#solstice (oc)

[1luckyrubberducky]

Fortune Teller Solstice

[starryybrained]

New oc just dropped his name is Solstice

No hes not a recycled version of the old Saul wdymmmmmm whatttt. Nooo. That would be crazy. (He is)

[catshallnocult]

Fun little thing I did with my partners OC, Blue Sun ^^

Honestly I love it, also realizing I have to mention my tumblr in my signature now TwT

[mars11e]

hi . oc content

[catshallnocult]

Quite a wonderful page of Solstice hehe! (And yes I got lazy with the main focus image but shhhh)

[catshallnocult]

I saw a different OC named Solstice and decided to draw them together ^^ idk if they have a tumblr but if they do pls tag them TwT

[starryybrained]

Overwritten Routine

Whumptober Day 8: Isolation chamber

Content: Isolation, lab whump, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, self harm

It’s been hours now.

Solstice hasn’t seen another soul since it was left behind in the enclosure. Its only company is the warm yellow of the light in the ceiling beating down on him and the dirt beneath his feet. Every so often, a mist comes from the ceiling. He uses the mist to count how long time has passed, marking a line on the ground to help himself recall how many. He can’t count, but he can tell the row of lines is beginning to get long. Worried, Solstice recounts them on its fingers, checking how many sets of both hands there are. One set and its pointer, middle and ring finger… not including some it didn’t track.

The loneliness eats away at him. Where did they go? What are they doing? He paces, tracing the walls with his fingers like he’s done so many times before. He’s done this for many sets, so many he can’t keep track, trudging the circumference of the room, dragging his hand against the smooth walls and vocalizing to himself. With the room empty, it stretches its vocal cords, humming and making noises, anxious. He hasn’t resorted to crying or screaming yet, but he might, feeling his hope wane and the fear of the uncertain grow stronger.

It continues to trudge through the room, until the familiar feeling of moisture hits it. Misting. He makes his way to the tallies in the corner, adding a line and counting them on his fingers again. One set and the pointer, middle, ring, and pinky finger. Almost two whole sets. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Solstice holds back a worried cry, biting its tongue. It hurts to do so, but Solstice soon realizes it’s a new sensation and welcomes it. Leaning back against the wall, it bites its tongue over and over – and hard – until it’s tender and sore, running it against the roof of his mouth and teeth. It hurts, yet he can’t help but do it anyway. He doesn’t understand why he would want to hurt. Its own behavior is indecipherable to itself.

The cool droplets of water from the mist roll down his back, and he finds himself tearing up. It just doesn’t understand. Where is everyone? There’s only so much it can do while waiting for them–!

It paces around the room again for half a set, until suddenly, it sits on the ground, back against the wall. It digs its fingers into the soil, raking it up, ripping out fistfuls of it. With nothing growing within it, it’s easy to do so; it crumbles in Solstice's hands, crumbs of it falling to the ground.

He lets the dirt fall out of his fingers, uncurling them. Then, with a newfound fury, it shoves its hands back into the ground. Something deep inside of him awakens, twisting and writhing, and it pours out from his palms, burning. Something creaks from beneath the dirt, penetrating the surface, wooden, gnarled. Solstice pushes himself further, urging the energy into the ground and into his creation, making it grow larger until finally, in front of him stands a thin, crooked sapling.

For a second, time is frozen, and he stares in awe, his hands still buried in the dirt, his body fixed in place. Then he reaches for the trunk, caressing it, feeling the grooves of the wood under his fingers. In that moment, it feels an almost motherly connection to it, forgetting about being lonely, forgetting about the scientists, forgetting about everything.

Then it begins to decay.

Frantic, Solstice holds on to it, trying to summon up the energy once more, having only known his power for a fleeting moment. He fails and the sapling crumbles into the earth, dying until there’s nothing left but the rotten, petrified remnants of its leaves and branches.

He is unmoving again.

He lets out a tiny sob, and with a shaking hand, reaches for one of the blackened branches. Then he raises his hand with the branch in it and slams it down on his leg, stabbing himself. He does it over and over until he’s numb to the feeling, shuddering with silent sobs as he does. Once it’s done, it drops the piece of wood, betrayed by its own feelings and actions. It brings a hand to its thigh, rubbing the raw skin gently, its touch feather-light.

Gingerly, it lays itself against the wall, curling up and holding its legs to its chest, letting its hair fall over its eyes, closing them tightly.

[starryybrained]

Beatophone makes me think about Solstice oh god I can’t do this

I DONT KNOW WHY

ouaghjjj thinking about it makes me go insane like imagine being a plant spirit thingy being made in a lab just because humanity’s greed and disregard got so bad you were their last resort and there is nothing left for you. The entire world is destroyed. You yearn to be one with the undergrowth and the leaves and the crawly things but you can’t. You’re trapped within metal walls. All you know is that you NEED something like yourself and you can’t even describe the urge. You don’t even know what nature is but that you desire to be part of something that looks like you, you can FEEL it in the back of your mind but you CANT you can’t escape there is nothing and no one for you

Yada yada the cyclical nature of living in a lab cycles in general life and death and decay and rot and humans and nature and