#{ abysswalker }

[fayumeri]

Closed door . In front of a mirror . Princess's little surprise ~

by @Fa夢ঋ on twitter

[gureshinlover]

No one asked but here are Rafayel's dagger infos and details from different angles and approximate lengths (that i most likely calculated very poorly, do not trust me on that lol)

Apologies for the bad quality in some pics i tried my best 😔

+ I tried to figure out the details of GoT dagger as much as i could from my screenshots so take these

[loweanaart]

"𝘔𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺." Abysswalker 🧎🏻‍♀️ 😌

[lemurianjasmine]

Rafayel ✧ Deep Sea Riches

[lemuriafishball]

"Your Highness…"

[paperapplesxyz]

a bond everlasting

an illustration I've been wanting to draw for abysswalker rafayel when I was reading his story along with lightseeker xavier! I think his outfit design and lore was incredibly written and very sad! Although I haven't drawn much of rafayel this is one of my absolute favorite illustrations of him.

[eugenessii]

⛓️Abysswalker⛓️

[peqch-es]

Kiss of Steel

🔞 Abysswalker x MC ft knife play Like a man come in beseechment, Rafayel’s blade finds love bleeding out. He never meant for it to happen, never meant for the wound to fester the way it does. Yet the Princess refuses to let it end there: against all reason, she insists on loving him anyway. 💫 ao3, 17k words

pairing: Abysswalker!Rafayel x Princess!MC

info: knife play, character study, and loads of angst (heed the tags!)

Rafayel knows that his blade is love's very beginning and its very end. Blindly, he follows her heart's call — he always follows it; he cannot not follow it. If not his beloved's heart, what else could he hope for to guide him to absolution?

The metallic scent clinging to his gloves refuses to fade.

The night presses in around him, thick enough to suffocate; in the distance, dying cries echo through the city as he presses onwards. Entering the secluded palace gardens proves to offer little relief: the moment he should finally be free from it all, the shrill song of cicadas crashes over him like a tidal wave and drowns him. Rafayel's breath catches in the back of his throat for what must be the hundredth time tonight. He swallows it down — gasp or grunt, he can't tell — and it settles in his stomach like the mouldy pit of a peach. Still, its sure heaviness drags his feet through soft, lush grass spoiled with vitality — one step closer, and another.

He has to keep walking.

Heat crescendoes in his veins with each step taken, leaves goosebumps to crawl along his skin. Rafayel staggers and steadies himself, dizzied — against a tree, or perhaps one of the palace columns: whatever; it's sturdy. He feels raw, eviscerated, like he'd been turned inside out by his own choices, past and present. He feels like it too often. The air is so thick that his mask does little to prevent the rising scent of blood from pushing itself into his awareness — stubborn, sharp with iron.

Wild, erratic shrills climax towards a resentment so great it could swallow him whole and turn him into nothing but a shell of his former self through a sweltering heat death. Look at him: a Lemurian drowning in humidity — what a joke. But it's too saturated like this, what with how Rafayel is—

Keep. Walking.

Darkness thins to a silver shimmer as the clouds break open, yet his breath still comes in shallow pants. In the city, he could have ignored it — mistaken distant lights for something that did not concern him, just as now candles flicker meaninglessly behind drawn curtains in the gardens. Their light cannot touch him. But instead, the moon looms as a silent witness to his guilt. From her faithful radiance, he cannot hide. And so he lets it wash over him, feels the glow enter him to diffuse regret into disgust. Rafayel evades hushed whispers as he stumbles through the consuming greenery — as always, their naivety is mocking at best: nobility hiding behind the flutter of vellum fans, behind haughtiness and staged rumours, behind status and rule and a power that doesn't even belong to them. Bloodlines that do nothing but take advantage of the one person who, really, should matter the most to Philos. But Rafayel understands. Acknowledging her would mean acknowledging their own shortcomings — how all they ever do is pin their hopes to a single glimmer of a person while simultaneously discarding her prosperity for the sake of their own.

A supposed saviour is not allowed freedom.

Rafayel knows this better than anyone.

.....

(find full on ao3!)

a/n: it took me two full attempts to write this fic but i'm finally happy with how it turned out <3 the 12k version 1.0 if this never happened and will rot away in my files forever <3