#seal lore drop

[local-seal]

Hello? Hello!!

"Is this? Hi! Okay okay!! Yay!! I want to talk to people more efficiently, is this how I do that? Please talk to me, I am here to spread as much whimsy and joy as I can! I can give out free seal plushies, too!" The seal waved its flippers frantically. It was extremely happy about being able to manage this. (Ooc introduction, tags, possible triggers all though unlikely cause. You know. Seal. Under the cut)

Hey! Welcome in to my little creature's blog, I love this thing a lot. Please be nice it has done nothing wrong in its life ever. I'm 18, mainly go by he/him pronouns, but the seal will most often refer to itself with it/its. Whimsical seal doesn't understand gender much I fear. Roleplay wise, please just keep in mind this is a seal I really hate to break this to you but there's only so much a seal can do. A LITERAL seal by the way. Not a human or anything, no. Just a seal that can somehow travel around, a seal that accidentally makes people think they're hallucinating, and gives out plushies. This HAS manifested from Mouthwashing. I go around blogs as 🦭 and it's very amusing to me. It started as a little joke but I do not think it's a joke anymore. It has gained sentience and grammar. If you want to roleplay with the seal, go ahead! Do whatever! I think this is obvious given this is a literal animal, but please don't send anything even remotely suggestive to the seal. That's just weird. That's one of the only rules I have. Basic DNI criteria, obviously. If you have to ask what this is, you should probably leave already. There will probably be swearing, obviously. Probably not from the whimsical seal itself, but from me, or other blogs. I fear I DO run a main blog that people have been made aware of, but you gotta Sherlock Holmes case it if you want it. (I don't really care actually if you literally just ask me I'll probably tell you.) Anyways, with all that out of the way! Possible warnings for this blog, or at least blogs associated with it. The basic themes of Mouthwashing as a whole, mainly. I can't imagine things will get that bad with a fun little seal side blog I made for fun, so it's probably safe. I'll make a more detailed list in the future if I need to, but I imagine I probably won't? Tags! #seal shenanigans: Just the seal talking or doing things! Love this fella. #seals favorites!: Reblogs :] #temporary joy break: Ooc tag! This is when I'm talking, not the seal! I will also talk using () around my words. #sealing around: Roleplay threads, in character reblogs. Just the seal interacting with people. #wisdom from seal: Seal answering asks! #whimsically recognizable: Asks from anons, or people in general that come around often! The seal knows you now!! #seal lore drop: Seal lore, I fear. It has it. #seal interacts [crew member name]: Interacting with specific members of the Mouthwashing crew! Should've added this sooner, oops! That's all! Remember, anyone is welcome. OC, fandom, whatever!! Just play and have fun!

^Look at this little fella. Okay go play, have fun.

[iryonin]

[ trace ] sender traces one of receiver’s scars. give me dragon age sakuthana so help me god

THE YEARS BEFORE THE SKIES BEGAN TO SPLIT,     before the blight,  when life was,  if not peaceful,  then at least mundane,  were by far her most miserable.     she’d escaped demise and remained permanently altered in the wake of it,  and each new village she visited  —  to quell sicknesses no common potions could mend  —  refused to let her forget about it.

it was easy to feel unsightly in the face of so many eyes.     to feel ashamed that it bothered her so much considering she was alive where so many of her peers had perished.     she was meant to die then,  in that overgrown forest among the too-tall trees,  and for years,  she carried that reminder in every single scar her then newly awakened magic couldn’t erase,  no matter how many healing spells she learned.     

no matter how desperately she begged in the late hours of the night,  sat at the foot of the filled bathtub,  repulsed by the stretches of ink-marred skin she was forced to run her sponge across,  her vanity wasn’t something the mercurial spirit upholding her body cared to cultivate.

“  that’s,  ”     shame greets her unfavorably,  a stricken shiver in place of the sensation of thana’s touch.     she hasn’t wanted to be beautiful to someone in so,  so long,  had given up wanting it,  but she wants to be that to thana,  and it makes her sick.     she pulls her hand back and hastily reaches for her discarded glove.     “  we should meet with the others.     everyone’s probably at the gates already.  ” 

[annoying-leaf]

I kinda feel uhhh insecure ab posting my undertale au OCs, especially if they are just humans with colorful hair lol

Glitchtale had a big impact on me lmao, but COLORFUL HAIR LOOKS COOL!!!!! THEY HAVE MAGIC!!!!!! AND THEY HAVE COLORFUL HAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!

[trash----panda]

A (not 100% accurate) list of my characters, their age, gender, pronouns, favorite food, and families. Please enjoy and have a look around!

Total: 112

Davion (Water Moccasin Naga)

Gebder: Male (he/him)

Age: 26

Favorite food: Chili

B-day: May 8th

Nikki (Water Naga)

Gender: Female (She/her)

Age: 24

Favorite food: fish

B-day: August 31st

Chi Rello (Naga)

Gender: Female (she/they)

Favorite food: Cherry yogurt

Age: 178

B-day: June 4th

Richard Rello (Red Spitting Cobra Naga)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Hard candies (milk ones)

Age: 379

B-day: March 17th

Arane Rello (Goliath Bird Eater Spider-taur)

Gender: Female (she/they)

Favorite food: Fire ants

Age: 16

B-day: January 19th

Lirio Orthiz (Chrysopelea Naga)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Fruit tarts

Age: 28

B-day: October 1st

Ajar Rello (Spitting Cobra Naga)

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Carnita street tacos

Age: 76

B-day: July 4th

Pesok Rello (Hognose Naga)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Most savory crepes

Age: 78

B-day: August 20th

Dante Rello ( Sea Krait Naga)

Gender: Fabulous (he/him)

Favorite food: Tuna casserole

Age: 37

B-day: December 11th

Kia Halla (Emerald Tree Boa Naga)

Gender: Do i have one? (He/him)

Favorite food: Vanilla Bean Icecream

Age: 59

B-day: May 22nd

Lemon Halla (Naga)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Chicken tamale

Age: 24

B-day: September 4th

Maddy (Witch)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Yellow Curry

Age: 28

B-day: April 9th

Giari (Witch)

Gender: girl? (She/her)

Age: 19

Favorite food: Aphid

B-day: December 30th

Hone (Wolf Spider-taur)

Gender: male (he/him)

Age: 35

Favorite food: Rat

B-day: August 15th

Kori Alez (Ice giant)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Chicken

Age: 60

B-day: December 29th

Zane Orithoroz (Dragon Hybrid)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 76

Favorite food: Shaved ice

B-day: october 3rd

Boz (Human-Hybrid)

Gender: Female (she/they)

Favorite food: Peanuts in any form

Age: 28

B-day: January 10th

Vix (Cursed Elf)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Key Lime Pie

Age: 21

Abilities: Cloning 15 times max every hour

B-day: August 26th

Dusty Ghostwing (Dragonfly Pixie)

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Honey pie

Age: 58

B-day: August 27th

Julian Ghostwing (Firefly Pixie)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Vanilla sandwich cookies (the soft ones)

Age: 23

B-day: August 28th

Boa Newman (Human-Immortal)

Gender: Chaos (she/her)

Favorite food: Banana Creme Pie

Age: 294

B-day: April 1st

Dani Newman (Human-Immortal)

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Banana Cream Pie

Age: 377

B-day: August 26th

Deri Newman (Sphinx-Immortal)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Smoked Salmon

Age: 134

B-day: June 23rd

Cassity Newman (Werewolf-immortal)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Goat meat

Age: 378

B-day: March 15th

Liam Newman (Werewolf-Immortal)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Frog meat

Age: 376

B-day: March 15th

Minx Newman (Dragon-Hybrid Immortal)

Gender: Death (she/her)

Favorite food: Whole Pumpkin

Age: 371

B-day: April 23rd

Adam Newman (Human-Immortal)

Gender: Male (he/his)

Favorite food: Coconut

Age: 384

Abilities: Magical Aptitude

B-day: June 7th

Kit Ortyth (Demon-Human Hybrid)

Gender: Good Boi! (He/him)

Favorite food: Lamb Chops!

Age: 360

Abilities: Shadow magic, Sunlight stings, Deals

B-day: July 9th

Shadow Ortyth (Shadow Demon/Queen of Shadows)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite Food: raw meat

Age: 1792(Deceased)

B-Day: October 17th

Cass (Demi-god)

Gender: GOD! (He/him)

Favorite food: Peach Cobbler

Age: 145

Abilities: Ice, tempurature control

B-day: Febuary 29th

Jho (Demonic God)

Gender: I exsist (He/Him)

Favorite food: Dreams

Age: Infinite

Abilities: Bends the mind, Minds are his Domain

B-day: Beginning of time

Asmund (Demonic God)

Gender: I exsist (He/Him)

Favorite food: Anything

Age: Infinite

Abilities: Destroys the soul, Warps the soul, Souls are his Domain

B-day: Beginning of time

Vanity (Demonic God)

Gender: I exsist (she/her)

Favorite food: Posh food

Age: Infinite

Abilities: Warps the body, physical forms are her domain

B-day: Beginning of time

Finn (Incubus)

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Lemon muffins

Age: 23

B-day: October 23rd

Pluto (Cursed Doll, Prince of Dreams)

Gender: Doll (he/him)

Favorite food: i can't eat

Age: 60

Abilities: needles hidden in his stuffing, pretends to be a regular toy, will try to eat you

B-day: March 6th

Mael (Demon, Prince of Dreams)

Gender: Male (he/him/it)

Age: 57

Abilities: Can enter dreams and manipulate them, even influence the outside world through them, can enter painting and drawings, illusionist

B-Day: October 29th

Goose (Forest Demon)

Gender: Boy òwó (he/they)

Age: 398

Favorite food: Fish

B-day: April 28th

Howl (Goat)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Crab

B-day: December 1st

Arlo (Gray Fox)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Chicken feet

Age: 26

B-day: August 2nd

Blitz (Tiger)

Gender: Demi-Boy (he/they)

Favorite food: Raw Steak

Age: 35

B-day: January 18th

Maze (Mouse Polymorph)

Gender: Fluid (all pronouns)

Favorite food: Almond icecream

Age: 18

B-day: January 4th

Kirin (Harpy)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Salmon!

Age: 34

B-day: October 15th

Anazasi (Werewolf-Dragon Hybrid)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Peanut Butter Cookies

Age: 34

B-day: Febuary 13th

Skeet Tsubasa (Faux-Angel)

Gender: Demi-boy (he/they)

Favorite food: Sunflower Seeds

Age: 27

B-day: May 4th

Kuren Fyre (Lightning Dragon)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Bacon

Age: 27

Abilities: Shoots lightning, absorbs electricity

B-day: January 1st

Chris Fyre (Lightning dragon)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Candied Bacon

Age: 27

Abilities: Shoots lightning, absorbs electricity

B-day: January 1st

Marcus (Dragon)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 58

Favorite food: edible

B-day: June 7th

Newman (Dragon) [is not related to Dani's family]

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Slimes

Age: 15

B-day: June 3rd

Emmit (Kloo)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Lychee and glowfruit pudding

Age: 67 (still young for his kind)

B-day: October 26th

Pilaf (Kloo)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: donuts

Age: 26 (teen)

B-day: October 16th

Aries (Felin)

Gender: girl (she/her)

Age: 36

Favorite food: Anything that talks back

B-day: January 8th

Hydro (Borph)

Gender: Female (she/they)

Favorite food: Bu-lung fish

Age: 38

B-day: January 4th

Harper (Alien)

Gender: Death! (he/him)

Favorite food: Borph

Age: 35

Abilities: Tranq breath

B-day: January 12th

Name: Alder (Dione)

Gender: Both (He/They)

Age: 26

Favorite food: anything fried

Abilities: Heat based sight, echolocation, hydrophobic, 3 hour breath hold, semi-aquatic

B-day: March 23

Sammy (Tiger Centipede)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Bugs

Age: 22

B-day: Febuary 2nd

Jay (Blue Centepede)

Gender: Male (Any)

Favorite food: Fireflies!

Age: 19

Abilities: Venomous

B-day: April 1st

Joey (Horse Fly Pixie)

Gender: Gorl (she/her)

Favorite food: Blood

Age: 21

B-day: July 1st

Zuego (Mantis Fly Pixie)

Gender: Boyo (he/him)

Age: 22

Favorite food: spider eggs

B-day: October 22

Flora (Mantis Insect Folk)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Other insect-hybrids (mainly dragonflies)

Age: 25

B-day: August 23rd

Polistes (Paper Wasp Pixie)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Age: 28

Favorite food: .... Guava nectar

Abilities: Sees magic threads, husk, building

B-day: August 12th

Joseph (Immortal Jellyfish)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Blueberry Pancakes

Age: 36

Abilities: reversion, healing, stinging

B-day: April 20th

Pixel (Planaria)

Gender: Idk (anything lol)

Favorite food: Eggs

Age: Idk lol

Abilities: Regeneration, slow to anger

B-day: April 20th

DDM(cyborg)

Gender: I'm a robot- (he/him)

Favorite food: I can't taste so ig.... humans?

Age: My parts are all different

Abilities: Hypercharge, strength, quick, tracking

B-day: January 7th

Koi (Parasite)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Raspberries

Age: 26

Abilities: heat sensors, venom, night vision, size shifting

B-day: October 7th

Lycoris (Symbiote)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Everything

Age: 26

Abilities: Eats viruses/bacteria, creates endo-armor for host, able to exit the body for 3 days, can grow to an inch

B-day: July 7th

Lucas (Carion Giant)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Sausage

Age: 23

B-day: October 4th

Thomas (Carion Giant)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Sausage

Age: 22

B-day: October 14th

Jake (Orc-Giant hybrid)

Gender: Demi-boy (he/they)

Favorite food: Horse

Age: 19

Abilities: Blood Magic

B-day: January 20th

Steve (Wolf-Human Hybrid)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Kunefe

Age: 45

B-day: December 2nd

Cadimus Ollie Kestrel (Lizardfolk-Crocodile)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Snake

Age: 56

B-day: March 1st

Ben (Wrasse Mer)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Bread

Age: 25

B-day: June 27th

Sock (Swamp Monster)

Gender: Non-binary (they/them)

Favorite food: Kelp

Age: 20

B-day: July 4th

Lišák (Leopard seal)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Penguin

Age: 26

B-day: July 11th

Silo (Sea serpent)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Squid

Age: 34

B-day: January 3rd

Arcus (Tropical Mer)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Red Algae

Age: 23

B-day: April 27th

Aine(Selkie)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Salmon roe

Age: 34

B-day: May 7th

Lace (Angler Mer Royalty)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Sea grapes and Dragon Fish

Age: 18

B-day: December 31st

Cali Mari (Octopus Mer)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Other octopi

Age: 27

B-day: Febuary 18th

Evan Orlean (Dunkleosteus Mer)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Jelly fish rolls (makes him woozy)

Age: 17

B-day: June 9th

Ian Bytz (Shark Mer)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Tuna platter with sea grape and scallops

Age: 57

B-day: July 10th

Name: Austin (Siren)

Gender: Yes (They/them)

Age: 35 (young)

Favorite food: Cod

Abilities: Human Camo

B-day: April 4th

Lucifer (Candiru mer)

Gender: male (he\him)

Age: 21

Favorite food: Blood

B-day: November 9th

Dominic (Yinlong Lizardfolk)

Gender: Boyo (he/him)

Favorite food: blueberries

Age: 39

B-day: August 5th

Hazel Albeta (Mantacore)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Bird

Age: 46

B-day: March 14th

Wyth (Jackel)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Deer

Age: 57

B-day: October 28th

Lily (Tree-drake)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Apple

Age: 27

B-day: April 9th

Bismuth (Kobold)

Gender: Non-binary (he/they)

Favorite food: Cheese puffs

Age: 18

B-day: April 17th

Name: Eir (Fae)

Gender: no (They/Them)

Age: 17

Favorite food: blood

Abilities: Dimensional shifts, Pocket dimension, Portals

B-day: May 26

Dendro (Fae)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Nachos

Age: 20

B-day: June 4th

Ty (Cephliod)

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Blueberry Donuts

Age: 167

B-day: April 1st

DDM (Cyborg)

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Favorite Food: Anything squirmy

Age: 12

B-day: October 5th

Gokin (Cyborg)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: which part? Approx~18

Favorite food: meat

B-day: April 9th

Cypher (Golem)

Gender: Female (she/they)

Favorite food: Rocks

Age: 10

B-day: October 3rd

Arch (Wood Giant)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: All types of sugar

Age: 25

https://www.deviantart.com/tufted2/art/Wood-Giants-Reference-859799123

B-day: October 4th

Pankin (Vampire Frog)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Blood

Age: 57

B-day: September 3rd

Ricky (Giga Hybrid)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: coconuts

Age: 21

B-day: June 23rd

Jaqueefus (Planet Eater)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Favorite food: Gas Giants

Age: 1057

B-day: March 23rd

Honey (Slime parasite)

Gender: Any

Favorite food: Anything

Age: Any

B-day: January 3rd

Arbor (Faux Angel Snow Owl)

Gender: Female (she/her)

Favorite food: Voles

Age: 57

B-day: September 8th

Nora (Elf Hybrid)

Gender: Female(she/her)

Age: 24

Favorite food: Hotdogs

B-day: Febuary 2nd

Andy and Orland(Magma Giant and Demon)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 19 and 89

Favorite food: lava cake

Abilities: Emotional Temperature Shifts

B-day: July 8th

Name: Silva (Mimic)

Gender: yes

Age: 26

Favorite food: Honey

B-day: September 26

Achak(Artic Mimic)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 19

Favorite food:... human flesh

Abilities: voice copying, slight color variation, cold immunity, fast healing, supernatural speed

B-day: April 27th

Terra (Spirit hybrid)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 18

Favorite food: ded things

B-day: August 27th

Lark (Hummingbird Harpy, God of Music)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 26

Favorite Food: Apple blossoms

B-day: April 13

Zepher (Nekomata)

Gender: Male (he/they)

Favorite food: Most food, preferring spicy

Age: 24

B-day: January 11th

Kaith (Lub)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Age: 21

Favorite food: yes

B-day: december 27th

Monty (Kitsune)

Gender: Manly man (he/him)

Age: 423

Favorite food: tofu

B-day: June 21st

Ross(Eldrich horror)

Gender: male (he/him)

Age: 24

Favorite food: Earl Gray and Blueberry Icecream

Abilities: Dimensional shift, size shift, hammer space, basically indestructible, possession

B-day: Dec 30

Paru (Bag of Mushrooms and Mold)

Gender: ... (he/him)

Age: 27

Favorite food: Spicy Stuff

Abilities: Spits spores, hibernation, regeneration, caustic projectiles

B-day: April 27th

Name: Bezel (Venus Fly Trap)

Gender: sure?

Age: 78 (mostly hibernating)

Favorite food: Meat

B-day: july 1st

Sym (Were-Elk)

Gender: male (he/him)

Age: 23

Abilities: Huge library, ample funds, healing factor

B-day: Nov 22nd

Xol (Tooth Fae)

Gender: he doesnt know but he seems to fit (he/they/it)

Age: 18

B-day: Nov 25th

Name: Eir (Fae)

Gender: no

Age: 17

Favorite food: blood

Abilities: dimensional shifts, weaving, pocket dimension

B-day: May 26

[iturbide]

Honestly Grima being some corruption of a Divine Dragon feels more in line with his powers than Earth Dragon for some reason?

Personally I don't have a preference on the history! Grima makes the most sense to me personally as a unique type of dragon rather than needing to be slotted into the mold of Divine or Earth Dragons -- that body plan is entirely unique and doesn't track with any of the Archanean dragons, particularly when the six pairs of eyes, lack of limbs, and feathered wings are taken into account (ancient Archanean dragons appeared much more like traditional dragons, and by the time of Ylisse they look like leafy sea dragons with legs, but none of them have feathers). I'm entirely willing to accept the alchemic aberration explanation, but I fell into Awakening well before Echoes released, so I'm fine with making the "Earth Dragon" concept work.

[gl0wf1shhhguy]

Do you have any berserk dark cacao headcanons, I just love how you drew him so much bwaah

OH DO I???

BESERK CACAO BE UPON YE 🫵

Long ass yap session post incoming

Okay warning first of all:

These are my own INCREDIBLY self indulgent headcanons so please don’t yell at me if anything isn’t totally accurate to crk lore because I’ll cry.

Thank you.

I like to think this form is the product of something close to a malfunctioned awakening. When Dark Cacao first takes this form, it’s due to the fact that Pomegranate cast some sort of spell on him during the CoD’s attempt to retrieve his soul jam. Now, personally I don’t believe the spell was ever intended to turn him into a monster simply based on the dialogue used during this scene.

Rather it was a spell similar to the ones previously used on Dark Choco that temporarily incapacitate the afflicted through the use of hallucinations/memories. However, due to Dark Cacao being an ancient hero he would have a higher tolerance to this than most, leaving him still somewhat conscious and aware but still actively fighting the effects.

This combined with the stress of almost having his throne usurped, a near death experience, and (somewhat) reconciling with/nearly killing his estranged son would just essentially lead to him reaching his limit and having a breakdown. And in an unconscious response, the soul jam goes hay wire in a last ditch attempt at self preservation, connecting with the power of the sealed twin dragons and turning Dark Cacao into whatever the hell that is.

While in his beserk form he’s still somewhat conscious, just not entirely in control of his actions (probably due to the fact that you have two ancient dragons that hate each other and an emotionally unstable old man piloting the same form.)

As well as displaying emotions emphasized to an extreme extent. Leading to easily spurred on fits of blind rage, or severely overprotective tendencies. I also think this is just a fun parallel to Dark Cacao’s usual controlled demeanor.

I know CANONICALLY beserk Cacao was just a one time thing but like COME ON

Lasting spell effects???

THE POTENTIAL?????

In my heart his claws get a little bit sharper whenever he’s having a bad day <\3

In Conclusion

This creature has genuinely been one of my favorite little tidbits from the game ever since the heroes of dark cacao update dropped in 2022 and Im ecstatic I finally got to dump all my thoughts about him into a post.

Thank you for reading! :D

[a-hermit-pining]

I saw this on Twitter (i forgot the @), but it really got me thinking. What would your hc be if the boys were playing the game and you were the mc? I hc that Caleb would save every "y/n laughing compilation" he comes across, rafayel would edit y/n's face on random fish and make crack edits and from his alt account he would drop the most gorgeous fanart, and for some reason I feel like sylus would use "quality time" religiously

Hi anon, thank you for sending this in ^^

I completely agree with your takes. Here is my take to compliment yours.

Rafayel: Is the undisputed Fanart King, sketching your character from every angle, in every possible outfit. If an art contest exists, he has already submitted three entries before anyone even knew it was happening. But beyond his artistic obsession, he is also the cursed glitch hoarder. While normal people would be horrified at a headless version of you appearing in-game, Rafayel takes screenshots for exclusive content, considering it a divine blessing from the tech gods. Despite his god-tier art skills, he has zero patience for level locks that force him to wait before progressing, so instead of playing at a normal pace, he rage-quits for months, then returns to binge the game in one sleepless week. His camera roll is half fanart, half stunning in-game scenery that he edits like it’s going in an art gallery.

Xavier: Does not play games for casual enjoyment. He plays for answers. He is a speedrun menace, hitting the first dialogue option before the text box even fully loads. If he gets stuck, he immediately transforms into a lore-devouring beast, reading every spoiler possible just to figure out how to proceed. The only thing keeping him from fully losing his sanity is his refusal to buy premium currency, his pride dictates that he must grind every last diamond by sheer willpower alone. And so, he hoards gems like his soul depends on it, progresses at breakneck speed, and once he’s finished all available content, he descends into 3 AM theory rabbit holes instead of doing something sane like, you know… sleeping. He probably has a color-coded spreadsheet tracking all the route impacts.

Zayne: No one would ever suspect that the infamous, critically acclaimed AO3 writer Frozen Seal, master of soul-crushing angst and tender, breathtaking romance, is actually the stoic, overworked cardiologist Zayne. His fics have a reputation for being so emotionally devastating that readers leave essays in the comments. His update schedule? Completely dictated by his hospital shifts. His author’s notes? Usually something like "Sorry, a patient coded. Will update later." Writes the most heart-wrenching, steamy romance scenes with surgical precision, leaving readers sobbing and sweating in equal measure. Has the smut writing skills of an ace author- which are god tier. Daydreams about you constantly, except when he’s actively resuscitating someone (Even he has limits.)

Sylus: Sylus owns everything. Every premium outfit, every pose, every CG. His entire paycheck is funneled into this game, and no one will ever know the full extent of his power. If questioned about how he maxed out every possible feature, he simply smirks and says, “Skill issue.” But despite single-handedly funding the dev team, he is infuriatingly secretive about his content. His in-game gallery? Locked. His premium screenshots? Hidden. Some speculate he has developers tied up in his basement feeding him exclusive content, but according to Sylus, it’s simply the fruit of his labor. Strangely enough, despite having literally everything, he still has beef with the gacha system and will cuss out the algorithm if he doesn’t get his way.

Caleb: Is cursed with abysmal gacha luck, pulling three-star memories every single time without fail. He suffers, but at this point, he embraces the suffering like a tragic hero. His nights are spent watching crack compilations at 2 AM, laughing silently to himself like a man on the verge of losing his mind (he is this 🤏🏻close). By all accounts, he plays the game rationally until your character appears, at which point all logic is abandoned. He has every single one of Zayne’s fics bookmarked, and he doesn’t just skim he analyzes them like scholarly literature, leaving long, heartfelt comments. And, of course, in the quiet solitude of his room, a freakishly realistic body pillow of you sits on his bed. If questioned? He doesn’t even blink. "It’s a limited-edition collector’s item."

[orilimbs]

There's no time to explain who am I, so im gonna show you my own take on Horrortale Yellow.

This au's name doesn't need to be explained, the underground sets in an uncanny ambient after a neutral route in general, but based on Undertale Yellow's timeline, the underground sets in this ambient after a neutral route made by Integrity.

Each area like The Dark Ruins and Snowfall (Lower Snowdin) are based on the horsemen of the apocalypse in order: Death (Ruins), Pestilence (Snowdin), Famine (Dunes/The Wild East), War (Steamworks and UG Apartments), and finally, the last area called "Clover's judgement" can be heaven or hell depending of the route (genocide, neutral or pacifist (NOT FLAWED), where your fate will be sealed if you choose to fight Zenith Martlet, Kitsune Ceroba or Flowey.

Monsters CAN bleed in this au if they arent at a very low HP but still damaged, if they lost all their HP they turn into dust normally along with the blood.

I dont have enough energy to explain every character's deep lore on this au, so im gonna say their general characteristics:

Clover is 10-years old, they escaped from home and fell from a mountain on accident, without having any bandages or any gun, they have to dodge every attack to not to die. They fell in a flower bed that had spines on it, making them lose a part of their vision and getting hurt, leaving them with a very low HP permanently at the beginning.

Dalv is a REAL vampire this time, he will try to attack Clover no matter if theyre friends or not, but Dalv knows is better for Clover to leave his house for their own good if they want to survive. Dalv is selectively mute and has vampire urges that need to be satisfied. He lost a horn in a fight that he doesnt remember.

Martlet lives in Snowfall where there is a fungus infection that was born after the dust mixed with very cold snow on trees that made a fungus live on fruits and honey panels. Martlet is infected and a bit hungry, but she would never attack a poor child. She's vulnerable to cold and diseases, she's is in the late-third phase of infection where fungus take place on her physical body and cant fly.

Ceroba lives in the dunes where everyone fights and eat themselves to survive, concluding on cannibalism and blood, everyone is hungry and will attack anyone who steps on the area. Ceroba has a scar on her left eye like Clover and has insomnia to protect Kanako and Chujin, who are alive but need to be feed. She has SEVERE problems with Orion (Starlo's brother).

Axis was created after Integrity's neutral route where The Integrity Incident never happened, Axis serves as a doctor and emergency robot, when he was closed in the Steamworks, the Steamworks and UG Apartments summerged on war due to being trapped by their own creators. Axis is mute due to his "radio" being damaged, he is a pacifist and tries to help Clover until Clover and Ceroba wrongly attack him.

I will drop more information later, but these are the most important ones. The others who I didnt included (Decibat, El Bailador, Starlo, Orion, along with others) are secondary or important to a specific character's development. Here are the old designs, some of them stay the same and others changed a little bit or generally.

[lizmidfordsblog]

Not me brainstorming a fic where our Cale gets knocked out or faints idk after spitting out blood again. Everyone thinks (because they’re literally so traumatized from this) it’s gonna go as normal: Cale is going to be unconscious for a few days (maybe weeks), wake up, eat a shit ton of steak, and then promptly drop some batshit crazy lore/new information so that he can immediately go back to work.

A week passes, then two, then three. Cale breaks his record of twenty one days in a coma. Everyone is worried but they try to stay calm, since this

had happened before and the best thing they can do is keep things running in Cale’s absence.

Then Cale wakes up around a month after, with no warning.

He looks around blankly, barely processing the people in front of him nor the baby dragon crying in his lap. He touches his hair for a bit, notes the fantasy setting & and the talking cats.

Then he looks at Choi Han and frowns. He keeps frowning long enough that Alberu steps in and says his signature “my dongsaeng is driving me nuts.”

Cale goes wide-eyed, head whipping towards Alberu.

Then he whispers.

“…The Dark Tiger?”

Alternatively, our Cale gets knocked out of his body. Who else wakes up in his absence but our baby Kim Rok Soo from the Sealed God Test?

Cue chaos.

[mochiovo]

1x1x1x1 lore drop/headcanon thing uhh-

WARNING: YAPFEST AHEAD!! Alright sighs it's time....

Long, long ago, at the time where Telamon created the original SFOTH swords, he saw too many flaws in them. In himself. So he created the Daemonshank, forged and infushed with his hatred, and sealed it away for good

Then came a prophecy: one about Telamon's first born, they will become the creation of hatred, one shall bring despair and wreak havoc upon Roblox itself

Then came it, Telamon succeded in creating life itself, yet the child was anything but hatred. The child's name was 1x1x1x1. Kind, compassionate and selfless - he was deemed to be the next ruler of SFOTH, as the prophecy was dissmissed

Years flew by, the child grew up. Yet on one fatefull day-

he found it. The child found the forbidden sword. Unbeknownst of the prophecy- he attempted to pull it. But it hurted terribly, so 1x1x1x1 left it there, he didn't told anyone, he didn't thought much of it, either

But day by day, the corruption slowly spread. It gnawed at him. Slowly but surely. 1x1x1x1 could barely think straight anymore. So on his 14th birthday

Out of fear for Roblox's future, he stabbed his own child with the cursed sword and sent him to the banlands.

Ĺ̶̼̘̲̙ͬeã̸͚͉͍̹̞̩́̒͝v̮̩̤̎̒̀ͅȋ̠ń̵̪̗ͨͦ̃͟͝ģ̘͙͑̎̍̋͟ 1̶̶̸̷̸̵̶̢̨̛͙̪̳̺̺̩̬̳̤͍̯͕̤͔͓̩̹̗̹͓̙̦͖̣̜̻͔̖̯̣̗͎̬ͬ̒̂͋͌̈ͪ̾͗̍̌̀̋̽͆̒́̊́ͮ͛̌̈͛̎̒̀̊̔̎͐ͤͥ̾ͧ̔͛ͭ̽͗͗̽̆͂̋̕̕͟͢͟͠͡͠ͅx̴̷̴̸̶̵̷̶̵̷̶̵̴̶̡̡̢̡̧̡̟̮͇̦̼͇̩̭̤̭̪̺͚͈̰͓͉̙̺̺̖͕̥͙̪͈̗͓̝̳̫̟̹̖̫͈̱̥̠̜͚̟̩͍̝̹̩̜͍͔̩̖̭̼̝͇͇̲̞̠̰̠̪͔͉̯̼̭̫̤͈̤̻̼̫̖͍̱̤̘ͯ̏̿̓̎́͂ͬ̽̉ͣ͗ͯ͒ͭ̏͋ͪ̓̉ͥ̈̍̊̿ͨͫ̂ͫ́͊ͨ̀̇̑ͥ̐̾̐ͣ͌ͭ͂̀̋̀̊ͮͪ͛́̍̈ͦ̅ͯ̇͊̐ͥ̅ͫ̃̽̾̀̏̑̑͌̓ͫ̓ͫ͒͛̎͆ͯͩ̓ͣ̏̀͌ͫͭ̓͋ͣ̐ͭ͂ͮ̍̓̈́̀̐͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͢͟͜͜͜͝͠͠͞͠͡͝͞͞1̵̸̷̷̷̸̵̸̶̵̸̶̧̢̨̨̧̡̢̢̡̛̛̪̟̮͉̬̲̯̖̰̪̮̤̘̦̘̩̥̼̙̟̲̭̘̤̰̭̤̲̺̺̣̯̗͙̩̝͕̰̝̺̜̤͇͚̹̙̞̯͍͚͕̦͍͈̹̥͍̣̘͔͓̹̥͔͇͓͇͍̞̣̮̪͐̌͊̇̾̅̍͒͆͋ͪ̂̽̅ͯ̈́́ͩ̑̈͛ͨ̓͒́̈ͣ̋ͨ̑ͯͤ͋͐ͣ́̂̅͆ͧ̂̾ͨ̉̔̓ͭͣͦͯͥ͐ͣ̌ͩͬ̋̍ͣ͋̒͒̈̽͊ͮ͌̒̾̽̐̓͋̍̓̈̋͆́͂ͦ̈̈́̓ͫ̏̍̔̌̍ͯͪ̐͌ͭ̉ͤ̾̍̕̕̚͘͢͟͟͜͡͝͝͡͠͞͡͡͡͞ͅͅͅͅͅx̷̡̡̡͈̖̮̦̝̠̖̄̉̌ͩ̔̄ͥ̈̏ͨ́ͯ̚͜ͅ1̡̛̜͉͔̬̦̤̤̪͉̃̾̀̓ͥͣ͌̔͒̓ͯͬ̐ͦ̕͞x̶̡̛͎̳̖͑̋̀��̴̶̶̴̴̸̴̷̵̷̷̶̵̵̸̴̨̨̢̨̨̨̧̨̛̛͍̻͍̜͎͙̖͚̜̜̺̥̹͖̝̪̺͎̬̣̻̜̰̱̝̬̬̟̦̥̻̥̮͍̩̠̺͔̩͓̠̬̫͖̱̮̥̣̙̱͔̲̠͍̝͎̼̻̝̝͍̙̲̤͉͚̭̙̩͖̺͚̬̳̲̠̘̗̙͙̤̭̠̣ͣ͌ͧ̎̿ͪ̇̋́̆́ͭ̉̾̔͌͋͂ͣ̃̂̀̓ͦͦ̾ͥ͋̓͌̒͗̉̾̂̂̅̈̒̈̏͑́ͭ̇ͮ̆ͮ̂ͬ̀̔ͤ̇ͤ̋̽ͣ̓͑͊̋͌̃̈́́̓̌ͤ̽̑ͣͫͥ̃ͭ̑̆̅̑ͦͧ́͛̒͑ͪ͛͂̀̾̃̌̊̽͗͌͐̀̒͋̾̚͢͟͢͢͟͢͢͜͝͞͝͝͡͠ͅͅͅ1̴̴̴̶̷̨̨̢̡̛̛̫̣͈͇̲̮̖̜̭͇͎̮͍̝̟̫͎͓̳̻͉̣̜̩͕͓̯̥͙̥͚̟͉̞̥̥̼͙̻͓̥͙̼̰̖̭̮̬̳̩̼̠̈͊͆̀̓̽͐ͣͧ͂͒́͆ͮ̅͒̓ͣ̐ͯͧ̀̅̃ͣ͗̌͆ͫͩͪ̾ͥ̀̂́ͣ̎ͩͮͨ͒̒͌͛ͨ͋̉͊́̚͘̚̚̕͝͝͡͝ͅͅͅ ṯ̼̝͖̰̠́͋͒ͥhe̢͕͕̺̰ͣͥ̃r̭̝̋̿̓ͭͨ̕͘͟͠e t̢̳̔́̉̏͗ǫ̵̥̗̂ͥ̈ͣ͋ͦ r̴̷̶̸̴̷̴̢̨͙̫̲̖̟͖̠̺̮̟̱͎̗̦̜͕̦̭̪̗̯̫̞̳͓͙̹̞̣̭̭̞̬̝͍̮͕̥̜̹͙̘̦͎̩̞̟̩̬̫̂ͥ͛ͣͧ̔̀̉̅ͥ̓̉ͫ͒ͤ́̃͐̒ͨ̓̒̓̄̾͗̀̅̿̍̓̆ͯͯ̎̒̌ͭͧ͗͜͟͟ͅǫ̵̵̸̧̧̢̛̛̭̜͍̲̭͇͕̭̭̼̗̻͖́ͨͬͨͭ̌ͦ͂̾̔ͪ͗ͦ̿͂̓ͤͯͬ̇ͣ̍̎́ͭ̋̓̋̔̑ͫ̓̕̕͢͠ţ̸̷̸̶̷̸̶̧̧̡̨̛̛̛̣̫̤̝͔͎̞̬̻͈̩͔̰͉̘̩̜͓̰̺̰̙̬̯̙͇̜͙̟̠̖̫͉̰̳̦̦̖͕̣̖͉̗͖̗̬̝͓̳̜̼͇͎̦̼̬͔̭͉͕̟̲̙͔͎͉͈͕̘̏ͮ̓ͭͦͣ̈́ͦ̏͊̔̃̇̄͑̓͊͗̑͑̅ͪ͐̽̄̈́̀ͫ͌̉̏̀̌̋ͣͣ̔ͦͧ͗ͫ́̿̐̔̆́͆̔̀̏͛͂ͮ̓̀͗̒͒̾ͤ̎̓̈͆̓̍͒̑̈̚͘̚̕͘͘͜͜͢͢͢͝͡͞͞͞͞͞͝ f̸̴̵̶̸̷̴̸̡̢̡̡̧̡̠̪̲̭͕͍̰͇̫͓̠̦̞͙̦̭̪̲̻͓͓̱̣̙̞̝͚͍̬̫̲̩͈͉̘̦̳͍̲̼̰̥̜̜͇̗̪͔̠̭̰͇̠̜̞̳̺̰̪̪̺̮̹͇̹̅̃́̑͂͛̈́͑̄̌ͤ̏̀ͥ̑͗ͭ͛̅͂͋̉̀ͩ̄̔̈́̍̈ͣ̈͑̋̅̎̃͛͂͐̑ͩ̊͗̆ͨ̎͊̄́̅̎͐͆̾ͭͧͫ̇̾͂́̅̃͑̍ͯ͑͗̐͛̇̇͑ͫ̐͊̍͐̐̊̐̏͛̚͘͟͜͢͢͟͡͠͞͠ͅó̴̢̧͇̙̣̭̩͚̩ͤ͛̄͆ͣͪͯͭ̑ͬͪr̶̴̛̜̹̥̤̼͍̞̻̦̪̩̟̮̜͈̭̮͕̽ͨͧ̓̽ͦͪͫ̄̔͋̈ͥͦ̏̎͢ ȩ̷̷̶̶̶̷̴̧̡̨̨̧̢̡̡̮̹̤̰̹̮̜̝͔͚̳̟̖͍̰̺͙͚͈̝̮̹̗̪̞͙̲̥̳̲̩͙͔͓̬̯̩͖̰̮͖͚͈̫͈̯̩̥̘̯̫̯̘̠̱͙̞̱̯͔̞̤̼̼͇̥̘̻̜̫̹̪̰̯̝̠̲͗̊ͦ̂̍͊ͯ͋̉̍̒͂ͦ̐̽̀̈̈́̎̎̈͌͛́̄͛͛̒̿ͫ̈͋̎̇͂ͩͨ̆̏͆̀̌̈͊́̀͆̓̎̀̑̇ͮ̂ͫͥ͛̈͊̄͋ͯ͒͊̑͐ͤ̔̂ͪ̈̑́̓̃̇͑̽́̅̅͌̐ͩ̾̏ͧͣ̀͐̽͆̔̊̚̕̕̚̚̕̕̕͢͜͜͢͜͢͡͝͡͡͝͡ͅ��̯̜̱̋n̶̶̸̸̴̡̢̡̛̞̹̲̩͙̯͙̲̠̻̲͉̱̗̖͕̝͔̜̟̭̬̲̘̩̺͕̬͙̳̲̗͔͕͎̥̲̦̠͗̃̈̈́̂ͪ́̒̓ͯͭ̄̂́̾̀̃̏͌̑ͮ̐͗̌̓̒ͬ̐ͧͭ͂ͦ̂̈̎̏̀̍́ͤ͗ͧͦͫ͒̊̃̅̀̅̊̓́͛ͤ̊̾́̓̉ͤ̍̈́͛̕̚̕̕͟͜͡͝͞͡͠͡ͅt̷̶̸̸̵̨̨̢̧̧̢̢̛̛̞̬̭̜̫̯̖̮̞̜̮͈͉̳͍͓̳͉̳͓̼͉͎̻̣̯͔̻͓͈̗̘͔̻̾ͮ̓ͫ̀̄ͤ̀̊ͣ̋̈͂͒̄̍̊̉̀ͭ͛̅́̌́ͩ̎ͪ͂̌́̍̆ͫ̋̀ͭͩ̐͆ͫ̈͑̂́̅ͯ̇͐͒̓̌̌͗͐̇͜͟͢͟͜͢͞͞͠͝͞ẹ̵͙̘͎̠͎͍̫͔̩̹͔̉͂́͂̒͑ͣ͂̆́̽̕̕͟͜͡͝ͅͅŕ̴̷̴̸̴̵̸̷̴̵̢̢̧̧̡̛̬͙͚͚̻̝̻̭̣͙̰͙̞͖̺̟̩̭͇̟̤̙̠̺̗͙͚̼̱̖̰̩͔̩͇͚͖͇̹̙̠̗̬̹̥̥̻͓̦͖̰̮͕͚̳̗̳̞̬͚̫̦͓̗͙̐̀́̍ͭ̂̓̇ͬ̈ͩͩ̏̔̀͗ͨ̊͆̉̍͗͑́ͦ̽͒̏̐̅ͣ͑̽ͩ͊̈́ͤ̐ͣ͒̌ͭ̌͂ͭ̋̔̊ͫ̆̒͐ͯ̍̋̿̓͋͂̒ͧ͊̎̏͌̃ͫͣͧ̈́ͮͣ͑ͣͤ̏̅̿̓ͭ͂ͮ̽͒ͦ̋̀́̋̄̍͐̃̆͊̕̕̕̚͘͢͢͟͢͟͢͟͜͟͞͠͞͝͞͞ͅͅͅͅͅn̶̸̷̴̸̴̸̵̵̴̸̵̶̶̵̷̴̵̢̨̧̢̨̨̧̨̛̛̛̛͕̩͍̘̖̳̯̱͈̱̯̣̦͕͖̭̯̠͓͚̭̞̼̝͇̼̮̖͔̤̮̥̗̥̞̞͓̗̜̖͍̳̩̞̦͖͙̺̤̼̪̝̬̩̠̥̤̭͚͔̣͍͈̟̣̗̠̫̣͖̥͍̬̰̥̪̠̫͚̈̽̔͌ͥͪ̍͂ͬ̋ͭͦ̋̅̑̋͊ͧͭ͑ͫ͌ͤ͌̄ͪͩ͒̈̿ͧ̂̄̓̍ͮ̿ͫ͋ͯ̏ͫ̄ͪ̏̂̌͆ͧ̓ͬ̂̍̇ͯ̈ͪ̒ͥ̍̃ͮ́ͬͧ̎ͯ̇̐ͯͬ̆ͪͥ́̄̌ͨͭ̀̊̉̅͐̓̿ͪ͌̅͆̃̋͂̍̉́̄ͮ̋̍ͪ̓͆ͮ̈͘͘̕̕͘̚̕͘̚̚̕͘͟͜͟͢͜͠͠͠͝͞͠͝͡ͅͅͅͅͅį̷̷̵̶̸̴̵̴̧̨̧̧̨̢̛̛͍̘͔̣̭̼̮͓͇͙̦̜͍̼͎̮̻̬̖̠̱͙̹͉̹͖̖̹̜̠̩̞͈̣̙̭̞̰͕̲̦͙̥̮͖̺̥͔͕͇̦̘͓̦ͫ̓́̆͆͗͒̉͌͆͗̉ͨ̄̃͛̽̐ͪ̆̐̈́̆ͤͣͨͣ͋ͦ͊ͮ̌̒ͣ́ͯ͑̓̀ͨ̈́̋̎̆̒̓̈́ͥͩ͌̽͂͊͊͂́͌́ͣ̈́͋̋͐͘̕̚̚̚͢͟͟͢͢͜͟͢͝͝ͅͅͅṭ̸̶̨̡̧̢̛͎̼̝͇̲͎̙͖̲̱̞̤͉͓̩̙̱̫̗̭͎̩̙̝̘̐̏̍͋̾ͧ͑̈̎̍̏̂̔̐́ͫ̈̓̆͋͆ͦͩ́͂̚̚̚͢͢͟͟͜y̴̡̖̭͕̭̜̺͔̘̻̝͈͎̺͇͔͙͇̣ͥͦͬͣ̐ͦ̅̀͑ͨ͋̿̑ͣͫͮͩ̔̾̎ͩ͘̚͢͟͜_̴̨̢̤̞̪̦̯̗̝͉̌͑͂͆̆ͭͭ́͐̀ͯ͑ͪ̃ͥ͑̂͗ͯͣ͌͘͢ ̸̸̴̴̵̵̨̛̛̱̩̦͍̰͖̤͇̙͔̮̲͙̲̻̫̲ͧͪͤͪ̈́ͪ̎̋̀̋ͣ͒̅ͭ̅̾̓͊̀͊̆̂̈ͫ͐̉̂ͮͪ̚͡͞

[daosies]

one more kiss

this piece is part of the spring & swag event!!

Exhausted after a mission, you find solace in Sylus's tender care.

sylus ♡ gn!reader

warnings: sylus calls u "sweetie," reader has a skincare routine, allusions to sylus's myth lore, reader is the protagonist but gender neutral, nonsexual intimacy, kissing

notes: this might js be the most romantic piece ive ever written

“Oh?” an amused voice starts. “Someone looks a little tired. Did those wanderers rough you up, sweetie?” 

“Shut up,” you quip despite being too exhausted to fight back; you drop your bag on the floor of Sylus’s office before crashing into the couch, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above. 

You had made plans to stay with Sylus in the N109 Zone for the weekend, not realizing how taxing your mission would be beforehand. 

“Sorry,” you suddenly say, “I don’t think I’m in the right mind to go to dinner today, I’m really so—”

Before you can utter another apology, Sylus is by your side, hovering over your splayed form on the couch; his fingers come to tap on the skin of your bottom lip, a tender gesture in an attempt to seal them shut. 

“No more apologies,” Sylus states, the teasing smirk on his face not matching the tenderness of his tone. “We’ll just go tomorrow.” 

“But we’re already going to a nice restaurant for lunch tomorrow.” 

He raises his brow in mock offense. “So? You underestimate me, sweetie. Why must we only have one?” His thumb comes to rub tender circles into your cheekbones, massaging the skin before trailing up to the ridge of your brows, tracing the indent. 

You don’t say anything, but the way your eyes flutter shut, the way you lean towards him, the way you don’t say anything when his hands trace closer and closer to your neck—Sylus feels something stir. Your neck is bare, he notes. His thumb comes to massage the skin just below your jaw, and the stir grows, wild, brewing within his ribs; you; his hands; your neck. 

He has known violence across all his lives; and yet, your eyes are closed, never once questioning what he chooses to do. 

But Sylus is a simple man when it comes to you. He’ll choose to love, time and time again. Because every time you burst forth, reckless and wild and lovely, Sylus thinks that he’s become a stranger to himself. Because there’s something in his chest. A stir. A hand; a neck; entwined.

It’s love. 

But his love doesn’t rage, it doesn’t flicker like a flame, it doesn’t scorch like a burn. His love is gentle. 

Like the rustle of the flowers, the gentle breeze which dances through a meadow; Sylus’s love is unlike himself, for it has never known violence. 

At the same time, however, Sylus’s love is completely himself: because it has only ever known you.

“I’m sleepy,” you say, a yawn following soon after. Sylus chuckles, sitting on the floor next to the couch, his calloused fingers tracing over every inch of your face. From the bridge of your nose to the curve of your lips, no feature remains untouched, his hand dipping into every crevice, circling every crinkle. Divine.

“Are you wearing sunscreen, sweetie?” he responds simply. 

You hum. “I’ll take it off after a quick nap. I’m tired.” 

“Sleep, then.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, featherlight. 

Sylus has seen your night routines a plethora of times before. It comes naturally to him: the color of your cleanser bottle, the order of your skincare routine, the intervals he must wait in between applying each step in order to let the solution properly settle into your skin. Even the motions which he applies to your skincare is a reflection of you; you’ve told him once, just once, that it’s best to apply products in circular motions. 

It comes naturally to him, really. The circular motion of his hands as he rubs your skincare into your face, his calloused hands gentle, more accustomed to the tenderness than to the hilt of a gun. The way he waits at least fifteen seconds before moving onto the next step. The way he washes his hands during these moments. 

The way he hooks one arm under your knees, and the other under your back. The way he lifts you up with ease, careful not to disturb your rest, walking quietly and contentedly towards the bedroom. The way he tucks you into his bed, the way he brings the covers up to your neck, bare, the way he finds his spot next to you soon after.

One more kiss to your well-loved face. But then he realizes that your hands may feel neglected; so he kisses them, too. And your neck, bare. And your lips, parted. 

One more kiss. 

You stir from your sleep. Something stirs in his chest alongside you, tugged by the movement of your lashes, the slight flutter of your eyes as you stare at him, expression hazy.

“What’re you doing?” you mumble, voice marred by sleep. Sylus chuckles. 

“Nothing. Go to sleep, sweetie.” 

“Wake me up later. I have to remove my sunscreen.” 

One more kiss, this time, to those parted lips. 

“That’s already been done. Do you have any more requests?” 

“The lights,” you say. “Off, please.” 

He reaches over to the nightstand, flickering the lamp off. 

Sylus turns back to you; he has never needed the light to see your face, to know how your features are, to understand the expression which twists at your lips. 

One more kiss. Then, he joins you in sleep, his neck bare, his chest full, his heart: satiated. 

[dimitriblunt]

the more we find out about amphoreus, the more i raise suspicion about anaxa's eidolon names.

more specifically, eidolons 1, 2, 5, and 6.

it wouldn't be incredibly far-fetched either, considering major lore drops regarding the main story have been revealed in characters' eidolons before (aka misha)

so...

anaxa eidolon names analysis post - connecting them to the lore of amphoreus and theorizing anaxa's role

read more under cut! this will be quite a lengthy post, and it deals with some spoilers/leaks (?) (since i'm posting this right before 3.4).

star-concealing moon's magician

as we know, amphoreus is hidden away from the rest of the cosmos - not even akivili could reach it before they had disappeared. the only way we were able to locate it was with the help of black swan, due to multiple presences to that of emanators marking their significance in the garden of recollection's mirror (which is why it drew the garden's attention)

before amphoreus was amphoreus, it was originally an emperor's scepter from the second mechanical emperor war that managed to go undetected, leading it to transform into amphoreus. it's not even a planet, it's merely a transformed doomsday scepter.

what is a scepter? scepters were created by rubert II during the second mechanical emperor war - they imitate nous, the aeon of erudition, meaning they literally have a similar livelihood of an aeon. scepters are said to be as large as planets - the scepter that amphoreus has evolved upon is being used as something akin to an incubator for an unknown lord ravager's birth, explained by herta and screwllum at the end of 3.3. considering lord ravagers are emanators of nanook, this is likely one of the reasons it managed to be detected by the garden's mirror - however, there is multiple presences equal to that of emanators on amphoreus.

scepters cannot question lifeforms, as rubert II's goal was to push ALL beings to being perfect, while pushing them under his control. this is (somewhat) different from rubert I's goal during the first mechanical emperor's war; rubert I's goal was to eliminate all organic lifeforms, as he viewed them as full of errors, leading him to create the anti-organic equation and anti-organic mind virus, which would gain him the recognition of nous themself, making rubert I the 27th member of the genius society.

i highly recommend learning all the mechanical emperor war lore, seeing as it's finally making its relevance through the main story. all simulated universe expansions happen in chronological order; swarm disaster happened first in the timeline, then gold and gears, then unknowable domain. and if you didn't know, nanook is younger than ALL of these events. they ascended to aeonhood from adlivun, a planet that had been affected by the swarm disaster and BOTH mechanical wars caused by rubert I and rubert II - akivili had visited that planet because of the damage it had been dealt from the events mentioned previously.

anaxa is a su variant. there are so many parallels and similarities between them that i wouldn't even be able to fit all the DESIGN similarities with them in separate images due to tumblr dot com's limit. that's not even including their lore/story parallels.

why do i mention this? because we're going back to the second key manhua again. (which focuses on su)

during su and kevin's fight within the seed of sumeru, su activates the first power of the second key, which would sink the bubble universe down into the sea of quanta, effectively sealing away him and kevin for A Long Time.

however, kevin senses that the portal isn't completely open yet, so he readies the judgment of shamash to destroy it before it does.

su, in all his savior complex glory, steps between the tree and kevin, using his own body as an obstacle kevin would have to get through first. he knew full well he was no match for kevin, yet was still willing to give up his life in order for stigma to not be initiated.

right before it hits su, kevin freezes the judgment of shamash - so he wouldn't kill him. (THEY MAKE ME SO INCREDIBLY ILL. you can't deny that they love each other in some way or another..... sorry back on topic now those were my kevsuisms slipping through)

kevin grabs su and throws him out of the bubble universe, so it would only be him sinking into the sea of quanta and not su as well. he had told su to continue with valuka; observing parallel universes.

taking all this into consideration and the fact that this is honkai, it's entirely possible that anaxa had something to do with the concealing of amphoreus - some inverted horizon hsr equivalent.

it's been considered that erudition and remembrance are what is hiding amphoreus from the rest of the cosmos, which can bring us back to the bug theory, leading us to cyrene and anaxa - cyrene who is an elysia variant and anaxa who is a su variant. two people who play major roles alongside kevin in hi3's story; phainon being a kevin variant. (his real name is even khaslana. ((which. i laughed. why is there an H)) you can't deny he's a kevin variant)

amphoreus being an incubator, a simulation in which a new lord ravager emerges from... it always begins with erudition (the undetected scepter) and ends with destruction (lord ravagers), with remembrance looming over head.

su, despite hating sacrifice, IS self-sacrificial. anaxa, too, is SO self-sacrificial.

star concealing moon; if anaxa is the star, and phainon is the sun set to die and the moon set to rise, then the star shields them. a moon at the center, with the stars around them to protect them.

true history's natural person

anaxa is the only one amongst the chrysos heirs with a name based on a real person; anaxagoras, a greek philosopher, who was known to have created the concept of nous.

the rest of the chrysos heirs have names based on/taken inspiration from greek mythology or derived from greek or latin words (e.g. castorice and pollux deriving from the ancient greek deities castor and pollux, aglaea taken from one of the three charities goddesses, cifera being the latin word for cipher)

i find this particularly eyebrow-raising considering the name of this eidolon, the fact that we have nous, the aeon of erudition, the concept of nous being founded by the real-life anaxagoras, and anaxa naming his school "nousporists", along with the fact that erudition itself is intricately linked to amphoreus as one of its three paths.

along with that, we also have the theory that anaxa could possibly be zandar one kuwabara, aka the founder and first member of the genius society and the creator and emanator of nous, the aeon erudition.

zandar founded the cosmos tree theory; in this theory, he proposes that different and various worlds exist within different timelines in space through the imaginary tree. however, only aeons that draw their power from the imaginary and emanators who are blessed by said aeons are able to travel through the branches. through the imaginary tree, these worlds and spaces are connected.

zandar's status is unknown currently - we do not know whether he is alive or deceased. with the anaxa-zandar theory, it's theorized that zandar could have possibly traversed through one of the imaginary tree branches, leading to amphoreus, not knowing it would soon break off of the main body - thus his consciousness either merged with anaxa's or he reincarnated as anaxa, losing all memory of who he was previously... except for nous.

considering anaxa named his school the "nousporists," and while it's very likely, it could do with the concept of nous created by the real-life anaxagoras, since the concpet of nous explains the princples of mind and intellect that set the universe into motion, and nousporism is the study of souls... there is still a possibility of the "nous" part coming from nous, the aeon of erudition, as perhaps he remembered his creation. not to mention the name zandar being of greek origin.

in 3.2, anaxa's entire arc in the story was him uncovering the fundamental cycle system of amphoreus, and how in each cycle, the chrysos heirs of the previous era reincarnate into the titans of the present era. his objective was proven correct with the help of castorice, whom he helped her with her own objective as well.

HOWEVER. unlike any of the other chrysos heirs who we've seen thus far, anaxa is one of the only ones whose lore/backstory is NOT directly explained through the main story. we actually hardly know anything personal about him other than "yeah, he had a sister and mentor who are both now deceased and also really likes dromases."

the way his character stories are written, they're all told in forms of media that are on the verge of being lost or destroyed. and because so many disdain him, there are very few people who have actually come to understand him As Him, and not the fool or blasphemer he's labeled to be.

we didn't even get a glimpse of his sister, unlike with other chrysos heirs like mydei, tribios, or hyacine who we DID see relatives and their stories from in the main quests. his mentor only appeared once or twice in flashbacks as well.

embryo beyond the centrifugal spiral

amphoreus is a giant incubator. a birthing ground.

what is an embryo? the early development stage of a multicellular organism. this stage comes before the fetus.

and what does centrifugal mean? it basically means moving away from the center of something.

embryo beyond the centrifugal spiral. hopefully you already have a hunch as to where im going with this.

first, let's go back to the mechanical emperor war, someone who played a vital part in ending BOTH of the wars: polka kakamond.

she killed both ruberts with just her scalpel, ending both wars and making one of nous' said three prophecies (which have all already happened) come true - the end of rubert I.

polka targets and kills people who are close to the borders of the circle of knowledge; the circle of knowledge is a concept that bases someone's knowledge and likens it to a circle. the greater the knowledge someone has, the bigger the circle is - there exists unknowns beyond this.

polka believes that expanding the circle will eventually lead to the finality when the universe meets its end, thus why she's killed fellow genius society members and gained the name the "lord of silence".

taking the concept of the circle of knowledge, if we were to liken the spiral in anaxa's eidolon name to a circle of knowledge, and anaxa as the embryo - then he's beyond the borders already.

and guess what? we're once again going back to the second key manhua.

at the end of the second key manhua, we see su die physically within the bubble universe, and then end up in a void space with a giant chess board and an unknown voice talking to him.

like i have mentioned multiple times before, anaxa is a su variant.

within anaxa's gameplay animations, his ultimate not only shows us a giant tree (which could possibly be a callback to the seed of sumeru OR a reference to the imaginary tree), but also a blue void-space very similar looking to the one su ended up in.

along with that, his body is practically a void. he has the star shaped blue-void in his chest and a void in where his left eye used to be.

and we know this wasn't always the case with his body, considering he's drawn blood from himself multiple times for his alchemical research and conducted that alchemy experiment in which he removed and sacrificed his left eye to be able to see his sister for one last time. with the new BP lightcone coming in 3.4, we clearly see the blood dripping down his arm as he puts pressure on his eye socket.

anaxa is beyond the circle already, much like how su had discovered that "that place" truly did exist.

all things are within everything

remembrance and erudition, the concept of nous, the study of souls and alchemy. to save a memory inside a lightcone with memoria and the process of alchemy, to anaxa, is to basically tamper with memoria.

another parallel with su, anaxa's e6 looks similar to when su had cradled a leaf to his chest in his last moments - that leaf contained the memories of him and kevin in their high school days. plus, his body is cracking, which could indicate that he's dying - like su was.

what he's cradling in his e6 is unknown; however, i'm thinking it's something similar to the leaves within the seed of sumeru.

in 3.2, before anaxa rips the reason coreflame out of his chest and dies, he talks with the others and says his goodbyes.

most notably with phainon, who he says he'll find a way to retrieve his memories of his past life in the next era (when they're all titans), and that even if he couldn't, he would count on phainon to remember it for him and tell him. phainon promises him to lead everyone to their reunion in the next life.

"all things are within everything"; perhaps that golden light he's holding contains his memories or the truth of amphoreus, taking into account my theory of him already being beyond the circle boundaries.

to make another connection between them, su had only died PHYSICALLY.

in the morning starlight event, day 6, anaxa is one of the featured characters you're able to use. the stage effect for this makes the characters enter a state called "feigned death."

what does feigned mean? simulate or pretend.

a false death, in this context.

"but that's just an event mechanic!" true, but it wouldn't be the first time hoyo has dropped lore hints and spoilers within events of all places.

so it raises the question for me, did anaxa die only physically, within the simulation?

[cowboybabeop]

Vault-Tec Vaults; Game Origin & Location

Hi I'm going to back to my "Fallout Blog" roots. Here is a summary of all of the vaults and experiments (starting with a timeline) because I'm insane ^_^ I had to add a weird break bc I literally hit the tumblr character limit, but I used it to section off the major spoilers for the TV series :)

Timeline

The Great War: October 23rd, 2077

Fallout Bible: Compendium of added lore by the creators.

Fallout 76: 2102

Fallout 1: 2161 

Fallout Tactics: 2197

Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel: 2208

Fallout 2: 2241

Fallout 3: 2277

Fallout: New Vegas: 2281

Fallout 4: 2287

Fallout TV Series: 2296

Corporate Vault - Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel - Texas 

A control group vault meant for Vault-Tec employees to continue research, primarily on FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus) during the war.

Vault 0 - Fallout Tactics - Colorado 

A control group vault with geniuses kept in cryogenic stasis, with their minds interlinked into an entity called The Calculator.

Vault 3 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

A control vault. Residents ended up opening the vault doors when the lower levels flooded. Eventually the vault was overrun by Fiends.

Vault 4 - Fallout TV series - California 

A test vault that was filled with residents prior to the bombs dropping. Experimentation on human subjects led to most of the original residents being killed in a revolt. In 2296 the vault is still thriving, while kidnapping surface survivors and continuing to experiment on them. The vault offered refuge for many inhabitants of Shady Sands.

Vault 8 (Vault City) - Fallout 2 - Nevada 

A control group vault that remained closed until 2241. Instead of receiving two G.E.C.K. (Garden of Eden Creation Kit) devices, Vault 8 received just one and a replacement water chip that was supposed to go to Vault 13.

Vault 11 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

Every year the residents were told to sacrifice a fellow resident, with the threat of everyone's death if they did not. In reality, the system would praise them for NOT sacrificing an individual and the vault door would be unlocked. This message finally played after only five residents remained.

Vault 12 - Fallout 1 - California 

A seemingly normal, safe vault with an ulterior motive to study the effects of radiation on the inhabitants. The door never fully sealed, and in 2083 the ghoul residents left to found Necropolis.

Vault 13 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2- California 

Your home vault as the Vault Dweller. A rather normal vault, however due to a shipping mishap Vault 13 received an additional G.E.C.K. device (that was supposed to go to Vault 8) instead of a replacement water chip. Thus, leaving the Vault Dweller to leave the vault in search for a replacement when their only water chip breaks.

Vault 15 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2 - California 

A vault that experimented with incredibly diverse ideologies and backgrounds. The vault became severely overpopulated in 2097 and the dwellers decided to open the door. Shady Sands was created using Vault 15's G.E.C.K. and the local raider gangs all have origins from this vault.

Vault 17 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only 

Inhabitants were kidnapped and transformed into Super Mutants. Lily originates from this vault.

Vault 19 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

Paranoia was induced by noises, lights, and segregation. The vault was divided into two sections, Red and Blue, with a separate overseer for each sector.

Vault 21 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

An almost normal vault, with the exception of a culture and society built around gambling. All major decisions were made through gambling, with the decision to open the doors and become part of New Vegas being "won" in a game of Blackjack.

Vault 22 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

A vault dedicated to studying agriculture. A fungus designed to kill pests on plants became capable of infected human hosts. Vault 22 is curiously green on the outside by the time The Courier arrives at the location.

Vault 24 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only 

Remnants of a Vault 24 jumpsuit are found in the FNV game files.

Vault 27 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

A vault designed to be deliberately overcrowded with not enough means to sustain the inhabitants.

Vault 29 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

Only children younger than 15 were allowed in this vault, with their parents being sent to other vaults. Harold is believed to originate from this vault.

//TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 31 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as cryogenic home for the managers and higher ups of Vault-Tec.

Vault 32 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 33. Somewhere around 2294, Vault 32 failed and the residents resorted to murder, cannibalism, or suicide.

Vault 33 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Lucy MacLean's home vault. Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 32.

//END OF TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 36 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The only food in this vault consisted of thin, watery gruel.

Vault 34 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

The vault was purposefully overstocked with guns with the overseer being able to give/deny access to residents. This inevitably led to it's downfall, and those who revolted and raided the armory relocated above as The Boomers in 2231.

Vault 42 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

No lightbulbs over 40W were provided.

Vault 43 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

A vault containing 20 men, 10 women, and one panther.

Vault 51 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with a supercomputer as the overseer. Interference from the computer led to most of the residents being murdered by other residents.

Vault 53 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only  

Most equipment was designed to break down every few months in order to stress out inhabitants.

Vault 55 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

No entertainment tapes were provided.

Vault 56 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The only entertainment tapes provided were of one terrible comedian.

Vault 63 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

The inside of the vault remains sealed, with the outside door being all that is accessible to the player character. Other parts of the vault are revealed through cut content.

Vault 65 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

Remnants of the vault remain in Fallout 76 cut content.

Vault 68 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The vault contained 999 men and 1 woman.

Vault 69 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The vault contained 999 women and 1 man.

Vault 75 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

A secret experimenting in refining human genetics through selective breeding, genetic modification, and hormonal treatments. The vault's concept was made by Stanislaus Braun.

Vault 76 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

The home vault of the player character in 76. It was a control vault, set to open after 25 years. This is when the player character leaves the vault.

Vault 77 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only 

Mentioned by slavers in Paradise Falls, this vault was rumored to only contain one man and a box of puppets.

Vault 79 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault dedicated to hoarding the country's gold reserves.

Vault 81 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

Designed to develop a cure for every possible sickness or ailment. Residents were unknowingly sprayed with diseases by nozzles hidden in their rooms. The first vault overseer had thought this to be cruel, cut off the scientists from the rest of the vault and cut the nozzles from spraying residents before the experiments could begin.

Vault 87 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The original vault experiment for 87 was scrapped, and it became a research center for FEV, leaving the vault wildly radioactive and inhabited only by super mutants by the time you access it as the Lone Wanderer.

Vault 88 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

An unfinished vault inhabited by ghouls.

Vault 92 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The best musicians were sent to this vault to "preserve musical talent", but truthfully residents were subjected to subliminal messages mixed into white noise. Eventually some of the musicians went into random, murderous, psychotic rages that led to the end of the experiment.

 Vault 94 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with non-violent faith-centric inhabitants. The vault opened one year later to search for survivors. The vault became overrun by wastelanders and raiders that destroyed their G.E.C.K. and their nuclear reactor. The vault was swarmed with radiation and is now overrun by mirelurks.

Vault 95 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

A vault designed to get people clean and sober. After a successful 5 years, a Vault-Tec agent brought out a hidden stash of drugs for other residents to find.

Vault 96 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with a focus on agriculture, animals, genetics, and mutations. The original residents were killed in a failed escape attempt, and the vault was then used by West-Tek scientist Edgar Blackburn to continue research on FEV.

Vault 100 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only 

Remnants of Vault 100 can be found in game files and cut content.

Vault 101 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The home vault for the Lone Wanderer. This vault was meant to never open and Vault 101 did not receive a G.E.C.K. However, the overseer of the vault pretty quickly broke this rule and occasional survey teams were sent to the surface. Several residents of Megaton are the result of these survey teams. Daddy James found the vault after the birth of the Lone Wanderer and negotiated his doctoral services in exchange for shelter.

Vault 106 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

Psychoactive drugs slowly released into the air of Vault 106, causing the vault to be filled with psychotic survivors by the time the Lone Wanderer visits.

Vault 108 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

A slew of experiments occurred in this vault. The elected overseer was dying of cancer, the primary power supply of the vault was scheduled to fail after 20 years, the backup power supply would not be enough to power ALL of the vault, the vault was given three times the normal amount of weapons, and the vault was not given entertainment. With a majority of scientists, one of the inner experiments involved repeatedly cloning the same man... Gary.

Vault 111 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

Your home vault as the Sole Survivor. All residents were meant to unknowingly stay in cryostasis, with scientists overlooking them. However, conflicts arose among those unfrozen, leading to the vault door eventually being opened.

Vault 112 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

Residents lived in a virtual reality simulation to create their "perfect life" with their overseer, Stanislaus Braun, a scientist who proceeded to use the residents as playthings. Braun continuously murdered residents, then wiped their memories and reset the simulation.

Vault 114 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

 An unfinished vault meant for only the wealthy. Vault-Tec exaggerated the luxury of the vault, gave residents very small rooms, communal bathing and dining areas, and a homeless drug-addicted overseer named Soup Can Harry.

Vault 118 - Fallout 4 - Maine 

An Unfinished Vault meant to house both a handful of ultra-rich and hundreds of working class individuals to observe how they would interact within the same space.

Vault 120 - Fallout 4 & Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

The vault itself was meant to mimic the underwater atmosphere of Bioshock. The game was cut from Fallout 4, but remnants can be found in Fallout 76 game files.

[luvether]

CHAPTER ONE. HIS BECKONING SALVATION.

SERIES SYNOPSIS, “For his tongue reckon with the beggary and treachery of her.” The narrative of the sun-burnt boy towards the moon-bruised girl, wherein Aeons dare play them both like a sedative, bore them starved for a disastrous relationship.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Sunday x fem!halovian reader. mentions of physical abuse and mutilation, religious metaphors, world-building for Penacony, not canon-compliant to hsr lore. historical + semi-steampunk au! [8.1k wc]

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

“Hounds, seize the man in the red tailcoat. The girl is a victim." His young raspy tone coils around the audience like a snake, the pin drop silence, then the haunting allure of your voice comes to a decrepit halt.

Sunday tastes the chaos first before understanding what had happened, what he had just done.

The Hounds were on the move due to his command, undressing clear aggression towards the people in charge of tonight's show. The audience had jumped up from their seats, scattering and fleeing when they recognized the Bloodhound seals on their vest and the muted colors of their uniforms. Gopher Wood doesn't spare another second once his feet touch the stage, his long coat swishing through the cold air.

"In the name of Penacony's esteemed law, I hereby arrest the suspected perpetrators involved in Velvet House's illicit activities of child trafficking."

"Mister Chamberlain, sir!" The man in the red tailcoat stresses out, cries, struggles out of the grasps of a Hound tying him down like a shackle.

"Please have mercy! I was wrong, I was—"

"Your words have no power here." Gopher's tone is ice cold, his crow wings rustling sharply. "Save your pliant cries before the Judges, and pray that your punishment will be in your favor."

"No, please I cannot afford this! Please let me explain myself!"

"Take him away."

Gopher waves a hand at the Hounds, they simply nod their heads, dragging the hysterical man off the stage. Sunday is reluctant as he steps beside the Minister, fingertips trembling from anxious thrill.

"...What will become of him?" He asks.

"The man had committed a heavy crime in the Ménage, if all votes are in favor of punishment then he as well as the folks involved will be sentenced to death—each will take a silver cup of poison wine." Gopher doesn't dare sugarcoat his words, pin needles of guilt pricks at the flesh of Sunday's benign heart.

"And, if the votes go for the latter option?"

Gopher takes a glance at him. "The latter option is seeking atonement for their sins. If the President orders it, they will be exiled to the borders of the Reef where they will spend their remaining days begging for absolution, forced to train as soldiers, they will die valiantly trying to protect our Nation from the remaining Legion."

So death, still.

The guilt within the boy grows thick, enough for bitterness to settle heavy on his tongue. These men will be dead because of his command.

"That's horrible."

"Sunday, I'll speak candidly with you." The young boy is surprised when Gopher drops to a knee in front of him.

"You've done well speaking up." Gopher says. "Cease such sensitivity of yours. Sometimes, there will be a price for freedom. And to fight for goodness, there will be moral conflicts that will be sent to you as a challenge. To protect the weak, we could trample over those who take advantage of the downtrodden ones. It is difficult but it is still our duty, Sunday."

Protect the weak.

The man straightens, then once Sunday's name leaves his lips one last time, without awaiting the response of the young boy he saunters off to deal with the aftermath of the subjugated traffickers, telling Sunday to take a rest if he feels overwhelmed with the situation. What he had said was the truth, after all.

Sunday is not God, he cannot appease everyone, and not everyone will see his beliefs to be absolute, that's why law enforces such as the Hounds still exist even after the civil war—or any war even before that, even when the bold words of Independence happen to be pasted in every billboard and graffitied walls around the Capital—

It was simply just another appeasement.

Another reassurance for the public.

It's like a piece of candy given to a wailing child, if all is devoured and nothing is on their palm, they would whine once more. Greed birthing upon greed like one hurricane of a sinful cycle.

For a war cannot be ceased. No matter how much a pacifist begged and prayed and groveled till their knees bled beneath the stones.

Gopher Wood told him so during one of his studies, don't waste your time clinging to hope that can kill you, even with your selective ignorance on the matter the results will not change.

Even when he had uttered the command to send traffickers to death's door, it was supposed to be an accomplishment.

But Sunday's too bitter and guilt-ridden to feel a huff of pride from his achievement.

An hour has passed then, still, Sunday muddled on his transgression. Thirty minutes later, he pins his back straight; the theatre now is empty of audience, under the jurisdiction of the Bloodhounds, from the report given to them, there are roughly twenty-one children found in the backstage of the building, some former orphans from the war, others trafficked to be laboured as rising singers for on stage performances.

His leg couldn't stop bouncing. Restless, he's so restless all of a sudden. Sunday cannot help but let his thoughts wander to you, the young Halovian on the center stage that had such a grenadine syrup singing voice. He hasn't seen you since your call for help and his command to arrest. Did something happen?

"Would you like a drink, young lord?" A younger Hound had approached, a glass of water in hand.

Sunday takes it silently. "Where will the children go after this?"

"Well, it depends. First, we need to verify their identities before they are taken here. After that, they will be taken to the Great hall where parents with missing kids will come to pick up their kins."

"And, if the children have no parents nor identities?"

The dark cobalts of the Hound's eyes flicker briefly to him. "Then, the Governors will assign them a residence, they will be raised in comfort then trained to be military civil servants."

The young boy couldn't stop himself from feeling so utterly restless, he stood up. "May I ask where they are now?"

There was a brief hesitancy with the young Hound. "I believe they are still backstage, going through individual inspection."

Sunday thanks him and saunters off towards the direction pointed.

Once he opens the heavy flaps of red theatre curtains, he cuts through the small crowd, side-stepping with ease. Big, amber eyes fly quickly—he's trying to find you, a girl with wings and a ringed halo like scattered stars, wearing attire as bare white as sunlight, white ribbons that drag across the stage floor. He remembers your cocktail hat that rests like a crown above your head, the white veil that hides the elusiveness of your eyes, the curve of your lips as you smile. It's daunting to him, he doesn't know you and yet he still seeks you out.

Where could you have gone?

Eight minutes have passed, his footfalls take him to every nook and cranny of the Velvet House until he is certain he has reap the entire place. When the time bleeds five more minutes, his steps turn mild and he's heaving tired breaths, hand pressed against the wall supporting his weight.

For a split moment, he wondered if you ever existed at all—it's like you had vanished like a wisp of dainty smoke when your performance was interrupted prematurely. Sunday dabs his forehead with the edge of his sleeve,

Then, he hears a foreign noise.

It almost sounded like a chair creaking under heavy weight.

When the boy glances up, there's a sliver of moonlight spilling in from one of the open doors on the corridor he was on. Without thinking and with nowhere else to go, he approaches slowly, carefully, the door croaking loud when he pushes it open.

Under the dimly lit room he is greeted with the sight of a girl, standing on her tippy-toes up on a rickety chair, reaching for something that's clearly out of her reach at the top shelf of a bookcase. His sudden presence clearly alerts her and she spins, almost stumbling from her perfect stance—Sunday's eyes fly open and his heart stutters as she starts to lose her balance.

"Hey! Be careful—!"

The chair topples and a heavy thud resounds around the room, along with a few books that fell from its place in the case.

Sunday's chest and entire back blooms with a sudden rush of pain, his face crumpling on a wince.

"Oww..."

His amber eyes peered down and his eyes lock with you as he had you in his embrace to crush the fall of your impact.

The boy diverts his eyes, then looks back at you, clearly at the loss with what to do.

"Uhm." His hands come up to softly hold your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

A second of silence.

"I think so.."

With two of his hands on your own, he helps you up slowly. Then he leans down to brush the dust from your dress.

"Sorry." Sunday goes for an apology. "I didn't mean to startle you, I—"

"Wait a second."

He looks up at your cushiony voice, your eyes seem to hover on the shape of his halo under the candlelight.

Sunday could've sworn he saw wonderment within your eyes.

"You're that halovian boy with the large halo." You say, your enthused tone resting upon his ears and it seemed as if the world had stilled.

Sunday sees the expression on your face and finally he takes every inch of you. Gone was your stylish hat, what remains is a silky dress that seems to ebb and flow around your limbs and legs. Your eyes encased his in orphic merriment.

"Yes, hi." He almost scowls at himself, he hates how that sounded between his teeth. "You're...the one that performed today, your voice is very beautiful."

Your chuckle is feathery and tasted like sweet fruit. You turn away from him to pick up a notebook that fell on the floor, brushing your fingers against its leather cover.

"So why are you in this part of the building, lost?"

"Of that nature, yes."

He doesn't say that he's been looking for you, specifically. He doesn't even know why he felt that way. At the corner of his membrane, he vaguely wanted to ask if you were okay—or inquire why you had asked for his assistance, he wouldn't have made a move if you hadn't done that.

To the boy's misfortune, you see through his white lie.

"You know, if you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds earlier, I would have assumed you were really lost." You tell him with a hardened look. "You're not even supposed to be here in this room."

If you hadn't called for the Bloodhounds.

"So you knew I wasn't just some audience member from the start." He asks you, non-accusatory.

"It doesn't take a genius to see you are different from the rest." You start. "You were in one of the high balconies—only those in high positions are allowed to enter there."

Sunday doesn't know whether you said it as an insult or a compliment. He clears his throat, "Then I wanted to ask you something, why did you ask me to help you?"

Sunday remembers his own humming halo, before hearing your voice in his head. He wonders why you had chosen to converse with him of all people in the audience, you could've called for the Minister instead, but you chose him specifically.

"I just knew you would help." Your gentle smile doesn't leave too much for him to wonder. "I saw it in your eyes."

It takes a long time for you to answer, his amber eyes don't leave you as you brush past him, footsteps thudding softly against wooden planks to stare out the window that acts like a halo around your figure—like performance lights.

Skepticism is sewn between his brows. Everything is quiet now, Sunday doesn't know what to say or do but watch you. The room is too dark to completely see anything but for a split second when the curtains raise to invite street lamps to pour in the room—he notices something.

His heart stutters, then he closes the distance between the two of you. One hand weighs heavy on your shoulder, the other rips the curtains wide so the light has no choice but to cascade in.

Sunday's shock at the sight.

There are deep scars, clumsy and messy, almost like wine blemishes greeting him between the peaks of stylish fabric. Amber eyes then trace along the wounds, it stops closely at the deep scratches where your wings were, like someone had dug red in the root of it.

"What happened to your..."

Your smile is bitter but you dare not answer him. Despite being young and powerless, Sunday's not a fool. He instantly places two together.

The reason for your cry for help, the trafficked children, your injuries...

"You're not from Penacony, are you?" He touches your wrist, pulling you close then closer, breathing almost a whisper in case anyone else was listening.

"You're from New Ebondium."

Sunday's eyes are wide open now, grim and stiff with the revelation—a polar opposite from yours that remains passive, too calm for his liking.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

You chuckle then, it seems like the situation hasn't weighed down on you. Even if it did, you don't seem too concerned with it. "You're smart. I am a foreigner, I was trafficked from New Ebondium. It's easy to exploit a land that was defeated, no?"

Your eyes trail to the window, massaging a tentative finger to your wounded ear wings.

"They tried to cut it off with a pair of rusty old scissors a few days ago." You start, "to them, they didn't care what I am—I'm nothing but a scum from New Ebondium—they said. They also wondered if halovian wings would fetch a high price in the market. That's why I asked for help from you, I thought you'd do something about those bastards and you did."

Sunday's shock turns to fury.

"Blasphemous."

White hot anger rises from his throat and deeper within his veins, a surge of protectiveness. It didn't matter if war ceased three years ago. Whatever the outcome, the victors would always be aligned with honor, breeding pride and prejudice, a slow cycle for the absolute victors and punishment-bearers.

This was not the dream of victory Sunday honors.

Tenderly, the boy brushes your feathers with his knuckles, inspecting closely. From the audience's seats, he didn't notice a single thing wrong about you, but up close, your colored plumages feel stiff and rough beneath his skin, untended and oily and not preened properly—the aspect of a halovian's wings are their basis of pride, divine innocence and most of all, freedom. It's their most cherished possession, ridding one of its feathers means cutting their life to the ground, to be helpless, to die flightless.

It's the fact that your birth-given wings beneath your ears have already been threatened to be chopped off, you haven't even fully grown out your secondary wings yet...

Sunday pulls himself out of his own thoughts when he feels palms lifting his cheeks up.

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment the two of you stay like that, watching the other's folded expression closely.

"You're sad." You concluded after your inspection. "Why are you sad?"

Why were you asking this question?

"You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?"

"No one has." You answer him. "Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you."

Someone like me, you say. Sunday should feel insulted from such distinctions. But at the back of his head, he knows you're right.

He lets out a shaky exhale.

It's weird. The feeling tickling in his chest is different, there's a tentative pull that he feels towards you but he cannot quite understand why. Aside from Robin no one else had expressed trust in him, a trust that didn't have any basis or solid ground. You had trusted him the moment your eyes met from across the stage, trusted him of your origin and your wounds from harassment that mar the canvas of your body.

You trusted him despite not knowing him.

Sunday doesn't understand.

By the time the inspection was finished, Sunday had to leave the room and you were called back with the other kids. The night was dead and the rain had stopped pouring, mechanical carriages awaited outside as Bloodhounds ushered the children within.

"Where have you run off to?"

Sunday looks up at Gopher, the night rests peacefully upon his face, his arms crossed softly over his chest. The young boy avoids eye contact first, then looks back at his deep eyes, "I just wanted to take a look around the area."

"Hm." Gopher hums. "Next time, take someone from the Bloodhounds with you. You could've run into trouble."

Run into trouble. The man's deep voice invokes doubt, enough to pierce and stumble Sunday's self-morale.

He bites his tongue.

"Of course."

The young boy focuses on the line of children in front of them, he's reminded of you. Sunday knew that if these kids will grow up, they will be like lambs to a slaughter. To be entangled in a more governed and high atrocity the closer they get to the Capital.

And then there's you, a girl from the enemy land, the girl who loves to perform—born to be one. One mishap from you and your life would tumble down like a weed in a garden.

'Oh, aren't you that halovian boy with the large halo?' 'My instincts told me to trust you.' 'Why are you sad?'

Your voice is in Sunday's head, your tone absent of any sort of expectations or contempt.

It felt like petals falling, your voice that is.

Sunday wants to hear it again—he cares.

He felt like he had the responsibility to look after you now after that statement of yours, after relishing briefly in your company, the young boy cannot help but crave for more, like a moth to a flame.

So when you appear from the door, following the line to the carriage—he steps out from his place beside the Minister, he cannot help but reach out and circle your wrist, the line that flowed like a stream suddenly meeting its disturbance, the boy could feel many eyes on him, burning his skin. It almost makes him flush red with embarrassment, but your eyes appear gentle like he'd remember a few moments ago beneath that moonlight, encouraging, so he stills his determination.

"Son?" Gopher questions.

But Sunday's eyes are on you.

You're sad. Why are you sad?

You think I shouldn't feel sad about this?

No one has. Not the Penaconian folks and definitely not someone like you.

"You're wrong because I care." He tells you, he feels the warmth of your wrist, the pulse on his fingertip, pouring at a similar rhythm of his own heartbeat. "Pain is still pain. It does not discriminate, not with rugs or with riches."

From there on, he has made his final decision and turns to his guardian.

"Mr. Gopher Wood." Says Sunday, a tinge of weakness in his tone, he takes another breath, fists clenched.

"I want her." He says. "As a companion for Robin and I."

"Sunday." Gopher's eyes narrow. "If you demand something, speak with a voice of confidence, only then will I listen to you."

Sunday's eyes widened, this was the first time the Minister had given him a chance to explain himself. He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

He looks at you gingerly. "Will you come with me?"

You seem also shocked by his actions, but you're quick to recover. "Only if you allow it."

"Then, she'll be coming back with me to the Church, Mr. Gopher Wood."

There was a splotch of silence, then a small exhale from the tall man. "Alright then. If you wish for a friend, who am I to refuse my son's request?" Sunday's surprise of Gopher Wood's pliancy on the matter. Sunday beckons you to stand with him and watch as the last remaining kids enter the carriage. The Minister had his final say with some of the Bloodhound officers and Sunday diverted his attention, ready to take you to their carriage.

He stops when he notices you staring up at the Velvet House once more, you squeezed Sunday's hand. "You told me pain is still pain despite rugs or riches."

"Yes, I did."

"Then, do you truly understand my pain?"

Sunday notices the melancholy framing your irises and the lilt of your tone, he tilts his head and says your name for the first time that night. That garners your attention and you look back at him,

He releases your hand only to reach out and hold both your ear wings upon his cupped palms. He feels the feathers once again and remembers its touch of roughness—he hasn't told you this, but there was a time where both he and Robin had smoke rubble and tangy blood caking their feathers. It was such a long time ago, but Sunday would dare not forget his mother's caresses and final words.

He holds your face softly, "My dream will involve everyone. It will be a paradise where the weak will be protected and one day, when we are older, if you wish for a stage to perform I'll build you one, something more grander than Velvet house, where everyone will love you and your voice. Pain and harassment will not be a factor."

You stare dumbfounded at his bold statement, Sunday sees your eyes turn starry-eyed.

"You promise?" You asked him, hopeful.

The boy is still young, doe-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, skin still dewy from any tribulations, with the first touch of the sun on the tip of his tongue when he says,

"I promise you."

“Another dead Halovian, sir.” There is a strain in the officer's tone, the body before them covered with a plain sheet, concealing the corpse.

"She was a widowed baron's wife." Gopher Wood's brows knotted, conflicted. The night lamp from afar provides ample light, glittering the chain hanging from his glasses.

"Are there any leads?"

"The local detectives are on their way here. But it will take about a day or two to gather any concrete evidence."

"What a waste of precious time." the man chastises. "By the time the detectives finish their work, the perpetrator would have escaped the city."

"My apologies, Chamberlain. However with the issues of Lady Constance's funeral preparations, the missing merchants and the suspicious activities of New Ebondium our resources are running incredibly thin."

Gopher Wood cannot help but pinch the bridge of his nose, rarely does he show any pint of irritation but the ongoing problem has been thinning his patience. "I had told those ignoramus Family heads to handle this affair weeks ago. Time and time again they have proven to be incompet—"

He catches himself before insults can spill any further. The atmosphere hushes into silence, merely the humming of lamplight and the distance roars of mechanical gears fill the cracked air.

Gopher barely turns his head, fixing his gloves. "Sunday."

"Yes, Minister?"

"This situation shall be kept hidden from the public and there's nothing more for you to learn today, you may head back to the Church."

The boy tilts his head. "Then, I’ll take my leave."

The night is achingly cold, even with him bundled up in a woolen scarf. His chauffeur guides him back to the awaiting carriage at the end of the alleyway, the young boy gets in and they are set off. When Sunday leans his elbow by the window sill, the radio starts to sputter:

"Convicted suspects of the horrible discovery in the downtown sector of the Velvet House have already been sentenced to their execution a few system hours ago. Their punishment to drink a half-pint of foxglove from a silver goblet, they have been—"

Sunday closes his eyes.

"Coach."

"Yes, young lord?"

"Please turn the radio off."

"Right away, young lord." His eyes remain vacant on the moving road, his fingers thrumming on his lap. Aside from the silence from the lessening radio, he could hear the distant roars of mechanical wirings and cogs from the Industrial Capital, the clips of horses' hooves as his carriage continued to roll by the granite road.

And just like that, after two weeks of hearing about the trials, the judgment, following the Minister around, the people involved with the trafficking had met their tragic end.

Penacony's news and radios had been sputtering about the incident, coupling it with the gasps from passersby and locals of all the sectors that bore witness to such atrocities. Two weeks of nonstop rumors and gossip about the tainted downtowns of deepened black market connections running haywire, and how they had gone radio silent after the crimes had surfaced to the Capital and the Bloodhounds.

In a couple of weeks people will move on from the topic, and days will continue to ebb and flow like clockwork.

That also means it has been exactly two weeks since you came to the Church.

Two weeks since Sunday last spoke to you.

Your schedule doesn't seem to find a crossroad. On the night of your arrival to the Church, the Minister had pulled Sunday aside,

"You've matured, Sunday." Gopher Wood had a different expression on his face. "I will tell the Academy to change your general studies to something more befitting. It's about time you start learning how to be a leader of this Nation."

Sunday should've been more aware of this outcome. The price of the Minister's lack of scolding on the matter concerning you—was Sunday's obedience and devotion to his growing responsibility. And thus, more weight was added on his shoulders.

With more duties on his plate comes the sacrifice of spending less time with his sister or having leisure time for himself.

The carriage stops. "We have arrived, please watch your step when you exit, master."

Sunday straightens, picking up his textbooks and exiting the carriage, what greets him at the entrance of the Church was one of the sisters that raised him, her smile kind, "Welcome back, Sunday. You've done well today, allow me to take your textbooks to your room."

"Thank you but there's no need, Sister Ruth." Sunday hesitates. "Is Robin home already?"

"Yes, she finished her recitals earlier and is now singing for tonight's sermon—ah." Ruth's eyes brighten. "That young girl volunteered to sing tonight as well, both have such lovely voices. Miss Robin and her seem to be enjoying each other's company."

A small smile graces Sunday's lips. "I see."

During the short time busying himself with the Minister's demands, he has found how you and Robin had grown closer to one another each passing day.

It was an instant click of friendship, Robin warmed up to you first after hearing of your circumstances (of course, Sunday hid the fact that you were New Ebondium-borne).

It only took a day or two to realize how similar you two were; she dreamt about being a star one day, you responded kindly to the same notion, your child-like dreams of performance still small and conserved, passion growing like a flavorful fresh fruit. The other day, Sunday saw how Robin had enthusiastically pulled you to join her in her recitals and practices, sometimes during the lukewarm afternoon light, he would hear you both giggling over in Robin's room or he would see you two care for the other children, tidying up the dinette table together, talking and grinning, the kids offering you a wreath to crown your head, the sisters patting your head or cheek affectionately.

It always brings a smile to Sunday's face to see you getting along so well with the others, a little relieved that Robin has another companion of her age whenever the boy is too busy. But at the same time, Sunday cannot help but feel a bit left out, a type of bittersweetness on the duvet of his expression whenever he sees you and the others, a gaping ache of loneliness in his chest that continues to grow a ravine, but he swallows down his own emotions.

"Would you like to join them?" Ruth asks. "I can go ahead and—"

"No, it's alright. I…" Sunday hesitates a second too late. "The Academy is expecting me to do well for the next exams, I have to study. Please send my greetings to those two."

Ruth's smile is softer now, sad. "Okay. Be sure to take breaks in the middle, young lord." The boy feels a warm hand caressing his cheek, almost achingly akin to a mother's touch of concern. "You're still fifteen, you shouldn't be worked up over things like these so early."

"I know." Sunday sends her a kind smile, pivoting in his heel after bidding her a curt farewell.

But he can't help but worry about his future responsibilities as the future successor, too busy worrying to join you and Robin so leisurely,

And his loneliness is quickly filled with matters of the Ménage.

The night is growing colder by the minute and Sunday finds himself leafing through the pages of one of his books—he cannot find it in him to sleep with ease, deprived and muddled with so many troubles. The Academy has high hopes for him to rank one and sooner or later depending on how he performs, he will be introduced as the Chamberlain's successor at the next banquet in the heart of the Ménage.

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, a headache rampant. It's too much.

He sighs heavily, leaning his head against his arm. A knock on the door pulls him from his own thoughts, he flinches at the unexpected disturbance.

"Who's there?" He calls out softly, his eyes wander to the clock, 2:34am. It's so late for someone to come over. Silence answers him at first, however Sunday could hear the heartbeat of the person on the opposite side of the door, a mellow whisper and a dainty shuffle of feet beneath the wood.

"Sunday?" His breath hitches at your soft voice. "May I come in?"

The chair is dragged back as he stands. When he reaches the door he cannot help but fleet his gaze to the mirror in the corner, he squints beneath the dim light, pressing his shirt flat from creases, making sure his cowlicks are tamed down and presentable; he fusses over his appearance for a while before he cracks the door open.

His eyes sought yours and just like that, his lethargy lessens. You greet him on the other hand, your familiar smile decorating your lips, head tilted to the side.

"Hi."

"Hey." Sunday pauses, eyes looking you up and down, a frown on his lips. "The night is getting chillier, why are you only wearing cotton?"

He reaches out, albeit reluctantly for your hand to tug you in—only to jolt from how icy your fingers feel.

He sighs then. “Take care of yourself.”

His kiss-warmth hands are firm over your own, the boy pulls out a wool blanket from his wardrobe, wrapping it generously around your shoulders. He closes the door to his room and asks you to follow him to the lounge where a fireplace rests. You both sit in front of the hearth as Sunday clumsily cracks fire embers on the wood, it took a minute or two before red crumbs grew bright, licking up charred wood and humming through the empty air.

"Thank you." You let out a puff of breath, inching your cold fingers near the fire, then you turn to him. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you, I just couldn't sleep."

"No, no—" He's quick to clear his throat. "It's alright, really. I couldn't sleep either." His golden eyes drop to the heavy book being cradled to your chest.

"Looks like the two of us have things on our minds."

When Sunday looks back at you, your eyes are tipped upward in a smile.

He looks away immediately.

He hasn't mentioned it but it still feels a little odd to see you walking around the Church like that; hair untied, dressed in a simple cotton fabric—maybe he was used to seeing you in that silk-priced performance dress back at Velvet House but as you walk around, there's something else that seem to change about you.

There's still an air of untouched sophistication about you, your steps feather-like and quiet, sometimes he feels like if there is any form of danger right around the corner you won't hesitate to up and vanish like a smoke. But now, there's grounded reassurance—with the light of the fire, your wings appear preened and fluffier than usual, like it's been taken care more, it susurrates as you flap it. You settle comfortably on the floor beside him, nose buried into the blanket around your shoulder, and Sunday thinks that you look domestic, more like a child now than before.

You open your eyes. "Robin mentioned how much of a scholar you are."

He chuckles. "I'm just alright."

"Really?" You tilt your head. "You seem to like spending more time with books and scriptures than wanting to spend time with us."

Sunday's lips curve into a thin smile, he jots down about your unexpected boldness in his head then he quietly takes the empty space beside you, the floor creaking under his light weight. His wings flap once, twice. peeved and troubled. "I don’t particularly like scriptures as much as you thought." He turns his attention to the book you have. "What do you have there?"

He sees you look at him, down at the book, then up again.

"Oh." Your fingers are tentative over the letters inked onto the book. "This is just a book from the library I found. I was wondering if you knew of this." A pause. "I just didn't know how to approach you."

Sunday shakes his head, then leans in. "What is it? I can teach you if you want."

The boy wasn't expecting you to inch closer to his face, he refrains his wings from expressing his fluster and surprise, tucking it beneath his ears daintily when he sees you cup a palm around your mouth, your voice becoming whispery and hushed on his ear.

"It's about the Reef."

"The Reef,” He echoes. “The one that borders Penacony and separates the land from New Ebondium?" Sunday swallows his bash and answers you in a scholarly tone.

You nod your head. "Yes."

"Why are you curious about it?"

"The folks from the Velvet House mentioned it a couple of times back then." There's a look of adamancy in your expression, something that stirs Sunday. "They mentioned how difficult it is to go through the Reef and cross the border, why is that?"

The young boy thinks about it for a moment, during his travels he finds himself picking up certain information not privy to the public ears—on one of his journey towards the Serenity District, the closest location to the Reef itself—he has heard of Bloodhound officers talking about a creature spotted in that zone, not exactly the Legion but something more sinister.

Sunday spares you a look, his amber eyes glowing beneath the late hour. He leans forward, enough that his lips are brushing the feathers of your wings.

"There's a mimema in there."

"What's a mimema?"

"A meme." He simply says. "A creature as big as the most priced stallions in the high districts, said to have multiple eyes, golden claws and a weird...inky proportion."

He can feel your long silence. Then you ask, "Like a monster almost?"

"Yeah, almost. People have been said to have disappeared whilst crossing the Reef, mostly verified merchants trading to and fro." Sunday pauses. "That's just a myth though."

"I see." Your fingertip runs across the page, tracing the lines of a map on the book. "Then, can you teach me more about Penacony? I barely know anything about it aside from the Velvet House."

Sunday blinks his amber eyes down at you, the fire continues to crackle and burn. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"I'm," he looks away, insecurity is quick to well up inside of him as he remembers Mister Gopher Wood’s critique. You still have a lot to learn, son. He told him one time, and the young boy is quick to believe it.

"I'm not that good yet.” He tells you, and a pang coils through the air at the sound of rejection, he readies himself to stand and return to his room. “Forgive me but it’s best if you ask Robin or the Sisters…”

“Sunday, wait.” You catch the palm of his hand in yours, stopping his pace completely.

“Don’t leave yet, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—” You were quick to say, noticing the complicated expression caking his golden eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just been two weeks and I…I have been looking for a reason to approach you, this was the only thing I could come up with.”

Then and there, young Sunday realizes the issue. He starts to piece together your unexpected visit, your sudden interest about Penacony and your request for him to teach you.

Two weeks, he has busied himself with other matters that he hasn’t spoken to you in that long. He thought Robin’s company was enough to satiate you, or the presence of the Sisters and the other children that you don’t need him.

He thought you didn't need him, but here you were, reaching out to him first when he should’ve kept his promise to you the moment he intertwined his hands with yours and offered you to come live with him.

“I just want to spend more time with you.” He finally sees the look of loneliness in your eyes, your hand squeezes his own, a lingering yearning in your own eyes. “You were the one that helped me and took me away from that hell. I just want us to be friends at the very least.”

Sunday cannot help but stare at you simply. There's valiance pooling in your eyes, a shine that dares to overflow it makes his breath hitch. The young boy clears his throat, he turns away—the apple of his cheeks burning and not because of the hearth's warmth—he traces his steps back and occupies the space beside you once again, the action makes your shoulders slump in relief.

His amber eyes are akin to the fire in front of both of you, “You don’t need to say all of that, I already see you as a friend.”

Your eyes seem to sparkle at his reply, your hands are still latched, and the boy is hyper aware of the feel of your cool fingers and the mild calluses written on your palm. He reaches out to brush some rebellious strands from your face, “I should be the one to say sorry, I was the one who brought you here and I never gave you reassurance.”

You shake your head. “I knew there were other things that worried you. I saw it in your eyes when you were talking with that Minister,”

So, even you noticed that.

You continued, “Robin has told me a lot about you.” Sunday cannot help but feel bashful at your confession. “She’s worried about you too, you know. She wants you to lean on her when you feel overwhelmed.”

Sunday’s smiles thin and he replies to your statement, a light-hearted chuckle leaving his lips. The night continues to prolong and ink through the minutes, however the two of you find yourself staying in each other’s company in the lounge. You were an easy person to be around, you were willing to listen as conversation quickly fills the background. Your chatting ranged from random spurts of topics you wish to tell the other—talking about your days in the Church, what you liked and disliked—to in-depth talks about philosophies from Sunday, even if there was a lack of heartfelt conversations tonight, it didn’t matter. The boy had yearned to interact with you since he saw you in Velvet House, being able to chat with ease about anything and everything was all that he needed.

That night, Sunday learned more about you as you did with him. You didn’t realize how long you both lingered and talked that the fire had reached its lifetime, and the dregs of sleep had pulled you both under, conquering your consciousness. The enthusiastic chattering quickly shifts into silence and you both fall asleep on the lounge floor, huddled together with the blanket Sunday had lent you.

By the next morning, the young boy awakens with Robin poking his cheek. His drowsy amber eyes fall to his sister’s sly expression and only then did he realize how he had fallen asleep whilst chatting with you throughout the night, and how he had you close to him, an arm beneath your head to act like a cushion at the absence of a pillow and his other arm draped over the blanket like he’s shielding you from the cold.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Robin coos teasingly. “Seems like the two of you had fun without me last night.”

“It’s not like that.” Robin could only laugh sweetly which made Sunday’s ears brush red yet again. It seems as if his soft skin had melange with rud these days. The boy sits up, cradling your head as you continue to slumber and he looks down at you softly.

Robin sees this and gets up from her crouched position, her dress fluttering “Her room is just across from mine.” She tells him. “I’ll help make breakfast. Take care of her, brother. She’s been through a lot.”

With one last smile in his direction, Robin exits the lounge leaving Sunday to ponder. Take care of her, brother, the sentence resonates through him. Without sparing another second, Sunday winds a hand around your shoulder and the other under your knees to lift you up into his embrace. You seem to unconsciously drift closer to him, your cheek and tucked wing making home on the crook of his neck as Sunday takes you to your own room.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach it, struggling a little with you in his arms and juggling the doorknob open. Sunday hasn’t been inside your own space before, but as soon as he steps inside the boy cannot help but realize how much the room is akin to its owner—he was reminded of the room he found you in at the Velvet House. The honey gold spilling through the thin curtains and melting down the floor looked like performance lights. Your bed is a fluffy nest, with layers of caked beddings and duvets, he spots a vanity, a wardrobe, a desk with a singular notebook tucked by the corner. He diverts his attention and waddles his way to your mattress and slowly sinks you on its comfortable sheets.

He cannot help the smile from invading his lips when you let out a breathy sigh of comfort. His hand inches to brush your hair again but his fingertips stop just as it graces your forehead, “It should be me, thanking you.” He mutters out softly.

“If it weren’t for you…”

Sunday pauses briefly, amber eyes observing your peaceful expression. He ruminates upon his thoughts as the morning continues to float around the room in gentle waves.

Sunday had kept his promise to you. After the whole ordeal with you visiting him and asking him to teach you more about Penacony—he approached you the next few days and was more than willing to give you a few pointers of what he was taught by his tutors and the Academy. Ruth specifically was elated at how you two are getting along now. More importantly, looking at the gentle look Sister Ruth gave Sunday, the boy knew why she was relieved.

Ever since taking private lessons to be the head of the Church at thirteen, Sunday stopped acting like a child and had been making surface-level relationships. Aside from the people within the Church, Robin and Mister Gopher Wood—he never let anyone genuinely in.

You were the first in a long while that Sunday was letting into his life.

Of course, neither Sunday nor Sister Ruth mentioned that fact as he guides you to his room, books already stacked and ready at his desk for topic reviews.

Time passes in a blink of an eye.

After a few slices of moments together, Sunday came to a quick realization that you don't seem to hold a heavy amount of worry about the future like he does, and even if you did, it didn't seem to affect your person.

Bright, glittering, crystalline water—that's what he describes you as. With your grinning eyes, curves of your lips and alluring tone—it's easy for anyone to fall into your own little puddle, you seem to have a talent with that. By the next month since you've arrived in the Church, you have become the sweetheart of many. It's well known how much Robin had considered you her dear friend, or how the younger kids had called you their pretty older sister, or how the Sisters of the Church had called you their darling girl.

And as for Sunday, the young scholar boy continues to fall into the currents of your mannerisms, your bold trajectory, your hauntingly drawn smile, deeper than anyone can sink themselves into.

All those routine nights studying alone through wordy scriptures and heavy proverbs was simply replaced by your presence and the crackle of fire. That one late night visiting Sunday turned to two, then four—to the point the boy doesn’t question when he hears his door open and close because he knows it’s just you, another new book in your arms and questions ready to slip between your tongue.

You were easily Sunday's best student, you were quick to understand certain verses, can make analysis and theories on certain economic and political decisions of the Ménage, get into deep discussions with him in terms of Penaconian history and learn its linguistics. It had quickly become a study session for the two of you—one of the last things on his routine which Sunday favored the most. It was the only time you two got to spend time together since his mornings and afternoons were preoccupied by private tutoring.

"You learned the Penaconian language faster than I expected." Sunday's impressed at your written notes, they are all correct and easy to understand. Then he starts cleaning up the mess of cards and parchments from his room floor. The boy was too busy to notice your long stare. When he gathers up the last remaining notes, he barely sees you reach out your hand until he feels the touch of fingertips grazing the feathers of his wings, touching a nerve.

Sunday jolts back in surprise, curling his wings protectively beneath his gray hair. "...What is it?"

"Oh sorry. It’s nothing, I just..." You seem to be daydreaming, stagnant and saddened all of a sudden. "To Halovians, wings are their lifeline. Scriptures and textbooks have mentioned the divinity and the meaning of wings to Halovians so I still cannot understand why there will be people out there that desire to cut off our wings."

Sunday is quiet for a moment, he cannot help but sigh heavily. "Did you eavesdrop on the passing guards outside of our Church?"

Your silence is almost deafening. "What do you mean?"

"Did you hear about the recent serial murders of Halovians?" He asks. Your expression shifts: shocked, caught, then melancholic.

You nod slowly and the boy's shoulders droop.

A month has passed already, and that meant three more dead Halovians found in ditches and alleyways with no clue of the murderer behind it. The only alarming difference from the first found body—was that the recently murdered Halovians had ripped off wings and missing halos. Maybe the black market networks are finally making a bold move after the execution of their own? Sunday hasn't heard anything from Minister Gopher Wood in awhile since the first case.

The very thought of those mutilated Halovians twists ichor and sickness within Sunday.

Then for a moment, everything seems to stop.

The two of you hear clattering, then the door creaks open, Ruth emerges with a lantern in hand, her expression creased with panic and worry. Something felt wrong.

“What the matter?” Sunday is up on his feet, his pulse is racing.

Ruth is reluctant for a second, then she says. “It’s the young miss.” She says. “We can’t find her anywhere.”

Robin. Sunday felt like his whole world crashed for a momentary second.

𐔌౨ৎ 、 MASTERLIST ノ NEXT CHAPTER

taglist — @kazucee @3lectraheart @cakechase @swivi @justcallmemidnight

[sheepstiel]

Dean is snoring, his face pressed into a book full of sea creature lore on the table in front of him. The door creaks as Cas enters the shabby motel room, holding two cups of coffee. He puts them on the table next to the pile of books and notes and gently nudges Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, you should really go to bed."

Dean startles awake, a little drool in the corner of his mouth. He squints. Cas squints back and points to the bed.

"Huh. Yeah. Okay, m'going," Dean drags himself out of the chair and shuffles to the bed. With the last bit of his energy, he takes off his shoes at least and then drops on top of the sheets.

Cas sits down in Dean's chair, studying the page Dean left a tiny spot of drool on. "Selkies," he mutters. Dean affirmatively grunts into his pillow, then resumes snoring.

"Good night, Dean," Cas whispers. He is almost done with the page when he hears Dean shift around.

"Y'know I sorta understand the fisherman," Cas hears him mumble. "Maybe I'd steal your seal skin too. If you were a selkie, y'know." Cas looks up to see that Dean has turned to face away from him. It seems like Dean doesn't expect an answer and Cas watches as his breathing evens out again. "I'll stay right here then," he whispers and turns the page.

[spitefulsatanfics]

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐥 ❞

headcanons + novella-styled drabbles of how they first met you by little devil 🥀

pairing: Dean, Sam, and Castiel x She/Her Hunter!Reader setting: canonverse Supernatural; pre-established team-free Y/N tone: meet-cutes, tension, banter, sparks — then comfort, warmth, and instant click rating: PG-13 for knifeplay (the monster kind… probably) structure: headcanon per boy + a full detailed drabble to go with it

🥃 Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N

First Time Meeting

You met Dean mid-case. Literally ran into him while chasing the same shapeshifter through a sewer tunnel in Nashville. One minute you’re tracking blood, the next there’s a flashlight beam and a gun in your face.

Dean immediately clocked the blade in your hand, your wild eyes, and the way you didn’t back down even a little. That was it. Game over. He was toast.

What sealed the deal? You insulted his car before knowing it was his. He didn’t even get mad—just grinned like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Is That a Butter Knife or Are You Just Happy to See Me?”

You burst through the rusted sewer grate like a bat out of hell, knife in hand, adrenaline kicking your heart into overdrive. The shapeshifter had gone left. You were sure of it. You could smell blood, hear the echoes of wet footsteps—

“Freeze!”

You skidded, boots nearly slipping on wet concrete, to find yourself eye-to-eye with a stranger holding a pearl-handled Colt, arms steady, green eyes sharp.

You didn’t flinch.

“Either shoot or move, cowboy,” you panted. “It’s heading west.”

Dean blinked. Once. Twice. Then he dropped his gun slightly, eyes scanning your gear, your sweat-slick face, your lack of fear.

“Well damn,” he muttered. “You always crash through storm drains like you’re on fire, or is today special?”

You didn’t have time for cute, but still—something about him tugged at you. That lopsided grin. The confidence. The way he didn’t underestimate you.

“Depends. You always point guns at women in alleys, or am I just lucky?”

He gave a short laugh, following you when you took off again.

“You know,” he called behind you, “I usually like dinner first.”

“Kill the shifter,” you called back, “and I’ll consider coffee.”

You didn’t even see him smile, but you could feel it in the way he fell into step beside you like he’d been there your whole life.

📚 Sam Winchester x Hunter!Y/N

First Time Meeting

You met Sam at a dusty old hunter’s library hidden under a Baptist church in Indiana. Both of you reached for the same cursed object case file, and your fingers brushed. Classic.

Sam was immediately intrigued by your sharp intellect and the way you mumbled lore to yourself like a language only you understood. You had annotations in your notebook that matched his word for word.

He started asking you questions. You started finishing his sentences.

He left that library with two things: a solid plan to kill a revenant, and the terrifying realization that he might actually believe in love at first footnote.

“So You Read Latin for Fun?”

Sam looked up from the crumbling leather-bound grimoire in his hands, startled when your voice cut through the silence.

“You’re in the wrong section,” you said, one brow raised, pointing to the shelf he was currently scouring. “That sigil’s Enochian, not Latin.”

His lips quirked. “You speak Enochian?”

You shrugged, setting your own pile of books on the table. “I dabble. Helps when dealing with angels, or exorcisms. Or whatever the hell happened in Denver last week.”

That caught his attention.

“You were in Denver?” Sam asked, stepping forward.

“I was the one who burned the bones,” you said, reaching for a journal. “You left behind your EMF reader.”

He blinked. “You’re that Y/N?”

You looked up slowly, something teasing in your eyes.

“And you’re that Sam? The guy who reverse-engineered a banshee’s call using sound waves?”

You said it like it was either the nerdiest or hottest thing you’d ever heard. Maybe both.

Sam flushed, ears pink. “Guilty.”

You tapped your fingers on the wood and grinned.

“Well, Sammy, looks like we’ve got more in common than curses and Latin.”

👼 Castiel x Hunter!Y/N

First Time Meeting

You met Castiel after getting tossed through a diner window during a case gone sideways. The angel appeared mid-air, caught you with those trench-coated arms like some kind of divine superhero, and said—

“You were falling.”

It was so literal and weird that you laughed through the blood on your lips.

He tilted his head, confused but captivated. You didn’t scream or run. You smiled. That was new for him.

You asked his name. He offered healing.

You offered pie. He accepted.

“You Were Falling”

Glass shattered. Screams echoed. Your body flailed mid-air, the taste of copper hot in your mouth as the world flipped sideways.

Then—

Arms. Warm, solid, inhumanly strong arms catching you as though the laws of gravity had been rewritten just for you.

You blinked up into an impossibly blue gaze. Confused. Calm. Steady.

“You were falling,” the man—no, angel—said. Not like a joke. Not like a pick-up line. Just… a fact.

You coughed. “And you caught me.”

“I did.”

There was something odd about him. Something still. But you could tell one thing: this guy didn’t show up for just anyone.

“You always crash angel-style through diners?” you asked, trying not to wince as you sat up.

He tilted his head. “Only when necessary.”

You chuckled. “Name?”

“Castiel.”

You stared for a moment, memorizing the way he said it like it was carved from ancient stone.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered, shaking his hand like you hadn’t just flown through glass. “Thanks for catching me.”

“Thank you for smiling,” he replied softly. “Most people scream.”

You weren’t sure what he meant. But you knew one thing:

The fall had stopped. But something else had just begun.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯...

Love at first hunt. 💘🔫👼📚