𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭.

on this eighth day, i grant myself departure.

[orderguided]

WILL OUR PATHS CONVERGE, 'NEATH THE SUN?

#ORDERGUIDED — indie, non selective, && multiverse SUNDAY OAK from hsr. canon divergent. OC, multi, && duplicate friendly. written by lyre. also check out my multimuse; @timewxven ! this is a sideblog, and i follow back from a personal main.

RULES | SUNDAY | ON HALOVIANS | DRIP MARKETING | AO3 COLLECTION | PROMO

EXPLORING: helplessness, guilt, the act of being the sacrificial lamb, voluntary altruism, the sisyphean task of existence, burning away your emotions in an attempt to light the world, becoming the scorching sun, daybreak and a new journey upon the horizon.

tags | about sunday | starter | shipping | verses | lore posts

[orderguided]

starter for @teyvatiannights ; zhongli

sunday shouldn't be staying in liyue for too much longer, he thinks. or at least, he doesn't plan to - times change, of course, and he's trying to be a little less structured with his life nowadays. (that way, if something goes wrong, he doesn't end up feeling sick to the stumach and wondering what to do with his life.

he's tried most of the big things so far - thanks for the mora, loki - like eating at some nice restaurants, going shopping... that disastrous time he managed to get abysmally lost somewhere in the crack of where the aeons don't want to look... that sort of thing.

it's the tea he's looking for now. he's not entirely sure where he is, again, but at least he knows how to leave this time. he debates at a stall for a little too long - eyes flicking nervously between the options, knowing he's stupidly picky and not willing to take the risk of trying something he won't like. eventually, he attempts to ask someone. some gentleman dressed in browns, looking like he's spent his whole life drinking tea. looking like he invented the concept of tea itself.

“ excuse me, sir, ” he says lightly (then feeling slightly queasy at the rush of some sort of - energy? elemental magic? he's not sure). “ i apologise if this is a little random - are there any teas you would recommend? ” he needs to stop apologising.

[teyvatiannights]

THE HARBOR'S NOISE IS A WONDERFUL MELODY OF HIS DAUGHTER'S BOONS. the consultant finds himself beautiful immersed in thinking about the new selection. if he's correct, this batch should've shipped in five days? then it means its around a week old already. even though this is his usual shop, he doesn't find it in himself entirely to buy the usual. perhaps he could just go to third round knock out. . . but their tea isn't much fresher at all.

he's half a step towards the counter when a young man approaches him.

the energy signature is off. Zhongli tenses, not expressing anything as he looks at the person who just bothered his tea shopping. it's clearly a foreigner, so he doesn't expect the young man to know him. . . . . . that apologetic tone reminds him of a few people.

and that question immediately dismisses any offense that the consultant takes.

“ quite a few. ” he hums, neutral expression shifting into something of a small, polite smile. one you might give to a customer you haven't decided if you liked or not. the consultant turns back to the shop, “ are you inquiring for recommendations from this vendor specifically, or any in the harbor? ”

a laugh. he notices the . . . feathers. the wings. his eyes crinkle just a bit too much at the corners. “ i have some favorites i am loyal to. ”

there is hardly a pause, “ have you tried liyuean tea before? it's different from sumeran and inazuman for many reasons. ”

[orderguided]

the first thought in this mind is that this man is rather intimdating. the second turns to be that his face is quite visually appearing (does he have to put it that way?), but he shakes that away as soon as it appears.

“ ah... preferably this vendor, but if you have any particularly strong opinions, there's nothing stopping me from moving around a little, ” he says quite easily. nothing stopping him apart from the things that are - but alas, that's not the point right now.

his wings move from their slightly spread position to arranging themselves a little more curled. odd. he had intended to use a touch of tuning to make people focus on them less - not invisible, but for their minds to instinctively draw attention away from them. it does not seem to work on him.

sunday shakes his head. “ i do not believe i have tried it, no, ” he confirms. “ it's my first time in liyue - although, i do fear that's a little obvious. ” with a chuckle that's slightly awkward, in an easy sort of way, “ i've tried sumeran and fontainian; ah, and snezhnayan. all rather different from each other. ” perhaps he will go to each nation and collect the tea from there. like the avatar. the last teabender.

“ though, from what i've seen, it does seem similar to other sorts i've tried - ” stuff that the express bought from the xianzhou, but he can't say that. “ - i'm not sure though, of course. ”

[orderguided]

starter for ; @angelifluctus

he misses fontaine already.

though sunday does like snezhnaya - the weather is acceptable, if a little on the cold side, but putting on more layers is easy enough. perhaps he's just biased to the first place he saw, he wonders. and the orchestra - ah, he does miss that. but he'll be back soon enough. not as if he can't use the teleport waypoints if he needs to, anyway.

he's been in one of the music rooms in zapolyarny palace all day; not doing much, just abstractly making a few compositions, switching from instrument to instrument. no, this won't do - he gives up, and ends up leaving. just out of the corridor, he makes eye contact with someone walking towards the room - is that-?

“ um, ” he says, because he doesn't know what else to say. “ ...it's a pleasure to see you again, monsieur auclair. are you not meant to be dead? ”

[angelifluctus]

“Bonjour. It's... Well, it's a bit of a long story. I'm glad you were not harmed during the explosion. It's a pleasure to see you again, I didn't know you would be in Snezhnaya.” Dorian looks... well he looks much more healthy now. The Anemo vision on his hip clinked gently against a Cryo Delusion, and both of them were connected to a sheathed sword.

“Were you just leaving the concert hall?”

[orderguided]

“ not particularly harmed, ” he shakes his head. “ certainly an impactful performance, though. most of the orchestra was fine: i, the concertmaster, his vice and a few others sitting at the front only got some small scrapes from shrapnel. you, though - that looked rather painful, if you ask me. ” pause. there had been something... he hums. “ how ever did you get away with it? ”

ah, right. “ i spend most of my time split between fontaine and snezhnaya, ” he nods. doesn't specify why, quite yet. nobody starts conversations with 'i have a situationship-esque thing going on with the tsaritsa'. he notes the delusion - wonders if dorian has seen his own. he doubts it: it wasn't on him in fontaine, and here he keeps it usually inside his jacket. (even if he can use the elements, a delusion is more efficient. what's it gonna do? kill him?) “ i was indeed just leaving. are you coming in now? ”

[orderguided]

starter for @teyvatiannights ; zhongli

sunday shouldn't be staying in liyue for too much longer, he thinks. or at least, he doesn't plan to - times change, of course, and he's trying to be a little less structured with his life nowadays. (that way, if something goes wrong, he doesn't end up feeling sick to the stumach and wondering what to do with his life.

he's tried most of the big things so far - thanks for the mora, loki - like eating at some nice restaurants, going shopping... that disastrous time he managed to get abysmally lost somewhere in the crack of where the aeons don't want to look... that sort of thing.

it's the tea he's looking for now. he's not entirely sure where he is, again, but at least he knows how to leave this time. he debates at a stall for a little too long - eyes flicking nervously between the options, knowing he's stupidly picky and not willing to take the risk of trying something he won't like. eventually, he attempts to ask someone. some gentleman dressed in browns, looking like he's spent his whole life drinking tea. looking like he invented the concept of tea itself.

“ excuse me, sir, ” he says lightly (then feeling slightly queasy at the rush of some sort of - energy? elemental magic? he's not sure). “ i apologise if this is a little random - are there any teas you would recommend? ” he needs to stop apologising.

[orderguided]

starter for ; @angelifluctus

he misses fontaine already.

though sunday does like snezhnaya - the weather is acceptable, if a little on the cold side, but putting on more layers is easy enough. perhaps he's just biased to the first place he saw, he wonders. and the orchestra - ah, he does miss that. but he'll be back soon enough. not as if he can't use the teleport waypoints if he needs to, anyway.

he's been in one of the music rooms in zapolyarny palace all day; not doing much, just abstractly making a few compositions, switching from instrument to instrument. no, this won't do - he gives up, and ends up leaving. just out of the corridor, he makes eye contact with someone walking towards the room - is that-?

“ um, ” he says, because he doesn't know what else to say. “ ...it's a pleasure to see you again, monsieur auclair. are you not meant to be dead? ”

[orderguided]

// guysss does anyone want a little mini starter i highkey need to lock in

[orderguided]

gallagher just stares at sunday with his beautiful brown eyes (/silly)

— wow who could this be. @bloodhound--mutt

“ what are you doing? ” he asks, vaguely incredulously. “ it's 2 in the morning. is there something on my face? ” 2 in the morning and he's still not asleep, but shh.

[orderguided]

I don't like sand, its course and rough and irritating and gets everywhere....

(Im rizzing trust)

“ sand. i hate sand. where sand goes, heat follows, and - it's - eugh. eughh, ” he says again, before realising he is in fact being spoken to. ah. may the order strike him down. this is really embarrassing. “ i mean. i agree. yes. ”

[goldweavers]

SUNDAY: THEN VS NOW 🕒

+ bonus:

[b1adie]

One bird spirals in dreams, while another flies toward the sky. One bird flaps their wings, another bird closes their eyes and lowers their heads. "May your sky be forever radiant."

— ⟢ MYRIAD CELESTIA ✧ “AFTER THE SUNSET” ⟣ —

[b1adie]

fleeting glimmer ✧ a grounded ascent

[b1adie]

Music is a language that spans the stars, and a solo performance is like a speech. We all walk our own paths. Though it may be lonely, as long as we keep moving forward, we won't forget each other.

— ⟢ SUNDAY —✧— “SOLOIST” ⟣ —

[b1adie]

“We don’t have to soar into the sky together. I know we'll reunite one day, up there in the clouds.” . . . “ … I hope so.”

[b1adie]

“Do you recall when or where we might’ve met?”

[reclusivescribe]

the desert... he doesn't know why he's here. admittedly, he hates it with a passion - but the puzzles and the fact that it is interesting has drawn him in, despite the... weather.

sunday's stumbling at this point, throat dry and head pounding, not wanting to run the risk of using hydro and leaving him with even less energy. he sticks to the shade around one of the huge sandstone structures, but by now it's making no difference. he scribbles something incoherent in his notebook, and half-trips to his knees.

he doesn't know, of course, that just around the corner of said sandstone structure is an eremite camp, but that's for him to find out... posthaste.

— @orderguided

Aquila was preparing for his camp's journey to the nearby oasis for resources when one of his scouts came back to tell him of a man spotted nearby, suffering dehydration. He immediately sets his map down and makes his way to where the man was spotted.

When he sees Sunday's crumpled form in the sand, he approaches and offers out his waterskin.

[orderguided]

his head is ringing a little, and he blinks rapidly until his eyes focus.

they focus on a particularly hot man. ah, he must be dreaming, but he attempts to wet his lips (and fails, because his tongue really is dry) anyway. “ apologies, ” he says, hoarsely at first, and then he repeats it again after managing to gather up some water in his mouth from god knows where. the last bits from his shrivelling brain, likely. “ i- sorry, ” he says again, and then attempts to stand up.

except, he lost his cane somewhere in the sand a while back, and so he falls again quite quickly. “ um. sorry. i wouldn't want to impose, ” sunday continues, with eyes dead set on aquila's tits and then the waterskin and then his tits again. “ if you haven't got too much, that's alright. ”

[reclusivescribe]

"Take the damn waterskin." Aquila sighs as he hauls Sunday to his feet and holds his waist to keep him from falling again.

"Drink the damn water, we have more at the camp." And then he's just carrying Sunday to the camp, where he set him down inside a medical tent to be tended to.

[orderguided]

ah... may the aeons strike him down for thinking such things. sunday curses himself mentally, and then takes the waterskin with a, “ you have my thanks. ” his voice cracks. perhaps he should just die. instead, he drinks a little of the water.

and- ah! oh, he is up™. he blinks vaguely for a second, head spinning harder than it was at the start, and sort of lets himself be carried around like a ragdoll. he might be about to pass out, actually. he's not entirely sure, but his skin feels surprisingly cold and clammy.

[reclusivescribe]

"You're lucky my scouts found you before you just shriveled up and died." Aquila sighs as he wets a cloth and presses it to Sunday's forehead.

[orderguided]

“ ah... i'm sure it would have been fine, ” he says, like he doesn't have the constitution of a piece of tissue paper in water. “ but – thank you, ” sunday continues anyway, words slightly blurring together for a moment before they mostly recover.

“ apologies – do you mind if i ask your name? ” he asks a moment later, before realising he should probably offer his first. names are a weird thing when you're pretending to be fae, anyway. “ please, call me sunday. ”

[reclusivescribe]

"You may call me Aquila. It is a pleasure to meet you Sunday, despite the circumstances." Polite and hot? Demos should meet this man immediately.

"And well. Tell me that you'd be fine in the desert when you aren't actively sweating enough to fill a river."

[orderguided]

demos can wait. he needs this man carnally. sunday hums with a polite smile and a small incline of his head anyway. “ the pleasure is all mine, of course, ” he answers. “ aquila. i cannot believe the pleasure would be yours anyway; all i have done is cause an inconvenience, after all. ”

“ better i'm sweating than i'm not, ” he retorts. “ if i'm sweating at least that means i don't have heatstroke. ” from what he knows, people with heatstroke simply do not sweat. it's actually pretty impressive he hasn't got heatstroke yet, actually. on closer inspection (please inspect him closely he'd love it) he's wearing at least five layers, and those are the only visible ones.

[reclusivescribe]

"If I did not want to help you, you would've been left in the sand." Aquila looks at Sunday with some disappointment.

"You're wearing five layers in this heat? Are you trying to die?" Hm please yell at him more- What was that? Wind's really strong today.

"How comfortable are you showing skin? You won't survive the heat in this many layers."

[orderguided]

“ ...ah... good point. ” his big eyes blink for a second, before he settles slightly. only slightly, though. (he tries not to think about how dr ratio told him he should get therapy, because then he would start thinking about dr ratio's arms and then he would start thinking about aquila's arms. which are right there. oh, aeons.)

pin him against the wall and be angry at him, or something. goodness. the wind is getting stronger, apparently. “ i prefer to have more layers on, ” he says, wringing his hands slightly - as if that fact wasn't obvious. at his question, he answers, “ i, ah - not particularly, ” sunday's face twitches slightly uncomfortably for a moment, but he is really fine. “ but i can take a layer or two off if needed. ” pause. “ ...also, it's seven layers. you can't see a couple of them. ”

[reclusivescribe]

Aquila wasn't sure if he wanted to rip the clothes off this man himself or sigh and look at him placatingly.

"At least take the thicker layers off. I've got no clue how you survived this long in seven layers when I overheat in one."

How. Sir you have your tits out and you're hardly wearing anything more than a loincloth and a headband.

Gods, Aquila could probably throw Sunday around like a ragdoll.

[orderguided]

“ ah... yes, sir, ” he says instinctively, before blinking rapidly and turning slightly pink. whoops. “ uh. i mean. yes. i will. i shall do that. ” please throw him around like a ragdoll. in xipe's name, those abs.

sunday debates for a second, before unbuttoning his jacket and taking that off. and then he takes off his waistcoat. and then he manages, somehow, to take off his undershirt without taking off his shirt. it's quite impressive. he's now in four layers, and he's feeling really quite naked. “ ah. should this be alright? ” he's still wearing gloves, but he won't be taking those off.

[reclusivescribe]

Would it be too soon to say that Aquila found Sunday incredibly cute? Because this man was downright precious.

"Yes, that'll work." Aquila nods, satisfied.

Then, quieter: "Good boy."

[orderguided]

ah? ah. for a moment there, sunday short-circuits, the wings around his face fanning out momentarily (and a single loose feather drifting to the floor). in his head, he's screaming quietly. outside of it, the only show of emotion is a singular twitch of his eye and the fact that his halo starts humming slightly louder.

“ ah. um. thank you? i, ah. um. ” what is he even meant to say. “ uh. do you have any more water? if that's alright. of course. ”

[b1adie]

— ⟢ sunday & robin —✧— ode to vox harmonique ⟣ —

[b1adie]

— ⟢ STAR RAIL LIVE 2024 / STAR RAIL LIVE 2025 ⟣ —