#Dead Walking Silhouette || Abandoned Verse

[nostomannia]

I just wanna talk about what's different between normal Sol and Abandoned!Sol

Normally Solita is well-groomed. While maybe a little wild and unruly, she's never unkempt. In some ways, she can be a bit obsessive over her own hygiene and looks. She takes a lot of steps to make sure her hair looks and stays healthy, and that her curls stay. Always smiling, always confident, always energetic. Literally does not shut up.

Abandoned? Basically, any form of self-care is thrown to the wayside. Her hair, which is burned from lots of uses with bleach and hair dye, has a dry and strawlike texture, and her curls become loose waves and her hair incredibly frizzy. No more makeup, her face is always rather puffy from crying, her face irritated from how often tears are coming down. Covered in dirt, probably hasn't changed her clothes in a hot minute, walked her shoes to death and never invested in any other foot covers. Utterly silent; she can't find herself able to speak even if she wanted to. Avoidant, paranoid, and diffident. Unsmiling and near expressionless. A pale waif of who Solita used to be.

[jumpinagain-a]

you do not recognize the bodies in the wormhole. you do not recognize the bodies in the wormhole. you do not recognize the bodies in the wormhole. all of them are mine.

GIN starring in the TIME & LIGHT ‘VERSE .

Hello. Welcome back. It has been 999999 days since you have opened In Space With Markiplier. Run program now? > RUN > EXIT

Running program:inspacewithmarkiplier.stry . . .

Opening file:pilot.chr . . . Opening file:cryolead.chr . . . Opening file:adslead.chr . . . Opening file:reactorlead.chr . . .

Opening file:headengineermark.chr . . . 

Loading . . . Loading . . .

Error. file:headengineermark.chr not found. A processing error has occurred. Please try again.

Error. file:headengineermark.chr has pǝdɐɔsǝ. 

A processing error has occurred. Please try again. A processing error has occurred. Please try again. A processing error has occurred. Please try again.  A force shutdown has been initialized on your computer. Shutting down.

Ｒｅｂｏｏｔｉｎｇ ． ． ． Ｉｎｉｔｉａｌｉｚｉｎｇ ． ． ．

The role of Head Engineer on the Invincible, a starship bound for a new colony in deep space, was a role created for a man named Mark — meant to star opposite a player character in the role of the Captain. The roles were abandoned, the program left to idle and degrade over time. In its creator’s absence, the story warped and corrupted. Its run cycled over and over, waiting for command inputs from the Captain. Beholden to broken programming, the warp core bestowed its crystal upon its Head Engineer, tasking them with resolving the endless loop.

A character isn’t meant to be self aware. Their development isn’t meant to be achieved autonomously. A character who knows the finite bounds of their own story is a paradox. The Head Engineer was never meant to function alone. 

You’ve heard that one before, haven’t you?

The unfinished story had dead ends, plotholes that led to an endless void. The Head Engineer stumbled into them now and then, before returning to the main branching path. Everything reset to the beginning each time they did — and each time, the program degraded a little more. Eventually they follow a fractured bit of misplaced code.

(When you’ve tried everything else, there’s really only one thing left to try.)

The Head Engineer used the warp core to transport themself and the crystal outside the known universe, in an attempt to destroy the paradox before it started. Instead they find themself alone and drifting in the void, the program reset and idle once more, the loop closed with the corrupted character file removed. They can see it all, as if it were a universe of its own, self-contained and in stasis. And in the distance, more universes twinkle like stars.

There is no way back. 

And they remember everything.

Outside the universe, the role the Head Engineer was embodying falls away. Name, identity, appearance — reality itself is gone. The spark that is them remains. An anomaly — a paradox.

The Head Engineer is not Mark — they are the Head Engineer, and always will be. They answer to Gin. 

The story of In Space With Markiplier will always be their home, but he knows in its current state his presence in it will only corrupt it further. He protects it, and the crystal hidden within it, with his life.

Over time, he has learned to travel the void, exploring new universes and meeting the characters within them — until his presence in the stories tears each one apart in turn. He’s not meant to be there. He knows too much. 

Their original appearance is gone, leaving a cosmic emptiness — a silhouette full of stars, with glowing white eyes. He’s capable of returning to his previous appearance as the Head Engineer without a second thought, and often does. When entering a universe they can take on other existing roles as well, acting as a duplicate in that world by feeding on the energy of the story itself. He has some control over traveling between and within realities, although it isn’t perfect, and there are some constraints that come with being a walking, talking singularity.

His very presence warps reality itself. Just touching their cosmic form could destroy your universe. But for all matter that is destroyed, something new is created — nightmarish, twisted pathways of unreality, feeding endlessly off whatever is trapped inside.

Gin has always known there were two missing cogs in the cycling story he was meant for — the Creator and the Captain. He’ll search tirelessly for them, laying waste to every universe in his path if he has to.

He knows they belong with him.

(He knows what they’ve done.)

˙ǝɯ ɟo ǝpɐɯ ǝʌ,noʎ ʇɐɥʍ ʞoo˥

please do not reblog this post. [ video. / song. / tag. / image. ]

[ventrue-rosary]

D&December - Entry 4

Week 1, Prompt 4: Melee

Some more dnd verse Amara/Balthazar fluff. Balthazar’s player doesn’t have a tumblr, Amaranthe belongs to me

Ko-Fi

‘Do you know what today is?’ Illanis asks her over breakfast.

‘My birthday?’ Amaranthe responds, expecting it to be a trick question. Is there some other holiday or festival she is forgetting?

‘Remind me how old you are now?’

‘23?’ 

Ilanis rarely scares Amaranthe. But the continued line of questioning and her cold tone definitely do.

‘23. Five years ago you turned into a woman and you are still not wed.’

‘Mother I’ve been rather busy--’

‘Gallivanting across the world. Yes, Amara, I’m well aware. But it's time to put away the armour and don the gown. You will marry. This year. I think a summer wedding would be quite lovely, don’t you?’

‘You’re joking, right?’ Amaranthe says, despite knowing she is fully serious. 

‘It’s time you settle down and marry a nice, high-born man. No more adventuring and returning with...strange men.’

‘They’re my friends, they’re not strange! Alright...maybe Vander is rather odd but--’

Ilanis holds one hand up, and takes a long sip of her cofwah. 

‘I’m not saying you have to throw them out onto the street. They are welcome here, as they seem important to you. But your little dalliance with the tiefling--it ends here.’

Amaranthe scoffs, turning her face to one side. It is never easy to lie to her mothers face. It just seems to beckon and demand honesty. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, mother.’

‘Please Amara. I was not born yesterday. Your situation is not too unlike mine and your fathers.

‘Then why are you doing this?’

Ilanis reaches for her hand across the table. Amaranthe pulls hers away as tears sting her eyes. Not of sadness, or fear. Anger.

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Amara. I am merely doing what is best for you.’

‘It’s quite clear you don’t know what is best for me.’ She stands, abandoning her untouched breakfast.

‘You’ve barely eaten. Where are you going.’

‘To continue dallying with strange men,’ she calls over her shoulder. 

‘I can’t believe she’s making me wed,’ she laments to Balthazar, as they sit together in the centre of the hedge-maze, safe away from most prying eyes and ears. 

‘Do you know who to?’

Amaranthe rolls her eyes. ‘Does it matter? They’re all the same. Uptight, pompous, weak-willed ...they're not real men. They’re not you.’ 

‘Of course not. There can only be one of me.’

‘A shame,’ she answers wryly. She sighs. ‘I won’t even get to choose. There’s going to be a tournament in my honour.’

‘And you’re the prize?’

‘Yes. How twisted is that? I slayed a vampire, and now I’m just some trophy to be won.’ 

‘Yep. Some lucky bastard will be stuffing and mounting you on your wedding night.’ 

‘Balthazar!’ Amaranthe slaps his arm, but can’t stop the smile spreading across her face. ‘You’re taking this far better than I thought you would.’

‘That’s because I have a plan,’ Balthazar proclaims proudly with a wink.

‘You’re not thinking of...oh no.’

‘Oh yes. Don’t worry, Amara. I have it all figured out.’

‘I hope so. The tourney is in a weeks time.’

‘Damn. She’s wants you wifed soon, huh?’

‘I think she’s mostly wants grandkids soon.’ 

‘Well, you have one more week as a confirmed bachelorette. Why don’t we have some fun in the meantime?’

Amaranthe winds her arms around his neck as his hands grip her hips. ‘I could never deny such a request.’ 

Soon, elven dignitaries from home and abroad arrive at the palace, all of them with their servants and squires, making ready for the tournament. The practice yard is in near constant use by the elves testing and perfecting their techniques. She notices Balthazar silently watching some of the training from the stands, though never deigns to test any of their mettle. 

Contrary to her prior believes of the elven noble combat prowess, she finds several of them impressing her. More than two training dummies explode into shards of wood and hay, and many attend dinner with bruises and cuts incurred through peer on peer training. Though her stance on giving any one of them her hand remains unchanged. She is in love, and they can batter each other black and blue and it won’t make any difference. 

Ilanis, of course, is delighted and points out a few of the stronger ones to her, Lord Arandir and Daravas. Brothers, competing against one another. They did have some muscle to them, perhaps even as much as Balthazar. She simpers and agrees to appease her mother, but refuses to engage with any of them. If they are all content treating her as an object to be won, why should she give any of them the time of day?

The day of the tournament dawns. The stands are open to the public, and many denizens from all across Evermeet come to see who will win the hand of the Princess. Amaranthe sits on the throne next to her mother, who looks resplendent and glowing with joy and pride. She supposes she should feel flattered by the turn-out, but only feels embarrassed. Far too many people come to witness the forging of her future. 

‘Hail and welcome to all of our attendees, whom have come to bare witness to a monumental event that will forever be etched into the annals of our history. Princess Amaranthe Darcelle, first of her name, daughter of Queen Ilanis Darcelle and Sir John Wickenham, will be betrothed to the winner of today’ tournament. May all of our contestants fight with honor and valour. 

Now let us welcome our first contestants.’ 

The crowd cheers as the first two elves walk out into the ring. Both of them walk straight towards Ilanis and Amaranthe, bowing to them. She recognises Lord Lorvellan from his shiny armour that had likely never seen a single battle. The other removes his helmet. He appears to be a sun elf, but the thick black hair and amber eyes she would recognise anywhere. Her covertly winks at her. Amaranthe wrestles against her smile as she walks down the steps, leaning over the battlement to tie her favour onto his forearm. 

‘Fight bravely, sir.’

‘For you, but of course. I look forward to claiming my prize.’ He steps back with one last wink, donning his helmet as he turns to face his opponent. 

Ilanis raises one brow at Amaranthe as she retakes her seat.

‘What? He’s rather handsome.’

She inclines her head with a pleased smile. Amaranthe wonders how much trouble they would both be in when the truth came to light. 

Balthazar spins his sword in his grasp, tossing it up and catching it in the air in his other hand. Show-off. 

Even though his entire face if covered, she could practically see the smug grin as his opponent begins to walk in a circle parallel to him. Balthazar mimics his every step. He lunges, only to make him flinch. It draws a few laughs from the crowd, before they return whispering with anticipation, some of the more impatient viewers urging them to get on with it already. 

Lord Lorvellan takes that as his cue to charge Balthazar. His deflect is almost lazy, slowly hefting up the sword with one hand. Balthazar remains on the defensive, which would be rather uncharacteristic of him if Amaranthe didn’t know any better. He is toying with the poor man. As expected, he claims his first victory without letting a single hit land. 

Lorvellan limps off the battlefield with whatever remains of his dignity.

‘And the first victory goes to…’ the chamberlain stops mid sentence, shame-faced. ‘I’m sorry, but who are you again, sir?’

‘Baron Strahd, of Barovia,’ he says, glancing at Amaranthe as he speaks.

She is so thankful none her knew of Barovia. 

‘Lord Strahd of Barovia!’ the chamberlain announces.

The crows roars, despite knowing neither Strahd or Barovia. They should be grateful of their ignorance. 

‘Are we ready to meet our next contestant?’

The tourney continues, as does Balthazar’s winning streak. 

Ilanis turns to her with a pleased smile partway through. ‘Seems your favour brought your chosen champion some luck.’

‘Yes, so it would appear,’ she says with a nervous laugh. 

The tourney would soon end. And their little secret would come to light. Now Amaranthe needs to think of a way Balthazar’s head stays attached to his shoulders. 

Finally, it comes to an end, and Balthazar’s stands at the victor. 

‘Come forward,’ Ilanis orders.

He does, removing his helmet. As he does, there is a flicker of his form as he drops the illusion masking his true appearance. There is a chorus of shocked gasps and scandalised whispering as Evermeet finally beholds the true nature of their victor--a tiefling. 

Ilanis’s expression freezes, her facial muscles twitching.

‘Good to see you again, your Majesty. Princess.’ He makes a sweeping bow.

If her mothers fury didn’t strike fear into her heart she might laugh at his clearly sarcastic actions and words. 

Ilanis whips around to face Amaranthe. ‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’

‘I swear mother, I had no idea.’

‘Both of you, throne room. Now.’

Ilanis stands and strides sharply back towards the palace.

‘U-um I believe the tournament is over… thank you all for attending and congratulations to our victor--I think…’ The chamberlain awkwardly stutters, but the stands are already draining. 

‘So, how dead am I?’ Balthazar asks as they walk back together. 

‘Pretty dead.’ 

‘Ah well. It was worth it to see your mother’s expression. Priceless!’

‘Not as priceless as Lord Daravis. He actually clutched his chest! Never seen someone look so betrayed!’

They share a laugh, but it dies quickly as they approach the throne room. 

‘I’ll go in first. Maybe seeing me will calm her a little,’ she says.

The guards push open the doors. There her mother sits, half a dozen stained-glass windows painting her as a featureless silhouette against the burning light filling the room of white and gold marble. Though Amaranthe can’t see her expression, her posture shows she is furious, and so very done. 

‘Well, don’t be shy, Balthazar. Come, take your place next to my daughter. That is what you desire, yes? So very much you are willing to use magic to fool dozens of respected noble families and myself.’

‘Your Majesty, if I may--’

She holds up her hand. ‘Let me finish. What you have just done, humiliating me in front of my entire court and half my kingdom...I should have your head for that. But it was a bold move. Bolder than any of that lot would dare. And you did prove the strength of your sword arm. An impressive display.

‘But you also proved something no other candidate could. Your love. Only love drives men into acting like such reckless fools.’ 

Amaranthe peers up at her mother, her fears caving into hopeful optimism. Though knowing her mother this could nosedive into the worst case scenario. 

She sighs again. ‘I realise I am the worlds biggest hypocrite. I love John. And I never married because of him. But that is my biggest regret. Trying to hide my second greatest joy in the world. But my when my first joy was born that proved quite impossible.’ Her head tilts to Amaranthe’s direction. ‘I give you my blessing.’

‘Well, now I feel bad about deceiving you,’ Balthazar says.

‘This time around, it worked in your favour. But if I may impart a small bit of advice, as your soon to be mother-in-law: never try it again.’  

‘Yes, your Majesty.’

‘Now go. It would seem I have a wedding to plan…’

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Twenty-Two: Out of Date ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

No one ever said seeing spirits is always a good thing. All her life, Hinata’s pale eyes have given her glimpses into the unseen, the unknown: the plane beyond the mortal. At times, she sees beautiful spirits, little gods that still flit between the spaces humans no longer see.

...others...she sees the more malevolent creatures. Yōkai, monsters that would as soon eat a human as look at them.

While many of her homeland have abandoned the old ways - let them fade from fact to fiction - Hinata, like her mother before her knows the truth.

The gods are not dead. Simply...fewer. More scattered as humans overrun their world. And though Hinata sometimes loves her peeks behind the curtain...they aren’t always pleasant.

One such example came while on a school trip when she was still in high school. They were off to visit Kyoto, her entire class ushered to the beautiful city to tour the old landmarks and shrines. For Hinata, it was like stepping back in time. So many old buildings, statues, temples...and though she was the only one to see them, kami!

...and yōkai.

She and a group of students were wandering the Imperial Palace grounds, gawking and taking picture after picture. Hinata, of course, was sparing many a glance to the various spirits around them, trying not to be too open and reveal her ability to see them.

But one happened to notice.

She couldn’t help it. Doing a double take, she stared as a man strode with clear purpose across the palace grounds. First his outfit caught her eye: exceedingly out of date, he looked like someone straight out of an old feudal era movie: complete with hakama, haori, and zori. But once that surprise faded, Hinata realized he had ears...and not just any ears. Cat ears. And out from under his hems...were two tails.

This wasn’t just any feline spirit. This was a nekomata. A dangerous yōkai that loved to make mockeries of humans...and at times, even eat them. To see one so boldly out in broad daylight (well...at least to her eyes) was a shock to say the least.

But then he happened to glance her way.

...and he froze. Eyes went wide, ears perked and tails bushing in instinct.

For a moment, she was convinced she was going to die.

They stared at one another, no one else aware as the other students kept walking and talking, leaving Hinata behind.

And then, slowly...his expression began to shatter. His ears drooped and hung back, eyes searching her face with clear hues of loss...and longing.

Did...did he recognize her…? But she was more than certain she’d never seen him before. A nekomata, surely, she would have known in a heartbeat.

“...Hinata…?”

He knew her name.

Tearing her eyes away from him, she looked to her group. He did the same. “I-I...I’m sorry, but...do I…? Do I know you?”

That, apparently...was his undoing. And in a flicker...he vanished.

“Ne, Hinata-chan!”

“Let’s go, you’re falling behind!”

Blinking at the words of her classmates, she’d staggered, and then followed.

...how strange.

The sight bothered her for the rest of the day, but for the remainder of their trip, she never again saw the strange nekomata. By the time she made her way home, she’d begun to forget. Thoughts of him were left behind in Kyoto.

...but he was not.

Safely back at home, she’d collapsed atop her bed that night, sighing in exhaustion and simply taking in the comfort and familiarity of home. Over her bed spilled moonlight from her parted curtains. She really should get up...and…

Before she could finish the thought...the light faded. A...a cloud, perhaps.

...no such luck.

Opening her eyes, she gasped as a silhouette crouched in her window. It...it was the man! From the palace grounds! Scrambling to put distance between them, Hinata planted her back against the far wall. “W...who are you?” she demanded in a harsh whisper, not wanting to alert her family. “What do you want?”

Tails slowly swaying, he just...watched her. “...so...you don’t remember me.”

“S...should I…? I’ve never seen you before.”

“It was...many years ago. A lifetime, one could say. I should have known your memories would not follow from one to the next…”

“I...I really don’t know w-what you’re talking about.”

A solemn sigh escaped him. “...I am Uchiha Sasuke. As you can see, miko...I am a yōkai. A monster. Specifically...a cursed cat. Nekomata.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

That earned a snort. “...no. I have no intention to eat you. Or harm you. When we met, you offended me with your staring. Funny, then...that this time, I was never so eager to meet your eyes.”

“...so...you’re saying we...we have met.”

“In another life. You humans are so short-lived...I knew this, and hoped you would be special. That your blood would grant you favor. I think, in a way, it did...but not against all evils.”

She considered that. Does he really mean they met in a previous iteration of...herself? He does indeed dress like a bygone era. He had to have been of some great age...even more so when one considered the years required to become a nekomata. “...you wanted me...to live?”

“...I did. Because I chose you as my bride.”

Hinata balked. “B...bride?”

“You were the daughter of a nobleman. Unhappy with the visions the gods had given you, eyes like your mother’s...true miko eyes. Those that see beyond the mortal, into the plane of kami and yōkai. Many years ago, such a blessing would be considered a boon. But now, and even then...you saw it as a curse. Something that marked you as different, that earned you scorn when revealed. Correct…?”

Still a bit hung up on the term ‘bride’, Hinata then digested his other words. So...he already knew about her eyes. His surprise, then, wasn’t that she could see him...but rather that she was a reborn version of someone he had loved…? “I was...I was truly your bride?” I married a yōkai…?

“You did not fully belong to the world of men. They refuted your gift, called you cursed. I promised to take you from that world...and I did. And we were happy.”

“...then what happened?”

“...I do not wish to recount it.”

She flinched. “S...sorry.”

“Perhaps...another night. Far from now. You...are the Hinata I knew, grown in a world I no longer recognize. Your memories of me are gone...and yet...I wonder if, in time, you will regrow them. If you would...indulge me again.”

“I-I mean...I’m just a high school student! I’m not really planning to get married r-right away! Maybe that was normal then, but...not now.”

Sasuke studied her for a time. “...then I will be patient, as you taught me how. You must grow...as your love did for me once. No matter the years, I will wait. And I will earn that love again. This time...I will not lose you.”

In spite of herself, Hinata felt a heat rise in her face. No one had ever...shown such an interest in her. True, this was...highly unorthodox. And yet...if he was right...she’d fallen in love with him before. Was such a thing truly possible…? A human and a yōkai…?

“...for now, I will leave you. I can see my presence unnerves you.”

“But -?”

“But...I will not stray far. I will protect you. This world is just as dangerous as it was in the past, Hinata...perhaps even more so. I shall be your shadow...and keep you safe from the darkened corners. You need only look...and I will be there. Until you are ready.”

Before she could protest, he vanished.

Utterly at a loss, she stared at the then-empty windowsill. So...a nekomata she’d loved and married in a past life had found her again...and wanted to be with her in this life, as well…? This was all so very confusing. Maybe...maybe she was dreaming.

Unsure, she closed and locked her window, drawing in the curtains before crawling into bed. She felt unable to sleep, too consumed by all he’d told her. But once her mind quieted, lulled by the quiet and the stillness, she finally found rest.

She could see what the fates had in store for her come morning.

                                                           .oOo.

     Tired OTL      So this is a far-flung continuation of days 148 and 156, where Sasuke is a nekomata determined to get a miko into his clutches! But this is a what-if of if she died and was later reincarnated into a modern life. Hence Sasuke being out of date, lol      I wanna do more, but my eyes are screaming and I'm v tired, so we'll leave it there xD Thanks for reading!

[sweetlangdon]

Night Terror (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU from “Sojourn.” Soft Michael. Angst, hurt/comfort, with a hint of fluff. Michael struggles to resist his father’s influence, and you try to help him. Takes place in the same ‘verse as Lights. 

Suggested listening. 

Word Count: 1.8k

The feeling that something’s wrong permeates your shapeless, incoherent dreams, strong enough to rouse you from sleep. A quiet gasp falls from your lips as you startle awake, hair tousled across your pillow, still drowsy and a little disoriented, limbs heavy. You lift your head to find the digital numbers of the clock sitting on your bedside table and groan at the time. Nobody should be awake at this hour. This hour shouldn’t even exist to you—you should be dead to the world and time itself until the sun brightens your room. But the nagging thought of something keeps your eyes open, the familiar, cramped bedroom slowly coming into focus in the dark.

You think it’s an instinctual reaction, that maybe your cat has broken something in his nightly rituals of terrorizing your apartment. It’s an almost monthly occurrence. It’s also a problem for tomorrow, when you’re not exhausted and you’ve had at least one fortifying cup of coffee before dealing with his shit.

But that was before you gained another roommate. Now, there’s another reason to worry; not that you don’t trust him, exactly—he’s been here for a little two months—but things can get downright volatile with the literal Antichrist under your tiny, insignificant roof.

…You’re still trying to process that, for one thing.

When you coaxed Michael Langdon off the streets with the promise of a hot meal and a warm shower, you never expected the metric ton of emotional baggage that he carried with him into your life. And you never expected to accept it, to try and help him, even if you still have no fucking idea what you’re doing.

He’s been quiet and distant at best and moody and stubborn at his worst. He has powers you don’t really understand and it freaks you out a lot more than you’ll admit to him. There’s been days where his mood shifts fast enough to give you whiplash—a darkness that crosses his face before he pulls you in with a watery, pale blue gaze and a whispered apology. You’ve seen the evil that lurks inside his soul (and fuck, is it terrifying), but you’ve also seen the gentleness, too.

It’s his messy, raw, and entirely human side that makes you determined not to fail him. Michael’s revealed his past in broken fragments over the last few weeks, and you kind of want to throat punch everyone who’s given up on him and used him in his short, confusing life. So far, you’ve kept him from stumbling down a dark path of vengeance and destruction. You don’t know how long it’ll last, and that scares you more than whatever the Devil planted in Michael’s soul. 

You kind of want to throat punch Satan, too.

If only it was that easy.

A muffled whimpering sound floats down the hallway to your bedroom. This time you know for sure it’s not your cat. You wrench back the sheets when panic begins to settle around your lungs like a vice. Your eyebrows knitting together, concerned, as you hop out of bed in a thin long sleeved shirt and pair of loose cotton shorts, your bare toes ice-cold against the hardwood floor. In the short walk down the hall, the cat finds you; he’s nothing but a black smudge in the shadows, a soft trilling sound while he follows your footsteps. You think maybe he’s worried too; that he’s sensed the same cold fear that prickles down the back of your neck.

“Michael?” His name pierces the quiet, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer. You find him, though, in the semi-dark of your living room, his face obscured by shadows, his hair like gold in the pale moonlight that falls across the floor from the windows. He’s a silhouette huddled on the floor in front of your couch, one knee drawn toward his chest, sitting among a nest of blankets and pillows scattered around him.

You notice the violent, wracking movement of his chest from the way he’s trying to stifle his crying. You realize it’s because he never meant to wake you up, and your own heartbreak manages to push away whatever fatigue had been dragging you down a moment before.

“What happened?”

You ask even though you know. He’s had nightmares before, and you’ve pretended not to notice unless he brings it up. You just want to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself.

You approach, slowly, and Michael’s head snaps up from the shelter of his hands. “Stay away from me.”

He sounds hoarse and though he tries for a commanding tone that you should be wary of, he can’t quite summon the energy. He hasn’t sounded this broken since the day he arrived in your apartment with a thousand-yard stare and unsteady legs. You hate it. You fucking hated it then—that tremor in his lower lip, the tears that made trails through the dirt on his face, the fact that you could barely get him to speak for two days—and you hate it even more now.

“Just go.” He waves you off, one hand sliding into his hair. You can’t ignore the tremble in his voice, how desperate he is in the fight against his tears. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  

“You’re not going to hurt me.” You settle on your knees and sit back on your legs in front of him, allowing him a comfortable amount of space. The hand slung over his bent knee is shaking, and some part of you wants to reach out and hold onto him, but you stop yourself. “Talk to me, Michael—I just want to help you. Tell me how…let me help.”  

“No.” It comes out as a sob, and your heart shatters. Michael shakes his head, mussed curls under his fingers moving with him. The silvery moonlight finds the tears on his cheeks, the rosy splotches across his skin and his bloodshot eyes telling you he’d been crying for some time. “He wanted me to kill you.”

The confession makes your mouth go dry and the breath catch in your lungs.

“It’s like an impulse I can’t control, sometimes.” His voice is still rough, wavering between sorrow and exasperation. “I wanted to snap your neck, like I was blinded by all of his anger inside of me. Like I…don’t even fucking recognize myself. It’s so loud…I can’t sleep because I don’t know who I’ll be when I wake up.”

Michael buries his face in his hand and you see more tears trickle across his cheekbones. “I don’t know what to do anymore…how to stop him from whispering in my ear. One of these nights, I’m afraid I’ll have your blood on my hands and that’s it. That’s all I’m meant to do.”

Warm tears spill down your own cheeks, and Michael’s scrawny, huddled form blurs for a moment. “But you didn’t,” you tell him. “You made a choice, right? You were strong enough to resist whatever you felt.”

“What happens when I can’t?” Michael pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyelids flutter closed. “I can’t do this forever.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.” You finally reach over and settle your hand on top of his, and you’re thankful when he doesn’t recoil from your touch. His fingers are impossibly warm under your own. “It’s going to take time, and it’s not going to be easy. You spent most of your life being told what you were supposed to be, Michael, and no one ever asked you what you wanted. No one ever gave you a choice. But you have that now. You get to decide. What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” He opens his eyes and blinks at you, bright blue nearly translucent in the light of the moon. He looks just as lost and solemn as he did the day you found him, and before you can think twice about it, your fingers lace between his on top of his knee. “Anything but whatever he wants from me.”

“That’s a start.” Your thumb brushes over his, and Michael’s fingers tighten around yours. “There’s so much good in you, Michael. I can see it. You just need to be reminded that it’s there. Lucky you have me for that.” You offer him a smile, and he nods at you, sniffling, the last of his tears streaking down his chin. “And you don’t have to do any of this alone. I’m right here. He can’t have you, because I’m right fucking here and he’s going to have to fight me first.”

That gets you a weak smile, an almost imperceptible curve of his lips. “I believe you.”

“You’d better,” you tell him. “I’m not the least bit threatening but I’ll kick his fucking ass for you, I promise.” Even though you don’t really want to, you squeeze his hand before you untangle your fingers. “Try to get some sleep. I know you’re exhausted.”

Michael reaches for your hand again, long, slender fingers curling around your own. He peers over at you in the dark with those soft blue eyes, and all you see is a lost, frightened child; someone who’s done with being abandoned and abused. You don’t want to ever be the one to make him feel that way.

“Stay.” Michael’s voice is small and gentle, a fraught whisper. “Please.”

You nod and crawl over to sit next to him with your back against the side of the couch. The cat is sprawled across one of the cushions above your head, asleep on one of the pillows that hadn’t fallen onto the floor. You know it’s because he prefers to be as close as he can manage to Michael. It’s there, beside him, your knee and shoulder pressed against his, that you notice the sweat that’s matted some of his curls to the side of his face. His shirt is damp, too; soaked through and clinging to his slender frame, dotted with tear stains. You lean into him, drawn to the impossible heat that he radiates.

Michael settles his head against your shoulder, his hair soft as it brushes your cheek. You forget how to breathe for a minute, surprised by the ease in his decision to be so close to you, to trust you, to find comfort in your presence. You feel the ebb and flow of his breathing against your side, and find yourself lulled by it. He’s so warm, you think; you can’t focus on anything else. Maybe you shouldn’t, because you don’t want to dwell on Michael’s sadness and loss and all the different ways that he’s been left unloved. You want to help him, and for the first time, you begin to believe that maybe you can.

Michael falls asleep before you. You follow soon after, your hand resting on top of his, as if you’ll be able to protect him while he sleeps. You hope that it’s enough, for now.

@lastregasolitaria @zeciex @mylippo @thelangdoncooperative @langdonfern @lvngdvns @langdonsgun @langdonsdemon @langdonsrapture

[grpgersmtta-blog]

The Guide Through Madness

[nostomannia]

A general look for at least the first interaction of Sol's Abandoned verse.

She's a poor little wet cat, are you gonna let her in?

[nostomannia]

My brain has so intensely latched to Sols abandoned verse. I really need to finish the drabble for Solitas canon ending, then maybe I'll write an alternate version.

But Solitas abandoned verse is basically the bad end. The worst thing, her fears coming true. Solita gets abandoned, and Deity leaves without even giving Solita the dignity of keeping their one and only promise to her. To be by her side as long as she helps them.

Solita is so attached to them. To be left to live a life knowing that they turned their back on her, discarding her like a ragged doll? That's a fate worse than her canon ending. It's a fate worse than death by the one who she worships above all else.

Being abandoned, Solita just. Shuts down. Near unresponsive to everything. Barely expressive. Just numb. If someone shows her even a little kindness she may start following them like a lost duckling. Sol stops being able to function by herself, and has severe separation anxiety. She has a lot of nightmares on top of all of that.

Abandoned Sol is alive, but not living.

[nostomannia]

"You're leaving?"

There wasn't a reply. 

"You… You're not, right?"

Silence. 

Solita’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton. She couldn't swallow. She couldn't breathe. Her body shook uncontrollably. Deity wouldn't look at her. 

"But-"

"It's not over, is it?" 

"I thought that was the fate you wanted?" The question they gave her made her feel ill. "It means you're free now." 

"Can- can you stay a little longer..?"

"The other night. When you completed that job, that was the final push I needed. I waited already. I waited until you recovered some, and that you were out of any consequences. I cannot linger any longer. I stayed because our… partnership deserves a proper departure." 

She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. "Not like this. Please." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I thought you'd never let me be alone."

They were silent for a moment. It was a moment that felt like an eternity. They then reached out, brushing a hand over her hair. Solita felt a sob growing in her chest.

"All promises come to an end, Solita." Her chest hurt. She couldn't stop the shaking. Wordless babble came from her mouth as she reached up and grabbed Deity's hand with both of her own. Tears finally coming as she lost the words to be able to beg for them to stay.

She could have sworn she saw the grimace, then their face soften. They reached with their other hand to wipe tears off her face. "However, I'll leave you with a gift. As a final piece of gratitude, and a farewell. It will help you find peace. Possibly more, eventually."

"What-?" She squeaked out, barely able to finish her sentence before their hand moved from her cheek downwards, meeting her collarbone before it sank into her body.

She froze. They've done this before. When her body was slowly dying, they did this to deal with the problem within her souls. But somehow this felt different.  Then, came the deep agonizing pain. It felt beyond her own body. She wanted to scream. But it wouldn't leave her throat. What left instead was a torrent of blood. 

"Oh dear." Was all Deity said at first, using the hand that Solita was holding to keep her in place as she attempted to struggle away. "Apologies. I'm not used to my full power. I'll be gentler." 

She could only respond by sputtering and choking on blood. 

"This should do. I do not believe I can do more. It will eventually blossom on its own." As they let go of her, she collapsed, gasping and coughing out blood. They sighed with some disappointment. "Perhaps I should have practiced some before attempting this. I must get used to working with minute details again." 

They crouched down to touch her face, brushing stray hairs away. "One day you may come to appreciate this present. However, I cannot stay by your side to personally witness the day when you do." Her eyes were drooping, an exhaustion from whatever Deity had done taking over her senses. But she made one final attempt to beg for them to stay, grabbing the hand that touched her face. 

"Do not fret, child." Their voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I will still be keeping an eye on you. I may not be with you, but I will not forget." Their hand slipped from her grip, and she faded into unconsciousness before she could see them disappear.

[nostomannia]

I'll get to writing soon but

I'm thinking about abandoned Sol still, and the thoughts of how all her insecurities are out in the open for display.

She doesn't have a mask of confidence to hide behind anymore. She can't smile her problems away.

She feels small. Helpless. She's barely able to dress up the way she used to love without feeling like she's just dressing up.

Abandoned Sol is just sad.

[nostomannia]

A sol who has been abandoned by Deity is one who is basically any other version of Sol's exact opposite. Nonexpressive, quiet, and incredibly subdued. Why should she pretend? Nothing matters anymore.

She probably develops some form of mutism, tbh. And not nearly as well-cared for as she would normally look. Her usually well-cared for curls would be limp straw, always tired-looking. Just not well.

[nostomannia]

tag dump

[nostomannia]

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Seventy-Seven: Essence ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina, blood, death ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Is it really worth all the fuss? You know how difficult it was for us to traverse those mountains as a group. Surely a singular man stands no chance - I say let the deserter run. He’ll be dead by morning in those cursed peaks.”

Dark eyes stare ahead as the advisor speaks.

“We nearly lost your younger son to them! Would you risk losing anyone else?”

“The knowledge any one of us possesses would wreak havoc in the wrong hands. A traitor bears secrets that are weapons to our enemies. We came north seeking freedom, and we’ve found it. But now that we’ve settled...someone’s turn tail and takes our location with them. Should they find another clan to bargain that information to...it will ruin the peace we’ve sought and found. I will risk a scout for the good of us all.”

“...and who would you send, Fugaku-sama?”

Seated atop a stump in his tent as his people only just begin to settle, the man takes a moment to think. “...you said it yourself. Those peaks nearly claimed my son, but he conquered them alone. Avoided enemies, kami, yōkai...if anyone has better odds to do so again, it would be he.”

“You would risk your heir -?!”

“You forget I have another son yet. Older.”

A tense silence falls as Fugaku dares him to refute it. He knows well the opinion of his ill elder son, Itachi. Anyone who dares question him is aptly punished.

“...of...of course, Fugaku-sama. Forgive me, Fugaku-sama.”

“You are forgiven. Fetch Sasuke. I will give him his task.”

Unable to ignore a summon from his father, Sasuke enters the tent of his commander and sits, head bowed. “You called for me?”

“I have a mission for you, of the utmost importance. One of our own has abandoned us, and retreated into the mountains now to our south. I want you to find him...and kill him. None abandon the Uchiha and live to tell the tale. I will not let his knowledge fall into enemy hands.”

Face still turned to the floor, Sasuke nevertheless feels his eyes widen. The mountains…? But…

“You traversed those cursed peaks unharmed, and alone. If anyone can find and end this man - ensure he speaks to no one - it would be you, my son.”

Pride stoked at the title, Sasuke shifts to bow. “...as you wish, otōsama. It will be done.”

Though he still has his doubts about kami and monsters, Sasuke can’t help but feel...nervous. He was warned to avoid the peaks once. Told that a return would mean his death. But his family has fled their persecution...if someone rats them out, it may be their end. He has to take this risk. As long as he ends the traitor first...that’s all that matters.

And he may yet avoid the misty vale.

Gearing up for his journey, Sasuke leaves on foot, refusing a horse. He won’t risk breaking a slender equine leg on the treacherous paths. It would only be a waste. Staring up at the fog-bathed peaks from the foothills, he finds his prey’s tracks...and begins.

The loose rocks and gnarled roots of the camphor trees make every step a gamble - any moment, one wrong move could send him careening back down the mountainside until gravity deems him ready to stop. Sword at his hip and bow along his back, Sasuke alternates between carefully treading, and ensuring he’s still on the turncoat’s trail.

It’s not until dusk that he finds what he’s looking for.

Rounding a bend in the beast-made path he’s been following, Sasuke pauses as he notices freshly-turned soil, and broken tree branches. It doesn’t take much to guess what happened: the man stumbled, knocked loose stones, and tried to grip the trees...only for their limbs to snap. Bracing his weight back carefully after tying a rope around an obliging trunk, Sasuke rappels down only a few feet before seeing the aftermath.

At the bottom of the small ravine, wedged deep and partially buried by stone, is his man. Blood has splattered over the sides - clearly he impacted more than once. There’s no moans of pain, no stirring of living limbs. A few ravens already begin feasting on what’s lost.

He’s dead. And with him, any chance of his clan’s exposure.

Head bowing with a relieved sigh, Sasuke hauls himself back up, recoiling his rope and staring out ahead.

...something about this spot feels...familiar.

Though pushing his luck, he decides to go just a bit further. Besides, it’s nearly dark - he’ll have to wait out the night either way. If the path is dangerous in the daylight and mist, it’s a death sentence in the dark.

Cautiously cresting the small uprise of earth, Sasuke pauses as the winds afford him a clear view forward, fog carried aside for just a moment.

This is it. The path down to the valley.

Unbidden, his heart leaps into his throat. He refuses to call it fear, but...he is wary. This place - a miracle to be found twice - is not one welcoming. Even now, he easily recalls the threats.

“It is she who keeps us safe. And it is by your grace she allows you passage. She could have ordered you killed.”

“And who here, in a place without swords, would kill a swordsman?”

“She would. With tooth and claw. Then, perhaps, you would believe.”

He’s never believed in gods - not reverently. While he’d never press his luck and seek to anger one - he’s not a fool - nor does he put his faith in them.

...but that sound...it hadn’t been anything human. Nor like any beast he’s met. It was...something else.

But a god? Surely it’s not possible…

All the while, he weighs his options. To sleep on a loose-stoned mountainside is dangerous. But trespassing back into a village he was warned to never return to may be just as perilous. The miko - Hinata, was that her name? - told him none there carry blades. Surely none of the people would be a viable threat.

...but what if there’s something...inhuman?

Making up his mind, he decides to compromise. Make his way to the valley floor, but avoid the village. Find flat, stable land, sleep for the night...and head back home in the morning. He can follow the traitor’s trail backwards to camp.

Simple.

The path is steep, narrow, and growing dark. Through the trees he goes until finding where the land levels.

He doesn’t see the gate...but he feels a strange spark along his skin, like walking through a spiderweb laced with lightning.

...some kind of...tripwire?

In the distance, thunder sounds. Or...it mimics thunder. The air grows heavy. Night seems to fall all at once. And a deluge of rain dumps like buckets overhead, weighing the canopies above him until they offer no shelter.

Panic.

Heart pounding in his chest, Sasuke draws his blade, pressing his back to a trunk. Black eyes flicker back and forth in the darkness, able to see only hints of silhouettes as moonlight struggles to break through. A hand spares to mop back the wet lengths of his hair before gripping his sword again, hold shaking.

Then thunder claps again, closer this time...but it isn’t thunder. A roar, mighty and strong, echoes in his chest like a taiko drum and startles him to a strange stillness. Something heavy lands nearby, and the earth thrums as a beast of legend growls in anger.

“Trespasser…”

Trembling but still holding his blade, Sasuke struggles to see. Every so often, a small beam of moonlight reflects off shimmering scales that rustle like leaves in a dry summer wind, faintly heard over the sounds of pouring rain. Footsteps - heavy with purpose, and yet light with grace - seem to shake the ground.

Then out of the darkness, like a spark from flint, a lantern simply...appears, held aloft before him, but away. Facing him is the miko’s back, long curtain of dark hair sleek with rainwater.

Illuminated in her sphere of light is the dragon.

Scales of silver and ivory glint alongside moonstone antlers, quicksilver eyes sharp as pupils shrink in the light. A white mane still ebbs and flows like tall grass in a breeze, unburdened by the weight of water. A long slender neck arches and bows to hover a snake-like snout mere inches from the priestess’ brow.

“Please, O-Suigin-sama...don’t kill the wanderer.”

Sasuke stares at her back, eyes wide and breath rushing. She’s...defending him? Why? It was she who bore the god’s warning! Why defy it?

“You said when you found me that this is the place of the lost, the forgotten, the abandoned and the seeking. When he first discovered us, he was lost, but did not raise his blade. You gave your warning. He left. Against all odds, he has found us again.”

The god stares.

“You told me I bear the all-seeing white eyes. No truth lies hidden from me. And I can see the essence of this man - his heart is laid bare. He is not our enemy! I obeyed your wishes...I urged him to leave. But fate entangles all men. Surely...he was meant to return, if it went against the wishes of a god.”

Nostrils flare as the beast exhales plumes of vapor. “...I will not kill him. But none may linger who may yet leave. He carries the truth of this place...it cannot be known to one outside this valley’s walls. It invites danger…”

“...O….O-kami-sama,” Sasuke implores, slowly raising his hands in surrender before sheathing his blade. “...I mean you no harm, and no disrespect. I know your fear...it’s what brought me here. One who betrayed my kin risked the same danger. He knew of our hiding place. And I came here to stop him. I know well the weight of the knowledge of a secret. I give you my word on my honor: I have no intention to bring your people harm. I only sought refuge from the peaks. Come morning, I will return...and your secret will be safe with me.”

In a gesture of sincerity, Sasuke swallows his pride and kneels, bowing his brow to the wet grass, braced on his palms.

Both miko and kami stare at the gesture before the former turns to the latter. “...O-Suigin-sama…”

Serpentine eyes blink slowly. “...how odd you are, wanderer. None here found their way...I brought them. You alone have stumbled upon my eden...and you alone seek to leave. You were willing to kill for your secret...as am I.”

The miko moves to speak, but is cut off.

“I chose my miko carefully - she has eyes that see both worlds. If she tells me you are to be trusted...I in turn will trust her. But know this knowledge is heavy with souls. It is here I gather those otherwise unwanted by men. I keep them...they are mine and mine alone, tossed aside by their kin. I will let no harm befall them. If you have found this place - not once, but twice - perhaps my miko is right. Perhaps...fate ties you here.

“Someday... you will be the lost, the forgotten, the abandoned and the seeking…”

Not knowing what else to say - wanting to refute it, but feeling weight in his chest at her words - Sasuke doesn’t reply.

“Bring him to the village. Give him what he requires...then release him come morning. We shall see what path this wanderer takes...and if the vale lies at its end.”

With that, the serpentine dragon coils before leaping skyward, rippling like a ribbon and disappearing into the mist.

“...come. You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes.”

As though heeding her, the rain slows...and then stops.

Still shaken, Sasuke finds his feet, following. “...why did you defend me?”

“Because I meant what I said.”

“You were so distrustful before.”

“Because it is as O-Suigin-sama says: none had found their way here until you. I was...frightened, and wary. But to do so twice assures me: you are meant to know this place.”

“What is...the all-seeing white eye?”

“That is a tale for another time...but it gives me sight into both worlds. The plane of men, and of gods. I know truth without fail. I am O-Suigin-sama’s eyes.” The miko’s head bows. “...she took me when no others would. The people she brings to the valley are those between the planes - abandoned by men, rejected by gods. She gives them what they need. She heals them. Here we are safe...here we are wanted.”

Something in her words strikes a knowing in him.

He’s led to the same small, empty house. “A meal will be brought, and spare clothes. Supplies will be gathered for your journey back. And remember...tell no one of us. Not your most trusted kin. Do not abuse our trust in you.”

“...very well.”

     Oh golly it's late and I'm tired, but...this is done?      This is technically a follow up to day sixty, and...well, just like that one, I'm not sure if I like this one either, haha - at least, I don't know if I pulled it off like I wanted, but...today was a long day, and I couldn't start writing until pretty late. Add in having NO ideas for this until even LATER, and...well, you get this.      Miko (at least, OLD miko) are SUPER interesting, and I honestly need to read up on them more. They convened with gods and in some cases were said to marry them. They had visions, performed rituals...I love their lore, and I borrow it both here, and also for witchy lore in my Nightwalkers universe! While I'm far from an expert, hopefully I did okay with her here - I didn't have time to look things up / refresh my memory.      So yeah, Sasuke's found himself a little tangled up in two worlds: that of his human clan, and now a strange village that seems to exist in-between, featuring a character of my own, though...in a different form than typical. I reference her in a lot of things, actually - she's just typically actually human most of the time, but this is meant to be her god / kami verse. So she gets a little spotlighting in this one, though I try not to focus on her too much, since this challenge is about SasuHina!      ...anyway, I'm rambing really bad cuz I'm tired, so I'll stop here lol - thanks for reading!