Highly Selective, Advanced Literate, full time worker, no bullshit central, love my queer community and spn family. I love to write!
The Letter beneath the knife. ( sam, dean, john )
- Dean finds sams acceptance letter for Stanford by mistake.
Sam Winchester (a study analysis)
Purpose:
This blog will be filled with my main muses, some canon and some OC’s that are already highly established from other platforms. There will be mature content, dead dove content and my writings/one-shots/drabbles are not meant for anyone under adult age.
Rules of interaction:
- 🔞 Minors DNI, interacting is a statement of age.
- SFW/NSFW content will be posted.
- You send unnecessary hate, you will be cut off.
- Asks, submissions, and DM’s are open to character and non-character blogs.
- Crossover, OC, AU, Multiverse.
- Shipping is highly selective.
- Will not indulge personal opinions on my fancasts for certain characters, don’t like it? I don’t care.
Main muses;
⛦ Sam Winchester: Sam has been my main spn muse for 10+ years, and he will be the main muse here that I post about. Est. 2015. #sam_vetticus
⛦ Cade Winchester: Sam’s son from the apocalypse world, where our Sam and Dean are dead, he is the next legacy, and crosses into our world after the events of the apocalypse timeline. Est. 2022. #cade_vetticus
⛦ Valak Hellspawn: he was once Esekiel, the Archangel of Justice, before his fall twisted his divine purpose into Hell’s first general, the first ‘Yellow-Eyes’, and in this au; he is the creator of the Princes of Hell and is responsible for Mary’s death. (Very well established OC) Est. 2023. #val_vetticus
⛦ Hyperion Hellspawn: adopted by hell, by Lucifers command, he is the son of Hades and Amphitrite. Lucifer casts him into Valak’s shadow to be raised as one of his own. (Very well established OC) Est. 2023. #hyperion_vetticus
⛦ Darion Hellspawn: one of two twin brothers, first blood born sons to Valak, and his heirs to the armies of Hell. Darion is a prized reaper and deal maker, and takes closely after his father. A lethal warrior on the battlefield. Est. 2025 #darion_vetticus
⛦ Aerion Hellspawn: twin brother to Darion, heir to the armies of Hell, ruthless and cunning, unlike his brother he is not one for patience and will attack if you bore him. He is highly strategic, unforgiving, and is Alastair’s superior. Est. 2026 #aerion_vetticus
⛦ Seraphine Hellspawn; little sister to Darion, Aerion and Hyperion. Born several hundred years after her brothers, she is a daughter of purgatory and heir to her mother, Eve. Est. 2024 #seraphine_vetticus
⛦ Mateo Caldera: is a retired Marine turned farmer and veteran hunter who specializes in demons, possessions, and tactical operations. Stoic, fiercely protective, and quietly compassionate, he believes hunters should protect children and not raise them for war. Est 2026. #mateo_vetticus
⛦ Rosie Caldera: is a seasoned detective who secretly uses her position in law enforcement to investigate supernatural cases alongside her husband. Sharp-witted, perceptive, and deeply empathetic, she combines investigative instinct with extensive paranormal knowledge, treating every victim, and every young hunter, with the compassion they deserve. Est 2026. #rosie_vetticus
⛦ Cassandar Macleod: Second son of Rowena, little brother to Crowley, born several hundred years later. A warlock and Rockstar, who works magic for a price on size. Est. 2024. #cass_vetticus
I’ll add to this list as I develop my plots/one-shots.
Tag directory;
#vetticusheadcanons - my personal headcanons
#vetticusmuse - my character posts
#vetticusdiary - my drabbles / rants
#vetticuswrites - my one-shots
#vetticusverse - my au plots / edits
#vetticustags - moots mentioning my characters / au’s and mutual edits / writing drabbles
Storyline’s;
#apocalypseworld_vetticus
#hellsorigins_vetticus
Will add more as they happen.
Well that’s it for now! Hope this gave you a small insight into what you’ll find here, follow along if you think you’ll enjoy the content!
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setting: pre-series, shortly before sam leaves for stanford
warnings: family conflict, fear of abandonment, emotional hurt and canon-typical family dysfunction (not a john fan sorry)
summary: sam intends to tell dean that he has been accepted into university, but before he gets the chance, dean finds the acceptance letter by mistake
word count: 5k
Dean noticed everything about his little brother. Perhaps that is how he truly found the hidden letter, at least what led him up to its discovery.
It was not a dramatic change. Sam had not suddenly thrown out the salt canisters or replaced the silver knife beneath his pillow with a dictionary. He still rolled his shirts tightly enough to fit three days’ worth of clothes into his battered green duffel. He still kept a small rosary looped around the zipper and wrapped his blades in old T-shirts so they would not tear through the canvas.
At any given time, there were still three forged licences in his wallet, two library cards belonging to men who had never existed and enough loose change to call Bobby from any payphone between Nebraska and California.
From the outside, his little brother's life remained perfectly portable.
But other things had begun appearing among the weapons and hand-me-down clothes that Sam didn’t think Dean had noticed. A clean notebook that did not contain exorcisms, coordinates or frantic translations from Latin. Pens that actually looked… fancy and books Dean didn’t recognise.
Not the old leather-bound volumes that smelled of mildew and dust balls. These books were newer, looked bought from town libraries and used bookstores. Their spines had not been slowly decaying inside coffins or accidentally stained with coffee during some desperate, sleepless research.
They were about American history. Political theory. Constitutional law.
Normal things.
Dean noticed because he noticed everything about Sam.
He noticed when his little brother was favouring his left side after a hunt, even if there was no blood. He noticed when he skipped meals because he was worried about money, when he pretended not to be tired and when his silences meant anger instead of thoughtfulness.
Dean noticed it all.
The motel outside Lincoln was no different from a hundred others they had passed through. Two narrow beds sat beneath framed prints of flowers no one would ever choose for themselves. The carpet was an ugly brown-green, darkened around the door by years of damp boots. A tired air conditioner rattled beneath the window despite the cold, and every few seconds the red glow of the vacancy sign bled through the curtains and washed the room in colour.
John had left before sunrise.
A farmer three towns over had reported seeing his dead wife standing at the edge of his cornfield after midnight. John had decided the story was worth investigating before they moved on, which meant he had taken the impala, his duffle and a research folder put together by Sam, containing every newspaper clipping connected to the woman’s death.
Sam had gone to the local library to check burial records.
Dean had stayed behind to clean the weapons.
That was how it worked. John chased the lead, sometimes with the boys. Sam chased the answers like the geek he was and if it was just another normal case, Dean made sure none of them ran out of ammunition or dealt with a jammed gun.
Sam’s shotgun rested across Dean’s lap in pieces. The barrel gleamed beneath the yellow motel light, and the sharp scent of gun oil clung to his hands.
He reached automatically for a polishing cloth, which he usually grabbed before he started disassembling any weapon, only to look up and realise it wasn’t with the kit.
“Sammy,” he muttered.
His brother had a habit of taking Dean’s things and putting them somewhere sensible majority of the time, which usually meant he could never find them again.
He crossed the room to check their ammunition box, when that failed, he thought for a moment before remembering Sam using the cloth the previous night after sharpening his silver knife.
Dean moved to the bedside of Sam’s bed and hooked one boot beneath the strap of his brothers duffel, dragging it closer.
He didn’t hesitate before opening it.
Privacy had never meant much when three people spent their lives sharing one car, motel rooms and the occasional back room of a church. Sam stole Dean’s shirts. Dean ate whatever food Sam tried to hide for later. John searched both their bags whenever he decided they were unprepared.
There were few secrets in the Winchester family.
At least, that was what Dean had believed.
He pushed aside a grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Beneath them were two paperbacks, a packet of pens and a small plastic case holding spare razor blades. Dean dug deeper until his fingers closed around the missing cloth, wrapped around the knife he had sharpened.
“There you are.”
He pulled it free.
The sound of clear stencil rattled beneath it.
Dean paused.
A large envelope lay flat against the bottom of the duffel, hidden beneath clothes and a cardboard box of rock salt. It was too clean to belong with the rest of their lives. The paper was heavy, the address typed on a sticker rather than handwritten.
Dean might have ignored it. Almost did.
Then he saw the red logo printed in the upper corner.
Stanford University.
The room seemed to narrow around him.
The air conditioner continued its uneven clatter. A car swept past outside, tyres hissing against the damp highway. The vacancy sign pulsed red across Dean’s hands.
He stared down at the envelope.
Samuel Winchester was printed neatly across the front. Not Campbell. Not one of the aliases John kept filed inside an old cigar box.
Samuel Winchester.
His real name.
Dean lowered himself onto the edge of Sam’s bed.
The envelope had already been opened. A clean slice ran across the top, too precise to have been torn by hand. Sam had probably used the knife wrapped inside the polishing cloth.
He knew he should put it back.
Whatever waited inside belonged to Sam. If Sam wanted him to know, he would have told him.
But he had not.
He glanced towards the door, though he knew Sam was still at the library. After a few seconds of contemplation, and a pained sigh, he drew out the letter.
The first word was enough.
Congratulations.
Dean stared at it.
For several seconds, he expected the message to shift into something less impossible. A request for further information. A rejection softened by polite language. A mistake.
Stanford University was pleased to offer Samuel Winchester admission. His academic achievement had been exceptional. His teachers had described him as disciplined, resilient and unusually promising.
Dean’s gaze moved down the page.
There was more. A scholarship.
Tuition was completely covered. A full ride with assisted housing. Academic support. A future arranged in clean black lettering, just waiting for Sam to say yes.
Dean’s throat tightened.
His first thought was uncomplicated and immediate.
Sam had done it.
The kid had actually done it.
Sam; who had studied in motel bathrooms so the light wouldn’t wake John. He had completed assignments in the back seat of the Impala while Dean drove through three states. He had convinced school after school to accept transfer credits that initially made no sense and had endured guidance counsellors looking at their records as if instability were something Sam had chosen freely. He had done homework after hunts with blood beneath his fingernails. He had taken exams the next day on his laptop after spending half the night burning bones.
And he had done it.
A smile tugged at Dean’s mouth before he could stop it. Pride opened warm and fierce in his chest.
“That’s my boy,” he whispered.
The words barely disturbed the stale motel air. For a few seconds, Dean let himself feel it. Then the rest of the letter sank in. California… Four years, maybe more.
Dormitories and lecture halls and people who had never dug up a grave in their lives. People who would complain about deadlines and cafeteria food because they had no idea what it was like to sleep with a knife beneath their pillow.
Dean looked at the date printed above the letter.
Nine days ago.
His eyes narrowed.
Sam had known for nine days.
For nine days he had carried this in his bag, sitting beside Dean in diners and in the passenger seat of the Impala as though nothing had changed.
Dean told himself anything except the truth.
Sam wanted to leave.
The motel door suddenly opened behind him.
Dean scrambled before thought could catch up. He shoved the letter back into the envelope, bending it in his haste.
Sam entered with three library books tucked beneath one arm and a paper cup in the other. Damp air followed him through the doorway, carrying the smell of rain and pavement.
The taller Winchester saw the envelope in his hand.
Sam stopped.
The paper cup tilted slightly between his fingers. A thin line of coffee spilled over the lid, but he did not appear to notice.
Everything in his face changed.
Dean had seen Sam frightened before. He had seen him face ghosts, demons and their father’s anger. He knew the difference between panic and calculation, between shock and the quiet moment before Sam decided to fight.
This was something else.
It was the expression of someone watching a bridge collapse before he had decided whether to cross it.
“Dean.” His voice was low.
His brother lifted the envelope.
“Stanford?”
Sam closed his eyes briefly.
“I was going to tell you.”
The words struck Dean with more force than they deserved. A humourless laugh left him. “Yeah? When?” He stood, the letter held loosely at his side. “Before or after you disappeared?”
Sam placed the cup and books on the table with an exaggerated thump. “I’m not disappearing Dean.” His voice cracked slightly before he regained his composure. “I’m going to school.”
“California is a hell of a long drive for someone who claims to put family first.” Dean added dryly, unable to help himself. “Tell me how long have you known, huh? How long have you been acting like everything is all rainbows and candy-land?”
“Nine days ago.” Sam stated quietly.
“Nine days.” Dean repeated with a scoff.
“I needed time.” Sam tried to get out.
“For what? Coming up with a lie?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed “To figure out how to tell you!”
Dean laughed now, tensions high amongst the brothers, with nothing funny about it. Sam tried to cool himself off, raising his palms. “C’mon Dean this isn’t fair.”
“No, Sam. Fair would’ve been hearing it from you instead of finding it stuffed in the bottom of your duffle bag.”
”-and the letter just opened itself?”
Dean’s mouth closed and for a moment neither of them moved.
Sam had always been too good at finding the exact weak point in an argument. Maybe that was his inner lawyer...Dean saw the accusation settle between them and hated that it was deserved.
"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have read it." Dean sighed, waving an arm about guiltily.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Sam's tone was direct, but Dean could hear the hurt in it, which seemed to only make the eldest brother double down.
“But you shouldn’t have hidden it.”
“I wasn’t hiding it from you!"
Dean gestured with the envelope. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Sam’s jaw worked. “Because I knew you’d look at me exactly like that.”
“Like what?” Dean growled.
“Like I’m betraying you.” The answer landed with brutal precision, and Sam watched as Dean opened his mouth to deny it. "Don't stand there and try telling me it's not how you feel." After a moment, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I applied months ago... I didn't know they would accept me."
“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“What was I supposed to say?” Sam turned from the glare his brother shot at him. “Dad would’ve shut it down before they even opened the application.”
“This isn’t about Dad.”
“It’s always about Dad.” Sam counted with a huff and a furrowed brow.
Dean’s voice dropped instinctively. “Don’t.”
Sam gave a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “He doesn’t want us to have anything outside this family, nothing that isn't hunting, at least.”
“He wants you alive, Sam.”
“No. He wants me obedient.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
Dean’s fingers tightened around the envelope until the paper creased. He hated when Sam did this. He hated it when his brother reached into all the dark, carefully sealed parts of their family and dragged the truth into the light as if naming it would somehow make it easier to confront. He knew their family was messed up beyond what anyone said out loud, but that didn't mean he didn't love his family with everything he had, especially looking after his pain-in-the-ass little brother. He wanted Sam to have the life he wanted, to grow up away from all of this, but what came out of his mouth was very different.
“People die when hunters walk away.”
“I know.”
“Then what?” Dean demanded. “You’re going to sit in some lecture hall while Dad and I are out there doing the work?”
Sam went still, then something guarded settled across his face.
“There it is.”
Dean frowned. “What?”
“The part where you make me feel guilty for wanting something other than this, just like he does.”
Dean looked at him for another moment before asking, “When are you telling Dad?”
Sam didn't answer; a bitter smile pulled at Dean’s mouth. Sam had no idea what the old man would do to him after he left... “Right. Haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“I’m going to tell him.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s a great plan. He’ll love it.” Dean threw back sarcastically.
"I'm not asking for your permission, or his." Sam retorted quietly.
Something inside Dean broke quietly. “So you’ve got it all worked out, huh?”
“The scholarship covers tuition,” Sam explained. “There’s help with housing. I can work once I get there.”
“Once you get there.”
Sam swallowed.
“Dean—” He glanced at his big brother with a pained expression.
"Don't. It's fine." He glanced back down at the letter, folded it slowly, and held it out to his little brother. “You should keep that somewhere better,” he said. “Dad finds it, you won’t get the chance to tell him your way.”
Sam studied him in shock before slowly reaching out to take it. “You’re not going to tell him?”
Dean glanced towards their father's open duffel by the door. For all his anger, the thought of John discovering the letter before Sam was ready stirred something fierce and automatic in him. The same instinct that had made Dean stand between Sam and every monster since childhood.
“No.”
“Why?”
Dean scoffed, retreating behind irritation because it was safer than honesty. “Because, despite what you apparently think, I’m still your big brother .”
Pain crossed Sam’s face. Dean turned away before it could alter his resolve. He returned to the table and picked up the shotgun barrel. The metal blurred in his hands. Dean blinked until the room sharpened again. Behind him, the envelope rustled.
“Will you ever forgive me?” Sam asked suddenly.
Dean froze.
“What?” Dean forced his hands to move, fitting the barrel back into place. “You got a full ride to Stanford. I’m not made of stone.”
"I was scared."
Dean's head shot up to meet his brother's eyes.
Sam had faced things with blood oozing from their mouths. He had stood between John and Dean while their arguments shook motel walls. He had stitched his own injuries and burned the bones of children and learned too young that the dead did not always stay dead.
But this had frightened him. Telling him about Stanford.
Dean lowered his gaze to the shotgun.
“When do you leave?”
“End of August.”
Six weeks.
Dean had six weeks left with his little brother. He had thought they had years.
“Does Dad know you applied anywhere?”
“No.”
“Bobby?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
Sam hesitated. Dean looked up immediately.
“Who?”
“A teacher helped me with the application.” Sam shifted his weight. “And Mateo knew I was thinking about it.”
“Mateo Caldera?”
Sam nodded.
Dean knew Mateo. More importantly, he knew exactly what Mateo thought of their father's parenting. The former Marine had never been subtle about it. He looked at Sam as if he could see every bruise John called training and every order he called preparation. Dean had never decided whether he liked the man. In this moment, he could not decide whether to be grateful or furious.
Maybe both.
“He gave me his number a while ago,” Sam continued. “Said if I ever got out and needed help getting on my feet, I could call him.”
“Got out,” Dean repeated.
Sam’s expression turned wary. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“Ha, that's exactly how he meant it.” Dean shook his head, decision made.
“Dean.”
“You already have a ride?” Dean changed the subject instead of making the open choice to stay on the subject: who talks about a hunter leaving their family openly behind their back?
“No.” Sam looked down at the envelope in his hands. “I was going to take a bus.”
Of course he was. Sam had planned the entire escape in silence, right down to the route out. "Yeah, screw that, I'll drive you." Dean crossed the room and lowered himself onto the edge of his bed with a sigh, giving Sam time to recognise it wasn't worth arguing the point. “What are you studying?”
Sam blinked. “What?”
“At Stanford. What are you studying?” Dean was curious, after all. The caution on Sam's face hurt worse than the question.
“Pre-law.”
Dean nodded slowly.
“You’re going to be a lawyer?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You hate lawyers.”
“I hate the ones Dad makes us pretend to be.”
A laugh escaped Dean before he could stop it, and Sam’s mouth curved slightly. The room eased by a fraction, and Sam didn't interrupt it.
“You know Dad’s going to lose his mind,” Dean warned.
“I know.”
“He’ll say you’re abandoning the hunt and us.”
“I know.”
“...He might tell you not to come back.”
Sam’s small smile disappeared. “I know...”
Dean studied him.
Sam was pretending the possibility did not terrify him. Pretending he had not spent his whole life chasing John’s approval, even while insisting he didn't need it. Dean knew better.
“He won’t mean it,” Dean said.
Sam’s eyes lowered.
“Maybe.”
“And even if he does…” The words lodged behind Dean’s ribs. He nearly swallowed them, but instead forced them out. “You’ll still have me, little brother.”
Sam looked up.
The innocent hope in his expression made Dean feel suddenly exposed. It sounded too much like a promise. Too much like an admission that the idea of Sam leaving frightened him more than any creature they had hunted.
Dean reached for the nearest defence.
“Not that I’m visiting some snob factory where everybody drinks wheatgrass and talks about their feelings.”
“It’s California, Dean. Not another planet.”
“Same thing.”
Sam laughed softly. This did not fix everything. The letter still existed. August was still coming, and more importantly, John still didn't know. But he sat on the opposite bed instead, opening a book, and for the moment, this comforting silence with his big brother was enough.
#VOIRISTS: A FRIENDS + MUTUALS ONLY, PRIVATE MIXED MEDIA MULTIMUSE WRITING BLOG. as written by essek, 26+ years, he/him, est. 2023.
[I] CARRD.
❝ in the uncertain light the cards describe a nocturnal landscape, the cups are arranged like urns, caskets, graves among the nettles, the swords have a metallic echo like shovels or spades against the leaden lids, the clubs are black like crooked crosses, the gold coins glitter like will-o’-the-wisps. as soon as a cloud discloses the moon, a howling of jackals rises as they scratch furiously at the edges of the graves and fight with scorpions and tarantulas over their putrid feast. ❞
Noah Rosling came from a “normal” family — who had no knowledge of the supernatural world nor of hunting.
Megan and Noah first met in the 9th grade during freshman orientation. They were both looking for the computer lab and from there? They discovered that they had alot in common — love for technology and knowledge.
From that point on, Noah and Megan hung out together alot. They soon discovered over time their common love for classic rock, food, drinks and movies. So while they worked on homework together on their laptops? They shared snacks with Led Zeppelin playing in the background.
When the time came for the homecoming dance? Megan and Noah went together as friends and soon came out as boyfriend and girlfriend. Noah was Megan’s very first serious relationship and of course she appreciated that he was not a hunter—
Noah represented what normal life Megan could have had and most importantly? The love that she so deeply craved for.
However, as a common theme for every hunter? The supernatural came knocking and intending to rip to shreds any evidence of a normal life that a hunter is trying to build.
While on a romantic night out? Megan and Noah were attacked by a vengeful spirit — a victim of her mother’s that she could not save. Intending to kill Megan for Jo’s sin. However, as Megan was taught? No matter what? Always be prepared.
Megan was able to destroy the vengeful spirit by burning its corpse? But before she could let down the lighter? Noah’s heart had been ripped from his chest by the spirit.
Megan threw the lighter down and the vengeful spirit was finally at peace. However, Megan’s attempt at being a normal teenager and the love that she was so close to attaining was gone.
From then on, Megan vowed to never allow herself entertain a “normal” life nor love. She would throw herself into hunting. Of course her mother and grandmother tried to dissuade her from going down a hunter’s path? But Megan was a Harvelle — whatever a Harvelle ever set their mind to do? It was going to be accomplished.
Megan finished highschool with her degree along with honors, but when the time came for Megan to choose college or hunting? Megan chose hunting. So as a result? Megan worked at the Roadhouse as a waitress at first? But then when she turned 21? She learned how to be a bartender.
And when Megan was not at the Roadhouse? She was out with her mother, hunting. Every occasion running into the Winchesters including Sam’s son, Cade. [ @huntslore ]
Former Title: None; he was born as the first continuation of Valak’s bloodline
Current Titles: First-Blood born Son, Twin Heir of Hell, Hell’s Foremost Reaper; Diplomat and Deal-Maker. Prince of Hell.
Age: Ancient
Species: Celestial-Demonic hybrid
Realm: Hell
Allegiance: Hellspawns, and the Morningstar family.
Family: Son of Valak; twin brother of Aerion, younger brother of Hyperion, elder brother of Seraphine.
Who is Darion?
Darion Hellspawn is the first-born blood son of Valak and the twin brother of Aerion, born as one of Hell’s twin heirs and the first continuation of Valak’s own bloodline. Feared and respected as Hell’s foremost reaper, diplomat, and deal-maker, Darion possesses the control to stand before kings, monsters, and ancient powers without surrendering the advantage. His strength is not built on needless aggression, but on composure, calculation, patience, and the ability to understand exactly what another being wants before deciding what it will cost them.
He is not cold toward his family, nor divided from his twin by rivalry or ambition. Darion is fiercely loyal, intensely protective, and deeply connected to Aerion, Hyperion, and Seraphine. The children of Valak stand together, and Darion’s place among them is defined as much by brotherhood as it is by blood or title. He may negotiate with Hell’s enemies and reap the souls of those placed before him, but his deepest loyalty will always belong to his family. Beneath the diplomacy, bargains, and controlled exterior, Darion is a creature of devotion; strategic, formidable, dangerously perceptive, and willing to bring the full weight of Hell upon anyone who threatens one of his own.
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Current Titles: First General of Hell, The Defiler, Marquis of Snakes
Age: Ancient / primordial
Species: Fallen Archangel / Corrupted Archangel
Realm: Hell
Allegiance: Lucifer, though his loyalty is bound more by brotherhood and shared rebellion than obedience, and the Morningstar family.
Family: Direct Brother to all Archangels, father to Darion, Aerion and Seraphine and adoptive father to Hyperion.
Who is Valak?
Valak Hellspawn, once known as Esekiel, was the Archangel of Justice before his fall turned divine judgement into something darker, colder, and far more dangerous. Now feared and respected as the First General of Hell, the Marquis of Snakes, and the Defiler, Valak is an ancient fallen celestial whose presence is built on control, patience, power, and quiet dominance.
He is not loud in his cruelty, nor careless with his loyalty. Valak is calculated, possessive, intensely protective, and dangerously observant; the kind of being who remembers every word, every weakness, and every moment someone chooses not to fear him. He does not love gently or easily, but when he chooses someone, they become part of his world in a way he refuses to lose. Beneath the hellfire, serpents, and command, Valak is a creature of certainty; terrifying, loyal, manipulative when needed, and driven by a corrupted belief that strength, legacy, and judgement are the only truths that survive.
Former Title: Prince of Atlantis & Heir to the Underworld. None formally held after his adoption into the House of Valak.
Current Titles: Adopted Hellspawn, Heir to Atlantis, Most Powerful Siren of the Sea, Prince of Hell.
Age: Ancient / Appears early 30’s
Species: Celestial-Siren Hybrid
Realm: Hell, with ancestral ties to Atlantis and the Underworld
Allegiance: Hell and the Morningstar Royals, though his loyalty is bound more by family, belonging, and to the father who raised him than command alone— Valak @hellsfirst
Family: Biological son of Hades and Amphitrite; adopted eldest son of Valak; elder brother of Darion, Aerion, and Seraphine.
Who is Hyperion?
Hyperion Hellspawn, born as the son of Hades and Amphitrite during a time the Goddess was without a partner, the childs existence could never safely be revealed to Poseidon. Fearing what would happen if the God of the Sea discovered the truth of their union, Hades sought sanctuary for his son in another realm. By Lucifer’s command, Hyperion was adopted by Hell and cast into the shadow of his brother, Valak, to be raised as one of their own. Now recognised as the eldest Hellspawn, remaining the heir to Atlantis, and the most powerful siren of the sea, Hyperion is an ancient divine being whose blood carries the authority of the Underworld and the primordial strength of the ocean.
He is not treated as an outsider, a ward, or something merely entrusted to Valak’s care. Hyperion is Valak’s adopted son in every way that matters and the eldest brother of the Hellspawns, raised within the fierce loyalty and protection that defines their family. His place among them is built on choice rather than blood, but it is no less absolute. Beneath the power inherited from Hades and Amphitrite, Hyperion is a creature of belonging; formidable, deeply loyal, protective of his siblings, and bound to the Hellspawns as the family that claimed him, raised him, and refuses to surrender him.
a cellar hole, a fatal dose. i dive headfirst into the darkness below …
ⓘ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ semi selective portrayals, advance literate with third person novella style writings.
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ⓘ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ DNI: if you are racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic or ableist. if you are a minor. if you are a zionist or trump supporter. if you do not have age indicators on your account or if you lie about your age. if you cannot grasp the concept of roleplay and reality.
ⓘ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ this blog will be used as a home navigation tab, you can find my muses and their blogs via the main muse post !!
🪞 ⠀MEET THE⠀ADMIN ˙ . ꒷
name: jellie, ells or jellie tots ☻
birthday: march 12
zodiac: pisces
pronouns: she/her
age indicator: 23+
loves: oat vanilla lattes, my friends, reading
likes: true crime, photography, thai food
dislikes: spiders, clowns, burnt coffee, close-minded people
currently reading: interview with the vampire, you first: a joe goldberg prequel
currently watching: house of the dragon, supernatural
