✧˖°. 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑵: a 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄, 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 & 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 roleplay blog for a canon-divergent & headcanon based portrayal of 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 from Mihoyo’s 𝑯𝑶𝑵𝑲𝑨𝑰 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑳. 18+ only. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 & 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈. Written by Cat. 31/she or they / MST.

I have 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑰𝑺𝑴 & 𝑨𝑫𝑯𝑫. Multiverse, multiship and OC friendly.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: Religious themes, Cults, Manipulation, Violence. NSFW may also be on this blog.

I write Sunday as more as of an 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, rather then 100% canon compliant, however, I do have canon influence and lore mixed into my portrayal. I 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 personally think that Sunday is redeemable after all that he has caused ( 𝑯𝑬 𝑰𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳 𝑰𝑵 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑺𝑬 ) and I don't really write him that way, but this may change depending on plotting / threads with others.

I am 𝐍𝐎𝐓 affiliated with the 𝐇𝐘𝐕 𝐑𝐏𝐂. I will write with people from it with no issues, though, but please know that my interpretation of Sunday is my 𝑶𝑾𝑵.

This also means that I mostly write Sunday as an 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 / 𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑵 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳, rather then a ‘Halovien’, but I will mention him as a Halovien from time to time.

𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 for writing Sunday are 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑵 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 𝑳𝑼𝑪𝑰𝑭𝑬𝑹, 𝑴𝑰𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑬𝑳𝑫𝑬𝑵 𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑰𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑺 and 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑾𝑵 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑶𝑵𝑨𝑳 𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑺.

Icon Border & Splitter by lavenderph. Colour PSD by jaynedits.

𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑳𝑶𝑾 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑼𝑻.

When you look at him and his mood is ‘pleasant’ so to speak, he looks very normal. And underneath his clothing there are eyes on his stomach in a circle formation ( non dormant ).

The dormant eyes appear when he’s angry. Like, furiously so. His skin starts to stretch and peel in places ( visible and non visible like areas covered by clothing ). Multiple eyes on his face, his neck, his wings ( both his head wings and the ones on his back if he allows them to be visible ), his hands, ect ect ect.

It’s questions like this that causes the Angel to pause—His golden gaze looking outwards into the abyss as his hands neatly clasped themselves behind himself. Nails of his left hand dug past the fabric of his gloves into the back of his right idly as he pondered—feathers that nestled behind his ears bristling softly before they shifted—fluttering as they stretched and then proceeded to relax and nestle themselves back to where they once belonged. It s a good question, perhaps; one that keeps the gears of his mind turning and grating against each other like an old machine that needed oil to continue to run smoothly.

‘Are you a monster, Sunday?’ Jiaoqiu asks him. ‘Or a victim?’

“Are we not all victims of something? Or someone?” His answer comes around as another question—a counter to the fox’s own. He continues to allow the gears of his mind to turn; to grasp onto something that would sound palpable enough to have the other cease his insolent questions. It was none of his business—Sunday had gotten to where he was now because of the trials and tribulations of his own life; of his actions and consequences. Golden gaze flutters closed briefly, his head turning enough to glance over to the other man behind him.

“I believe that everyone is a victim of something, or someone. That makes sense, doesn’t it? What matters is how we emerge from our trials—how they morph us into who we are today. Some…become monsters, of course.” A smile creeps slowly onto his features—though it does not reach his eyes. Empty; false—a trap, waiting to snare with sharp teeth and bloodied claws; hiding under the beauty of a man so well put together.

“But not I.” He was the worst of them all a savior.

“Now, you have my curiosity peaked, however. What would you label yourself as, hm? What would you label me, now that I’ve given you my own opinion of myself?” It was all game to him. Just a sick, twisted little game—but he couldn’t help but humor himself a little with his current guest and curiosities.

If you wanna add me to discord you can! Just tell me who you are! We can plot and discuss stuff ect.

“With all due respect, Mr.Koski…Last I checked, ninety-five percent of what you say is a lie.” The way his words leave his lips are as sweet as fresh honey, dripping down onto the sharpness of an unseen blade as an amused hum leaves him from Sampo’s silly little question. The martyr knew how to pick out a lie—how to fabricate his own and to snuff out lies from others. It wasn’t always the easiest task, but he knew of Sampo’s reputation, and therefore, the trust with this man was very…

Limited, so to speak.

Sunday steps forward, a hand moving to rest upon the other man’s shoulder, his smile bit reaching his eyes as his golden gaze looked to the man beside him. As Sunday tilted his head, there was a slight darkness that framed his gaze—something eerie. Something dangerous.

“You had best hope to tell me the truth, Mr.Koski.” There was no verbal threat—however, Sunday’s gaze spoke loud and clear for itself. Lie to me, and there will be consequences.

“Oh, I never once said I didn’t like you, Mr.Boothill…” the tone of his voice seemed pleasant enough; though it was clear to most that with the way the Halovien spoke—he had been masking his intentions though sweet tones and featherlight words. Fingers gently woven together as they rested on his own lap as he sat, the feathers on his head shifting with a light flutter before closing and nestling behind his ears.

His distaste for the mechanical cowboy could be apparent—However, sometimes you had to play your cards right. Sometimes you had to deal with the riff raff and use them to get what you wanted—or to get your point across, at least.

A smile stretches upon his features. “I understand your hostility. But what I don’t understand is your reason for finding me and telling me such a thing. Do you enjoy wasting your time?” His left leg shifts to cross over his right, hands moving to adjust before resting on his lap once more. There was not much that Boothill could do for him, Sunday’s patience waning the longer he was in the presence of this insolent fool.

“Is that all you came here for?…If you don’t mind, I would like to get back to work. I have far more important things to attend to.” He had wasted enough time.