#watchmaker's legacy

[q-theeccentric]

haven't made an hsr theory in a while, so have this mini-theory

I watched CatWithBlueHat's video on certain Penacony details and theories, and one thing that stuck out to me was their analysis of Misha. I won't bore you guys with the details (y'all can watch the video if you like), so the summary is that Misha is the Watchmaker's legacy and that he is either a part of this individual named Mikhail (who is deeply related to the Watchmaker) whom Misha broke off from or is a descendant of the Watchmaker. Another point made is that Misha and Mikhail are the same person and are not at the same time, because Misha may have been a part of Mikhail or Mikhail was Misha in the past.

Another detail is that the name "Misha" is a diminutive of the name "Milkhail", so... 👁👁

What then, is my theory? Well, I suspect that Misha will eventually get a 5-star counterpart (like Dan Heng); however, his name will not be Misha and instead be called Mikhail.

[elegyofthemoon]

can someone remind me to write up my thoughts about gallagher and the enigmata later or at least compile them somewhere i want to share it but also my Goodness i am sleepy as heck today and i have work tonight 😔

[indeliblepromise]

꒰ྀི ✧ — @diverse-hearts-ocs asked: it’s important to have an exit plan that’s more than just an exit.- Rai / Misha

↳ -: ˚ʚ ( Some meme I forgot. ) ɞ˚ :-

‧₊˚ ⋅ ꒰১ ᯓ ☆ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤ𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ? ! Those peopleㅤ—ㅤthey almost looked normal. No, they DID look normal ! And yet, it was obvious something was horribly wrong with them. He's seen so many Dreamchasers during his time as the Reverie's bellboyㅤ—ㅤand yet none of them had those STRANGE YELLOW BLOSSOMS lurching from the depths of their skin. Nor did any of those Dreamchasers tried to attack him without him so much as SAYING anything.

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤWorse yet, he managed to get separated from Garth AND the other Trailblazers !

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤHe turns to his new companion; a FOXIAN BOY just a little older ( ... okay, not really ) than he was. This boy seemed to know what he was doing ! Surely, he had an idea ! He wasn't exactly confident in his ability to subdue the beings.

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤ❛ㅤW - Well, what's your PLAN ? I might be able to slow them down butㅤ—ㅤI don't think I can for very long !ㅤ❜

[acemarkey]

i dont play hi3 so only seele is there (I think that's seele.)

[gemkun]

anonymous said : I’m still a little lost on what Aventurine’s crazy final performance meant, Dr. Ratio, can you clue us idiots in? He planned a suicide by Emanator to…. Prove what, that the Family is lying when they claim the Dreamscape is safe and you can’t die in it?

      ⸻       ❝   a   rather   shrewd   explanation   ,   but   yes.   this   is   the   ultimate   goal   behind   his   resplendent   performance.   ❞   beyond   the   dreamscape   ,   hidden   behind   this   ❛   dream   death   ❜   were   the   elysian   fields   ,   harbouring   the   truth   laid   in   undisturbed   dormancy.   here   ,   was   where   the   stoneheart   was   heading   ,   and   here   would   be   the   legacy   of   the   watchmaker.   ❝   he   created   his    ❛   grand   death   ❜   and   venturesomely   staked   his   life   on   a   microscopic   chance.   without   the   blade   borne   by   the   emanator   ,   his   gamble   would   have   fallen   short.   but   ,   as   luck   would   have   it   —   as   he’d   say   ,   he   succeeded.   ❞   he   recalls   ,   system   hours   ago   ,   perhaps   days   ,   where   they   had   ceaselessly   argued   over   the   ramifications   of   this   asinine   plan.   yet   ,   he   stands   now   ,   with   the   knowledge   that   all   had   gone   swimmingly.   aside   from   the   unknown   ,   that   was   for   the   gambler   to   come   out   with   a   winning   hand.   ❝   now   ,   all   that   is   left   to   do   ,   is   wait   for   him   to   emerge   after   discovering   the   land   of   exile.   then   penacony’s   secrets   will   run   with   the   blood   that   has   been   spilled.   ❞

[clockdreams]

so i think, based on the fact that the watchmaker's wikia page has this to say about how misha came into existence:

that misha is exactly what he seems to be, a living memory. when we hear misha calling out in the dreamscape, he's lost, scared, & confused, calling out for mikhail, which we later learn was the name of the watchmaker himself. now, the name misha is also a nickname or diminutive of the name mikhail, a more childish version of it, which makes sense, since misha is representative of mikhail's own childish wonder & innocence.

point being, misha is a manifestation of the trailblaze, of the spirit of wonder & adventure, & as such, can only be seen by those affiliated with the trailblaze & the astral express, & those directly affiliated with penacony & the dreamscape. others can perceive him or sense him, but they cannot see him, & this is reinforced several times throughout the penacony arc, most notably when acheron herself says she can sense a presence nearby & turns in misha's direction, but cannot see him, & neither can firefly.

as for post-penacony, there are several in-game instances of people who are dead being found in the dreamscape. misha is classified as a memetic entity, a being that cannot leave the dreamscape. the only reason he was seen at the start of the penacony arc was because the dreamscape and reality had already begun blending, & misha's very presence proved that true, since he cannot exist in reality.

how i intend to write misha post-penacony and moving forward, while also reconciling with canon to some degree, is that misha can still be found in the dreamscape, though he would still only be visible to the astral express crew & to black swan, so much remains the same. however, members of the astral express & those affiliated with penacony may sometimes find him as a visitor in their dreams, or in the case of the astral express, they may find him on-board every now & then due to his connection to the trailblaze & the astral express. & should they choose to enter the dreamscape once more, they'll be greeted by the reverie's very own lovable bellboy.

[rene-elric]

The Watchmaker's Nameless' Legacy

[watchilove]

MB&F Legacy Machine Flying T Onix

Even the most unpredictable and audaciously led lives, when observed from a distance, form patterns and fall into cycles. This is a fundamental truth that underlies all human existence, whether individual or collective. For Maximilian Büsser and MB&F, creative energy comes in seven-year cycles. It was in MB&F’s seventh year that the Legacy Machine collection was born, that the first M.A.D.Gallery…

[narwhalandchill]

oh and also. you know that anime trope where characters who think theyre dreaming trying to wake themselves up into reality will try causing physical pain to themselves in some dramatic manner in an attempt for the shock and feeling of pain to forcibly shake them awake?

well.

whatcha doing there, misha? buddy? friend?

ok one thing i am Absolutely certain of is that something is Up with misha and im far from the only one

the fact that literally No character acknowledges his presence beyond us and clockie (who, mind you, isnt seen by anyone else either). how his dialogue as a visitor to the express has him likening it to feeling the way "home" does. the fucking keyhole eyes and the keyhole door motifs in the dreamscape Especially a childs dream (and whos a child in the penacony cast???)

and just honest to fuck the ENTIRETY of a childs dream like. mikhail. when misha is a diminutive of the name. the voices you hear during the story segment in the map DEFINITELY include mishas. they describe it as a dream that is created from the memories of a child yet its also the map that contains the most references to the watchmaker including that room which seems like his workshop or sth??

his interest in the astral express and the new gacha destruction LC literally depicting him receiving a ticket to the express (from his grandpa too whos prolly the mikhail n also the watchmaker) combined with the fact our invitation to penacony was using the EXPRESS distress call genuinely makes me feel like it could be him behind that hidden message

n then i just saw a comment that wondered whether hes the fucking nilou to penaconys "dream". and like. it would be so fucking wild but also adds up so well?? Or maybe im insane but listen.

penaconys dream is falling apart its sinking back into the depths of a much more chaotic, dangerous memory space. the way the dream samsara in genshin 2.0 story worked was that it depended on the "dreamer" never becoming aware of the fact that theyre dreaming. and what question does the distress call slash invitation carry? one thats pondering the meaning of dreaming. one that i can VERY well believe to be coming from someone whos literally been dreaming for aeons know How long slowly becoming aware and asking Why. Why does life slumber?

if misha has been created as or made into the lynchpin of penaconys dream holding it all together but for some reason has begun rousing from his slumber and gotten close enough to awareness that he IS dreaming that its beginning to affect the stability of the dreamscape. and he has some sort of vague memories (or maybe inherited ones thru his 'grandpa' who might well be just the watchmaker that Created him) of the express. wouldnt it make complete sense for the first thing in his mind to call for the express?

and even things like "death" too? if misha is the dreamer and waking up and hes fucking terrified and confused and disoriented. Yet its still his dream that makes up the entirety of the dreamscape. its not at all unrealistic on the level of just the idea itself that his creeping existential dread of who he even is and if hes even real outside of this dream hes now been forced into being aware of. begins to take the shape of an actual death incarnate in the memory zone. bc isnt that what it is to discover you yourself might just be a part of a dream - and a dream that could fall apart any moment if you wake up. That he might be already dead - or never even have existed in reality at all. like sheesh kid id be spawning nightmarish horrors into my dreamscape too

then i also just rly feel like. the watchmaker equals a nameless equals mikhail equals mishas grandfather but also the creator of penaconys dream but also possibly either the creator of misha or maybe misha himself being not only a diminutive of mikhail in name but Literally . as in a fragment of the watchmaker left behind in the dreamscape as the dreamer holding it all together. the LITERAL watchmakers legacy. like hhhhhhhh i cant stop thinking about thiss

if aventurines trying to take back penacony for the IPC does it mean hes literally trying to wake misha up to destroy the dream (tho he might be unaware of this being the final step as of rn himself)?? and the familys interest is obviously in forcing the dreamer to slumber eternally. but the one thing neither party might foresee is misha himself taking action too. which hes Already done if it was him behind those invites too

+ acherons comments when u first meet her? about the dream being doomed to fall apart in the end. it feels prophetic. ppl have theorized shes an emanator of terminus the finality which could mean she experiences linear time in reverse the same as her aeon. literally traveling from the end to the beginning in a predestined path. so if thats true then its almost guaranteed she wasnt making a hypothetical comment about the dream being destroyed.

she mightve seen it happen already.

man what the hell is going on in this planet😭😭

[moonsaver]

Iris family!reader back at it again! Here's part 2 of this, which was VERY incomplete because tumblr decided to bust on me and upload it while i was still drafting!! I think this part might be more confusing, so feel free to ask about it right away!

Taglist is at the end of the fic hehe

-

Aventurine has an eye for craftsmanship. And very good ears.

You recall vividly. That's the first thing he mentioned about himself when he first introduced himself to you.

You know it's not a coincidence he's reaching out to you. Especially after a meeting with Mr. Sunday, which is his direct, formal contact with the Oak Family. You, on the other hand, were a direct, informal contact. The fact you were barely a notable singer in the plethora of talents Penacony held wasn't what mattered to Aventurine. Neither did it matter that you were from the Iris Family. Because to him, you were a one-way ticket to Sunday's mind. 

It's also no coincidence he's decided to drop by after he sees the wide open door of your room.

“I've heard well about your station, friend.”

He makes himself comfortable on the stiff couch of the hotel room, the fabric wrinkling and the frame creaking from the shift in weight.

“I.. don't need your help. I’m fine.”

“Can't hurt to always have connections, keeps you afloat, birdie.”

“Don't tell me that. I don't need any more. I've had enough.”

Aventurine smiles, and leans back into the couch, one of his arms lazily resting on the couch's and the finger of his hand tapping the top of his knee.

“Your earrings are the talk of the town, y'know?”

Your hand instinctively shoots up, and your fingers ghost the lobe of your ear. You're not wearing any at the moment.

“Is that so..?”

Your body language is jittery. Your hands keep fidgeting. Your lips hurt from the constant chewing, your finger rubs your earlobe.

Aventurine fiddles with his own, and gets up. He walks over to you with slow, easing steps.

“There's a cute little section in a few tabloids about those earrings. There's also a little fact that your ears burn red when you lie.”

Aventurine stands in front of you.

“That can't be right. It's totally bullshit.”

He chuckles at your response. He leans in, slowly, his breath ghosts the shell of your ears. The oddly sweet scent of expensive, exotic wine line his cool breath over your skin.

“There's also been that whole buzz about The Watchmaker's Legacy.”

The close proximity renders you paralyzed – many thoughts run through your head; should you push him away? Should you step away instead? Snap back at him?

You feel his gloved finger busy itself with your ear. A snap resounds loudly through your ear, and his hand retracts. So does he.

Your agitated gaze lingers on his smug face, and wanders over to his ears. They're red.

“I'll give you some advice – you should try and take advantage of chaos.”

His hand raises slightly, and his fingers barely kiss the skin of your elbows. It snaps something in you, and you immediately move to step back.

His other hand shoots up and grabs your arm in response.

“We can help each other, can't we, little sparrow? A glimpse of that man's mind is enough for me. I'll help you keep your family all safe and sound.”

“I– don't care what you have to offer. I am not taking that risk! This crap about The Watchmaker, I'm not having it! Find someone else to bother!”

Aventurine's smile widens, his eyes stare down at you. The concentric colours are almost hypnotising.

“Relax. The game's only started, I'm sure there's enough time for you to analyse the situation and pick a side. And things will fall into place all in due time.”

A knock.

Both you and Aventurine snap your heads to the source. The door creaks open.

Sunday stands, composed. His knuckles linger on the polished wood of the door for a few more seconds, before his hand falls to his side. His other hand holds a black, velvet bag.

You forgot to take that back.

“It seems we meet again.”

Aventurine hums.

‐

“Are you perhaps.. unhappy with your current circumstances?”

“No, I'm.. quite pleased with it. Please, don't take anything to heart. I was fervently denying all of his offers.”

Sunday chuckles softly.

“I understand. Please, be at ease.”

-

Sunday knew what lied in store for him when he became a part of the Family.

As their long-burdened history, all of them were to join and form an impenetrable force, decorating the Dreamscape lavishly for those who had the privilege to deny reality. 

Which was ironic.

It was comically ironic.

Such was their torment.

As eagles rip and gnaw the liver of human emotion, such was the painful symbolization of human strive. And this was a neverending story. A neverending performance of a traitor, prisoners and a false dream. A Death that surely extracts the price for all that has been done. A price that grows thick over the bones of each generation, for daring to dream together, for daring to yearn for freedom.

Some knew of this history. Most were not privy to it.

Sunday tells you in passing, as his gloved fingers gently drop the velvet bag in your hand. You suppose it was simple small talk.

A beat of silence passes.

“Ah, I may have fed a false fact to that Tabloid.”

You look up at Sunday.

“Im sorry?”

“I wasn't aware of whether or not your ears turn red. They were eager for a harmless fact, and I conjured up something on the spot.”

“Oh, they.. approached you directly?”

“They first approached Robin, to be exact. I arrived just in time to answer a small question. My apologies for making a hasty decision at a presented opportunity.”

You blink a few times.

“Ah, well.. not like it can be helped now but.. please be careful. One thing tends to lead to another.”

“I've taken note of that.” his eyes focus on the lobe of your ear.

What's he looking at..?

Your hand cautiously reaches up to your ear. Aventurine's earring?

“Oh, um.”

You break out in a sweat, and your shaky hands immediately remove it. You look at the flashy, teal accessory. Then you look at Sunday, gauging his reaction.

He smiles. Perhaps that fact wasn't false.

“I suggest not striking a deal with Aventurine. I can assure your family's security.”

“Oh, I know I just–”

“The Family does not take dealings with the IPC lightly.”

You stay silent.

He sighs, and his gaze seems to soften for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Apologies. The Charmony festival is coming soon. Extra measures have been established. Please, approach me instead.”

His voice softens at the end.

“I.. understand.”

‐

Sunday thinks a change of your career is in order.

A brand new start, a better title, a better colleague.

Somewhere along the way, most of Penacony's more enthusiastic visitors were in the know about you. Your popularity settled comfortably on event lists, and Sunday was steadfast in his promise.

However, there's now an increase in work. Particularly, working late at night with Sunday.

Your job now had strict parameters you didn't have in your former station. Deadlines, reports, even hearsay playing an important role. Although, for once your rusty luck has come into play, and Sunday is much more fair to you than any other manager that you could have been working under, if it weren't for your decision to become a singer.

That being said, the public now saw less of you, which instead soared rumours about you and increased your popularity more. You aren't sure how to thank Sunday – he only gives you a closed eye smile whenever you decide to at least verbalise your gratitude.

‐

“Ah, you should take a look at this.”

Sunday beckons you to come closer, pointing and curling his index finger towards you. You oblige wordlessly, and with a few swift clicks of your shoes, you stand right beside Sunday, leaning a bit to take a better look.

His finger points to several figures in the document, and you hum, eyes scanning through the neatly organised words.

“Does this mean I'll get significantly busier?”

“You best prepare, as per my suggestion.”

You sigh, a bit dramatically, and Sunday chuckles.

“My apologies. I know I've already asked for a lot from your end. I shall support you equally.”

“That's.. well, alright. I was just worried about something else.”

You avoid his eyes, discomfort creeping up on you, as those rumours swirl in your head. 

“Be at ease, tell me.”

“It's.. the rumours surrounding me. They're not serious but, recently they've taken a strange turn of events.”

Sunday hums. He gets up, and walks towards a bookshelf, his fingers slide over their spines, and stop at a specific book. You continue,

“It's– um.. quite strange.”

Sunday pulls out the book, and opens it, sifting through the pages with familiarity.

“It was just about the earrings at first but they took a bit of a bizarre turn.. they–”

Sunday snaps the book shut,

“About us. Yes. I've heard.”

You blink a few times.

“They're..”

His fingers trace over the book's cover, before sliding it back into its place.

“Rumoured relationships between us, the debate about work ethics, and the whole lot. Yes, I'm well-informed.”

He turns to you. His all too familiar smile still on his face. His golden eyes seem much more intimidating than they used to.

“They'll die down. I can assure you they are of no importance. However, it helps with your exposure doesn't it?”

He turns his back to you, continuing to look at you over his shoulder.

“They will fizzle out in due time.”

You suppose Sunday is familiar with rumours. But this time, it is only particularly because he created them.

‐

The robin chirps and twits inside its golden cage.

“What's this?”

You smile, a finger gently tapping a bar of the delicate cage,

“It's a robin. I hoped it would guide you during practice.”

You chuckle, and Sunday smiles, both of your eyes fixated on the bird that's chirping and curiously tilting its head at you.

Sunday's encouraged you to practice singing more often inside the office. You've gotten off of your formal duties very late, and as of recent you've scarcely had time to practice. Sunday's insistence led to you often humming and practicing in front of your dressing table. It took a while, but you eased into it fairly well. 

Sunday, on the other hand, enjoys your singing more than he lets on. He finds himself humming to your tune every so often, once you've left and no other ambience fills the room. Perhaps that's also one of the reasons he's brought a robin bird to you.

You sing a simple tune, and the robin follows. It chirps happily, and you giggle at its strange antics. And thus, whenever you aren't present, the bird sings in your stead.

It's not soon before the robin loses its vitality, however. A gilded cage is a cage nonetheless.

Your voice was dampened that day. But Sunday had a plethora of ideas rush to his head.

‐

Something's been wrong with your voice as of recent.

You've avoided any strange drinks, even foregoing any kinds of juices, only opting for water. You avoid even spicy foods, settling for blander dishes. Sunday assures you it's nothing to worry about – even Robin faces challenges with her voice sometimes.

You're at your best, only in Sunday's office.

Everytime you sing, your voice flows smoothly, and you hit every note perfectly. It's wonderful, if it weren't for the fact your voice didn't seem to hold this effect outside of his office. You came to this realisation late at night when you tried singing in the bathroom to yourself, your voice kept tapering, and even stopped at some points. The doctors all assured you things were fine, and at best only prescribed some throat medicine. You wonder what's been going wrong.

Sunday isn't ignorant of your recent concerns, either. He seems to be taking it in stride.

The golden cage is on your dressing table, empty. You stare at it, thoughts swirling in your head. What went wrong? Where? Why? What did you do? 

Sunday's familiar gloved hands place themselves upon your shoulders again. It's a shame. He says. What is a robin without its voice? He says. It echoes in your mind for days. 

“Take a break.” one of his gloved hands make it's way to yours, folded in your lap. He brings your knuckles up to his lips, whispering assurances into it.

“It'll be fine. I'll take care of it.” He kisses between the valley of your knuckles,

“Don't worry. Help me out with the rest of the documents, and we can take a look at your voice after.”

You don't say anything. Maybe because you can't.

-

“Hmm.. your voice tapers too much at the chorus.”

You sigh. You've lost count of how many times you've had to repeat this song, your voice simply cannot seem to hold true to the chorus that's planned. Sunday flips another page of a long-winded document, and sets it down gently on the table, looking up at you when you sigh and only hold onto the mic with disappointment glazing your eyes.

“Have a seat. Perhaps a break may help you.”

You hesitantly oblige, but sigh again, deeply, as the muscles of your throat ache with the strain and relaxation. You sit down at the makeshift dressing table Sunday managed to prepare for you. His courtesy, of course.

You shuffle around it – your dressing table isn't actually much different than Sunday's office desk. It's littered with event planners, schedules, and all sorts of graphs and figures. Your hands lazily pick up a sheet and scan over it, choosing to at least distract yourself while you give your raw throat a rest.

You hear a muffled creak behind you, followed by a few, small footsteps. Sunday stands behind you in the reflection. His hands gently come up to your hair, fingers running through it and fixing it.

“Some members of the Family – particularly the Nightingale Family, wanted to extend their gratitude to you. You've been arduously managing the crowd and shifting their gazes away from the construction work.”

You hum slightly, your eyes unfocused on the words. Sunday's touch seems to leave you dazed, or rather conflicted, these days. 

His fingers leave your hair, and rest on your shoulders. He leans down, his lips graze the shell of your ear. His soft breath tickles your skin, and forms goosebumps.

“And I am.. personally grateful to have you working alongside me.”

Your eyes wander on your table. They avoid his gaze through the mirror's reflection.

“I also.. intend to help you, further than before.”

His voice grows softer and lower, descending into a whisper. One of his hands move from your should to the middle of your collarbone, a lone finger drags up to the middle of your neck. Your breath hitches.

“Mr. Sunday..?”

“It's alright. We needn't be so formal.”

Suddenly, a splotch of colours blur your vision from the corners. You hiss, and groan, immediately burying your head into your hands, striking pain pulses through your head. You close your eyes in efforts to relieve yourself, but it doesn't cease.

“Perfect Harmony.. Order.. it doesn't come easily. Allow me to assist you in reaching that.”

You breathe heavily, the pulsing ache in your head slowly subsides, but the colours remain persistent.

“Sunday..?”

“My dear, let us rejoice. A new chapter of your life has begun. Your family can find ease. We- no, I, can take care of them. Of you.”

You swallow thickly, dread pooling in your stomach. The finger on your neck trails up your neck and pushes your chin upwards, forcing you to face your reflection. The side of Sunday's face is pressed to yours, your eyes are dazed, but his have never been so clear, and bright.

“Just do as you've always done. This is simply to bolt your loyalty, my dear.”

Sunday kisses your cheek, his wings gently flutter on the other side of your face. You close your eyes. The pain subsides into something more blissful, calming. Your body relaxes almost against your will.

‐

Your voice has been perfect as of late. As long as you don't sing for anyone.

Which is to say – you're rendered useless in the grand scheme of Penacony. This terrifies you.

Your family has never been more vulnerable.

What is a robin without her voice? It echoes irrevocably in your mind, the question awaiting an answer. Nothing responds. Nothing, responds.

Empty ballads accompany the marble walls of the hallway leading to Sunday's office. His back is turned to you, his fingers sifting through the spines of familiar books on his shelf. His wings slightly flutter every time your voice hits a high note. Your voice was pitch perfect whenever you sang in his office. Anywhere else? It was a bust. Robin also tried her hand at comforting you, but the tapering edge of her voice only concerned you. An emanator of harmony relied completely on just that to sustain her voice. She'd lost it completely otherwise.

Your lips are raw from the constant biting. Your family tries assuring you they can also pull together scraps and bits to keep themselves afloat; that you've worked hard enough, and you need your rest. Sunday assures their security as always. He's stopped commenting on your concerns with your voice.

“Sunday, my voice..”

“Perfect, my dear.”

He's grown more familiar with using pet names instead of your name. You don't remember exactly when the transition took place.

“No, it's.. I can't sing anymore. I can't perform.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Sunday's deft fingers write something down on a scrap of paper, holding the book open in another hand.

“Not to fret, darling. The public awaits your performance in due time. Take a break for now, and focus on paperwork.”

It does more to discourage you, really.

“I don't know.”

“I know.”

Sunday places the book down gently on his table. He looks at your seated figure, illuminated by the warm light of his office.

Sunday wanted the best for Penacony. But when it came to you, he couldn't help but be greedy. Your voice was beautiful to him. He feels bad, raining on your parade like this. But there's endless amounts of performers who can take your place. There's only one of you who can catch his eye, however.

An empty cage is reminiscent of a happy bird. But a chirping robin is reminiscent of a happy man. Your lost voice still echoes well through the halls, resounding through the marble structures.

A gilded cage is a cage nonetheless. A happier bird is one that does not realise its cage. Sing to your heart's desire in it, he thinks. 

Your head falls to your hands again, blurring splotches of colour blaze through your vision and head again – a familiar, aching pulse resonates in your head. Your voice feels trapped. Sunday walks to you, and places a hand on your back, rubbing gently to soothe you. The colours disappear, leaving you in a daze. Sunday leans down to kiss your forehead, relaxing your furrowed brows.

It's true. You've proven it. A bird that does not realise it's true confines. You may be unhappy, but you sing your throat raw, and Sunday is your only audience. Parameters will only get stricter, but it's for your own good. He assures you endlessly, leaving out that one piece of information.

A robin without a voice is nothing but a dull bird. You, without yours, are just his.

-

Taglist: @sharkiethrts @sarcastic-cookie

[shampookoski]

🃏 penacony out of order 7/? - the watchmaker's legacy

[indeliblepromise]

꒰১ ✦ : ˚ʚ 【 @diverse-hearts-ocs / STARTER CALL ( Garth ). 】 ɞ˚ : ✦ ໒꒱

‧₊˚ ⋅ ꒰১ ᯓ ☆ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤ𝑨𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒋𝒐𝒃 𝒂𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆, it was difficult for him to find any time for HIMSELF. Nearly every day, he would find himself quickly shoving his breakfast down his throat before scurrying off to the lavish hotel. Often times too he would be working overtime; whether it be at The Reverie or his OWN projects.

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤBut today was one of those RARE occasions in which he finally had an ENTIRE DAY to himself. Maybe he didn't know how he would spend itㅤ—ㅤbut he knew WHO he wanted to spend it with.

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤ❛ㅤMister Garth ! I got a DAY OFF today !ㅤ❜

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤAs the child's gloved hands would take hold of the other's, it was obvious that he was MORE than excited for this break.

˚ʚ ☾ ɞ˚ㅤ˗ˏˋㅤㅤ❛ㅤWhat should we DO ?ㅤ❜

[elegyofthemoon]

yeah actually let me finish 100% everything first before i write all this up

and if i just ramble and post randomly rather than putting one cohesive post about my findings, im sorry :D

ok but do i want to actually sit and read through all the clockie animation stuff so i have better foundation for what i want to say? i guess

[cheriafreya]

I am, in fact, after the Watchmaker's Legacy... but that doesn't mean we have to go our separate ways and be enemies. At least... I really hope things don't turn out that way. I hope so too.

[clockdreams]

tag drop pt 1 !!

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑨     :     an   echoing   memory   ‚   lingering   in   dreams   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀     :     ultimately   ‚   people   still   need   to   move   forward   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑨     :     the   watchmaker’s   legacy   ‚   the   will   of   the   trailblaze   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑪     :     the   essence   of   clockwork   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑺     :     i’ll   make   a   dream   unchained   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑬     :     to   the   end   of   the   dream   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑨𝑹𝑪 𝑰  :     the   dream   within   a   dream   ‚   an   illusory   maze   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑨𝑹𝑪 𝑰𝑰  :     fragments   of   memory   ‚   the   dawning   of   freedom   .

╰   ❇    ━━━━━   ❛   𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹     :     mothers   &   fuckers   of   the   jury   .

[pauli-writes]

will u write a pt 2 for the sunday short?? its such a good concept 😓😓

warning: set during 2.3 story quest, religious themes, toxic relationship

pairing: sunday x reader

author’s note: u request i shall deliver (i’m sorry it’s been like a month, i didn’t know what to write for this but now i do) not proofread :,)

part I

“you are up early.”

you nearly dropped your bottle of soulglad as you heard the familiar voice of himeko. despite having found the watchmakers legacy and the truth about penacony, as well as stopping sunday from becoming… whatever it was that the express crew fought in the end, you found yourself restless.

perhaps it was the fact that you were forced to return to penacony, when a galaxy ranger named boothill hijacked the astral express with you and dan heng on it, you had no choice but face your past and what you saw was anything but healing for your inner self. you’d think beating up the person who kept you locked up for a better part of your life would lead to catharsis, if anything it left you more confused than before.

you turned to face himeko, forcing a smile. “ever since i first left penacony i don’t sleep well. i suppose it’s less noticeable when we’re on the express since i’m mostly in my room.”

you hoped that this explanation was enough for her, it was the truth, but not the whole truth. although you saw himeko’s expression change slightly as she put a hand on your shoulder. “don’t worry after the charmony festival we’ll leave. so, i suggest you take care of any unfinished business before then.”

you blinked in confusion. she said it so casually, that you almost missed the look she gave you. did she know about your troubles? “unfinished business?”

“you know what i mean,” himeko replied with a small smile, “well, i’ve got to go. i’m having a meeting with the ipc. i’m sure you’ll do well.”

himeko left after giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, leaving you to ponder your choices. it wasn’t like you couldn’t return to penacony after leaving, but you seriously doubted that you would come back voluntarily.

which is why you now found yourself with your dear childhood friend robin in front of a large door.

“thank you for letting me do this.” you said to her, fidgeting with the golden astral express crew member pin on your jacket. you had been nervous since you texted robin for the favour and the many bloodhound family members around you weren’t helping.

robin smiled kindly at you as always, despite spending most of your time with sunday, the moments you spent with her were very dear to your heart. when you were children you were often forced guided to spent time with sunday, but every once in a while you played or studied with Robin and she was kind to you, almost distracting you from sunday’s possessive behaviour. maybe in a different life you could have travelled with her on her tour.

“it’s no problem, but are you sure?”

you waved your hand dismissively, trying to hide your feelings. “yeah, yeah. i’ll be fine.”

“okay,” she replied simply, “well, i have to go back to prepare everything on the radiant feldspar, but call me if anything happens.”

you nodded, “will do.”

after that she took your hands in hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze, surprising you and making you blush. “i hope this will give you the closure you need. i can not excuse the things my brother has done to you, but i hope you can move past them.”

she let go and then left you to it. with a deep breath you opened the door and let light stream into the otherwise dark room. as you stepped inside with small hesitant steps you saw him, he was sitting on a chair, chained in placed by his wrists, ankles and neck. he had the look of a fallen angel, and you suppose that was an accurate description of sunday.

an angel led astray and blinded by a god by way of false promises and the lie of a perfect painless world.

his golden eyes widened slightly as he saw you walk in, he hadn’t been expecting anyone to visit him, let alone you, until he was sentenced to death. “reader…”

“hey…” you replied meekly, even chained he had some sort of authority about him, making you feel small. “thought I should say goodbye before leaving penacony.”

he let out a dry chuckle, “don’t lie to me, please. i thought you knew better than that.”

you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. you couldn’t let him get to you. “don’t address me as if we are friends.”

“we were friends once,” he said calmly, “something more too. i remember you enjoyed our time together.”

“because i didn’t know any better,” you replied, your hands balling into fists on your sides.

“until you did and you ran away,” he replied, and you hated how calm and condescending he sounded when he talked to you. “you ran away and you left penacony, you left robin, you left… me.”

you looked down briefly. you did leave without a word, but you weren’t the bad guy like sunday would want you to believe. “you think i wanted to leave? you gave me no other option. i was forced to live in solitude, you made me completely dependent on you. my cage may have been gilded but it was a cage nonetheless.”

sunday was quiet after that. you didn’t like when he was quiet, because you couldn’t read his expression very well. he was taught to conceal his emotions from a young age, so you never knew what he thought about.

the silence continued as he leaned his head up to look at the ceiling in a contemplative manner. you didn’t think you’d get anything else out of him, and if you were being honest you felt a lot more at ease by speaking your truth already.

“if you have nothing else to say, i’ll leave now.” you looked at him expectingly.

he lowered his head and looked at you again, his golden eyes staring straight into you. “i feel no remorse for what i did, because i believe that i was just. i was trying to protect and help the people of penacony, i was trying to protect you. and yet you see me as the bad guy, so please, can you answer me a question before you go?”

you nodded hesitantly.

“did you ever love me?”

the words pierced your heart in a way you didn’t expect, because you didn’t know the answer yourself. your entire life was orchestrated by the family, your feelings were dictated as much as your schedule or your diet. you once loved sunday, but you didn’t know if these feelings were your feelings.

you shifted awkwardly on your feet, fidgeting again with your astral express badge. “there was a time where i loved you, but that version of me, wasn’t, well, very me. the person you know and the person i am today, are different people. i hope you understand that.”

his expression once again didn’t reveal any emotion, making you fidget once again.

“i should go now,” you blurted out, before taking a deep breath, “despite everything i do wish you well, sunday.”

for once in his captivity he smiled a little, “i wish you well too, reader. i truly hope that in another life we’ll see each other again.”

you smiled back at him, before stepping out of the room and closing the door. you spent the rest of your way to golden hour by contemplating your life with sunday, until you reached the golden clockie statue and spotted three familiar faces, dan heng, march 7th and the trailblazer.

“what are you guys doing here?” you asked as you walked up to them.

“mr. yang told us where you are and we couldn’t possibly go to the charmony festival without you,” march 7th said with her usual smile.

“how are you feeling?” dan heng asked, he could probably see the exhaustion and emotional turmoil on your face.

you put on a smile, “i’m managing. let’s head to the radiant feldspar, i promised robin to help with some preparations.”