirt that nearly hung off one shoulder, the cotton loose from too many washes, II shirtless as usual. The air felt charged, as if every movement pressed heavier than it should.
II’s voice was steady, deliberate. “We’ll keep it simple tonight, alright? Just us trying it out, no fancy roleplay, nothing too intense, just me telling you what to do. If anything doesn’t feel right at any point, we stop. Understood?”
Series
- Part 3 of Kinktober 2025
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IV’s hands wouldn’t stay still.
He sat on the edge of the sidestage railing, starter guitar already tuned and strapped against his back, thumb running up and down the back of his other hand like it might wear the nerves out of him. There was still ten minutes to go, maybe fifteen if Vessel kept fiddling with his in-ears and the small crowd didn’t settle, twenty if III decided that his the paint on his hands wasn’t blended well enough and went back in for a fifth touch-up. Long enough to feel the static build behind his eyes. Long enough to think.
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Kinktober in Arcadia Week 2: First Times
It started with a round of drinks. II signaled the bartender, sent a pair of cocktails across the room with a nod in their direction. Blond laughed again when the glasses landed in front of them, leaned close to murmur something to his companion, then tipped his glass back toward II and Vessel in thanks. A few minutes later, the gesture was returned: a fresh beer and a bourbon slid across the table to them.
A trade that turned into an invitation.
Series
- Part 2 of Kinktober 2025
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He’d lived with this long enough to know the triggers. To know his body. And still—he told himself, fiercely—it wasn’t going to happen. Not here. Not now. He had surely grown out of it, or something. Thirty was too old to still be having his silly little episodes.
“I’ll be fine,” he said again, firmer this time. Like saying it made it true.