#sonny writes

[dirty-bosmer]

Wip Wednesday

Idek how long it's been since I last posted one of these, but I'm finally feeling settled after all the life changes. Returning to old hobbies at long last :))

Tagged by: @theflowergrrl @chiqita @flycasual @elavoria @cresu @expended-sleeper @luciolafantastic @inkoherentwriting @skyrim-forever @artsykip-arts @heavy-metal-dick @theoneandonlysemla @unironicallytes @sulphuricgrin @hircines-hunter

Tagging you all back for this week + @wispstalk @zupergoddess @justafoxhound @kookaburra1701 @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @dark-brotherhoe @ladytanithia

Back on my Lucien/Nim crack-fic bullshit:

In his heart, Lucien knows such softness has no place in the Dark Brotherhood, but he can’t bring himself to leave despite her transgressions, despite her weakness. And he resents her for it, that she can walk away when he will be repairing what they unmade for the rest of his days.  Here they are, fighting the same battle against loss, desperate to preserve the last gangrenous limb. Together, they cling to what the grave has already claimed. Proof that no one truly buries their family in the ground. They carry them on their back, in their chest, forever. At night, Lucien lies awake beside Nimileth, clutching the fleeting warmth of her body. His heart beat slows as the heat of the day wanes, and he wonders how long the memory of a person, of a feeling, could substitute for the pulse of the real thing. Fear and anger overwhelm him, dragging his addled mind to exhaustion, and it’s moments like these where he swears he hears a voice— her voice or something not unlike her voice— clear and cold as a night breeze. “Listener,” it says, “your family is ruined. Your family is dead, and you are too.” 

[pocketsonny]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"I think of this and…how much I want Shizun to hold me at the end of the day," for a moment his voice sounded smaller, "…Is it alright for this disciple to yearn for Shizun so much?"

Wrote a little bingqiu drabble <3

[darth-sonny]

I realize I am double dipping, but if you'd like another prompt for the ask game...

40. Identity reveal/major secret revealed, Kirby from your Prime!Leo AU 😁

PUT THAT GUY IN A SITUATION™ #40: IDENTITY REVEAL/MAJOR SECRET REVEALED

This wasn't meant to happen, this wasn't meant to happen, this wasn't meant to happen, this wasn't supposed to happen—

Kirby didn't mean for this to happen! They panicked, they didn't mean to...

The teacher was just being nice (the door was closed), trying to calm them down (were the back rubs necessary?) from a... panic attack?...(there was a hug, too...)

They panicked... they panicked!!....

Kirby didn't look at the other kids in the hallway, backing away from the ungodly amalgamation of flesh, muscle, eyes, teeth, and Kraang matter crawling along the floor, spweing blood and pus and moaning and crying and asking why, why, why, wHY, W̴̼̯͒Ḧ̷̦̯́͐Ỷ̷͉̟͝?̷͕̑!̶̪͖̍?̴̰̋̓!̵̲͍̅

Their claws are out, their tail had escaped the confines of their shirt, waving around and wrapping itself around them. They could feel their face split open, eyes closed tightly, yet being able to see everything around them; the scared and disgusted faces of their classmates, the teachers frozen in their tracks at the sight in front of them, they even see some run away to throw up somewhere that isn't here...

The mass' attention is divided between the both of them - between the crying child with alien features and the fleshy blob of eyes and teeth.

They wanted to scream. Five years of making sure, taking every precaution to not expose themself, going through who knows how many cloaking brooches and illusion charms and spells to hide their awful features...

All for that to go down the drain because of a stupid F̵̖̖̚Ṳ̷͗͝Ĉ̵̝̠̣̈͑K̸̘͎͂Ỉ̶̢̥͑N̷̥͉̈́͊͋G̷̩͎̀ ̶̔̃ͅP̵̲̈́̓̇Ạ̵͎͂́Ñ̸͍͈͈̄Í̵͎͒C̶̡̩̖̃ ̸̡͔̅͝A̴̫̫͊Ṫ̴ͅŢ̶͕̖̿̀͛A̵̛͈͜Ċ̶̛̹̉K̴̙̤͔̀́!̶̻̹̦̓!̸͉̄!̶̖̌̽

They didn't know that the teacher was infected. They didn't know that she had remnants of Kraang matter in her body. Kirby didn't know that.

"Stop looking at me..."

No one knew who the voice belonged to. No one's ever heard it before.

S̸̼͇̤̿͐̓̑̊̾̀͠T̵̜̘̻͐O̴̢̫̱͈̻̠͍̭̹̓P̶̧͈͙̬̰̌̇͐̊̓̓̕ ̵̨͉̱̳̖̟̰̉͑́̀̊̍͝L̸̜̄̈̒̋̇̂̏̍͊O̷͚̬̹̞̩̘͑̈́̀͋ͅͅO̷̙͆̍̔͌͒̐͘͝K̵̮̟͔̪̹͋̂̃̔̓̈́͝ͅȈ̸̡̨̛͔͖͚͉̩̗͙̓̌̈N̷̺̏͝Ğ̶̼̫̦ ̷͈̲̼͔̖͗̂A̵̞̦͎̫̙̥̺̥̓͋̅͊̃̑̌͐͠T̷̨͙̭̥̗̥̠͉͐̉̀̓̈́͘̕͝ͅ ̶̘͎̭̻̬̘̊̒̾͜͜M̵̳͈̐̈́E̸̛̳̜̥͎͍̓̍͌̔̇͜!̷̨̡̧͇̯̱̺̠̈͌͐͠ͅ!̸̠͕̽͋̽̄͌͗̓͝!̸̘͓̻̙̫̻͕̹̆̌̈́͌̽̆͝

Kirby didn't know half of their school was infected, too...

[moonlights0nata]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“Hey, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai spoke up suddenly and at this Atsushi looked up, meeting Dazai’s eyes for a moment before the man bent down slightly at the waist, one arm crossed at his back and the other extended towards him, offering his hand. “Would you give me this dance?”

i haven’t been posting fics here cause i haven’t been here much lol but i really like this last one i wrote ! surprise it’s not ygo

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged over the last few weeks by: @flycasual @chiqita @cresu @silly-little-diary @the-radic0le @saltymaplesyrup @sugarysins @dark-brotherhoe @kookaburra1701 @gilgamish @hircines-hunter @umbracirrus Thank you qt pies 💕 tagging you all back for this week if you haven't posted already :))

Back to working on ch5 of Another Night in Bravil. Lucien and Nim have escaped da club, but the madness adventure is not over. Unfortunately for Lucien but fortunate for me, we are still trapped in a really bad skooma trip, swirling down the funnel of unpleasant memories :)

Numbness and nothing. A nothing that grows, kindling a novel kind of claustrophobia that feels at once like he’s being crushed from all angles and elongating to the point of dissolution. Then all at once, he comes unloosed, scatters like starlight to the edges of his sightless vision, no sense of up or down, backward or forward, as all goes blindingly white.  ~♡~ Daybreak and dawnlight and the distant sloshing of the canal. A dusting of pollen coats the kitchen window in a pale green film. Lucien’s eyes itch just to look past it as he stares into the garden, where the muscadines have surrendered ground to the pigweed and bluegrass. Mellow morning light rolls slowly through the grime, turning the rotted, yellow pine of their house warm and golden. It softens the scratches and hollows gouged into the floor and walls, blending them into the grain, and it’s the only time the jagged edge of Bravil is eroded enough that Lucien can stomach the thought of living here, dying here, toiling down to bone until the Night Mother deems him worthy enough to call him home.  It’s quiet even for morning. Too quiet. He’d grown used to the stomping in the house above. Thump, thump, thump through the ceiling, pounding at all hours of the day, thumps so loud he’d disposed of the occupants just to rid himself of the racket. And in the night, thump, thump, thump from the other side of his office door. The husk of Nimileth shuffling through the house, searching for the ghosts of their family or the ghost of herself to stuff back into her bloodless heart, thumps so loud he'd thought to rid himself of them too— Lucien scrapes the memories from his skull, because those dark days are over, and he watches her from the window to prove it, taking comfort in the fact that she’s recovered from… whatever delirium it was that had possessed her. She's outside, skin bronzed, working the soil to prepare the garden for her blackberries and Dragon’s Tongue, holding up a handful of worms up for Lucien to see, because these days, she always knows he's watching. It’s a good sign, her back in the flesh after a long convalescence, and surely it won’t be long before she returns to her duties as Silencer too.   But on her face is a smile so foreign it frightens him. Vivid and strange and too sharp against her round cheeks. Yet it's not the eeriness of the shape that startles him as much as the edgeless joy it contains, the unguarded mirth dancing like starlight in her eyes that lets Lucien know he’s still losing her.

Nim j chillin in her garden with her worms, and Lucien's experiencing cosmic horrors. smh he can't let a girl experience apotheosis in peace

Tagging: @justafoxhound @skyrim-forever @elavoria @theoneandonlysemla @zupergoddess @heavy-metal-dick @unironicallytes @wispstalk @nuwanders @pocket-vvardvark @sanzas-reverie @sulphuricgrin @inkysqueed @stormbeyondreality @ladytanithia @labskeever

No pressure. Much love <3

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Missed a few weeks of these (as usual 😅) and have been tagged by @theoneandonlysemla @inkoherentwriting @chiqita @skyrim-forever @unironicallytes @heavy-metal-dick @nuwanders

Tagging you all back + @pocket-vvardvark @elavoria @silly-little-diary @gilgamish @justafoxhound @sylvienerevarine @wispstalk @babyblueetbaemonster @madam-whim @ladytanithia @bosmerblood @sulphuricgrin @hircines-hunter + anyone else who feels up for it :)

Today I supply some more Raminus being bummed out about his new job and the current state of the Mages Guild:

Nowhere in the King and Queen was truly quiet, let alone private, especially on a Fredas evening, but with a bit of good fortune, they settled into an empty booth sandwiched between a band of loudly arguing mercenaries and a pair of Journeyman perched catatonically over their beers, looking so shell-shocked that Raminus could scarcely imagine what unfavorable score they’d received on their final exams.  “Well,” Nim said, sliding into her seat beside him, “we’ve had better times in worse places than this.” Raminus stared blankly into the depths of his ale as if it might offer some kind of guidance. The truth was, he did want to be here, simply hadn’t the faintest idea how to behave now that he was. What had it been like before? The late nights laughing too loudly, drinking too much, talking about nothing and about everything. Now, seated in the same tavern where he and Nim had once shared such innocent evenings, when Raminus touched the memories, they bruised. And now every gesture, every smile, felt like a performance. The Arch-mage wouldn’t slouch, wouldn’t fidget, wouldn’t kiss his lover in public. The Arch-mage couldn’t simply be. Raminus had never thought much about how Hannibal carried himself before— how effortlessly he’d worn his mantle of wisdom and restraint— only knew that as Arch-mage every word he spoke had been measured, weighed, authoritative. Here, surrounded by former students who had once seen him spill ink across his lectern, Raminus felt ten years old again, just a boy playing dress-up in his tutor’s robes. Raminus took a slow sip, hoping the drink might wash the thought away, but it lingered, bitter as the dregs. A year ago, the most dreadful thing he’d had to deal with was a spoiled Apprentice hounding him for a recommendation letter who had never heard the words ‘work ethic’ or ‘no.’ He’d thought those days exhausting at the time but would give anything to trade his current burdens for such petty annoyances, when now the complaints came in the form of death tolls and missing names, in distraught mothers turning up to the lobby red-eyed asking after their sons and daughters. “For a man with a perfectly good drink in his hands, you’re certainly not doing much drinking.”

[dirty-bosmer]

Wip Wednesday

tagged by: @chiqita @sulphuricgrin @cresu @skyrim-forever @elavoria @heavy-metal-dick @wispstalk @nuwanders @hircines-hunter @sugarysins

Thank you all 💕 Tagging you back for this week as well as: @unironicallytes @justafoxhound @theoneandonlysemla @labskeever @saltymaplesyrup @adoring-lucian-fan

Was hit by some ungodly urge to open up my crack-fic again. Two days later, and I think I'll have chapter 4 of Another Night in Bravil out this week?? Wild for me.

So here's part 15 of Lucien crashing out at da club:

Lucien levels her a look that’s meant to be menacing, doesn’t know why she bothers asking when she’s the reason he’s here in the first place— the taste of moonsugar in his mouth and a Nimileth-shaped hole burned straight through his memory. Why, after what she’s done, he should be the one pinning her in place, shaking her back to her senses, demanding to know what madness has claimed her. He should be asking how, after all he’s done for her, could she do this to him? How dare she, to him? But either Nimileth senses none of this distress or simply doesn’t care. She remains before him unblinking, pupils so large they’re near indistinguishable from the iris. And though it shames him to confess it, it takes him a moment to work up the courage to ask anything at all. What have you done? How could you betray me? How could you do this to us?  Turning the questions around in his mouth, he finds they’re too large to swallow down. Something he risks choking on. “Lucien?” she says, and he hates the way his name sounds in her mouth. She distorts it with a lazy roll of her tongue, changing some vital essence of him merely by speaking it. “What’s wrong?” “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Tell me, Nimileth. What did you give me?” “A Colovian Amber. You didn't like it?” For a moment, all he can do is stare. Her big, empty eyes stare back, go blink, blink. It pulls a scoff out of him, half-laugh, half-choke, and he wants to grab her by the throat, make her admit it, make her say something real. “Don’t insult me.” “Nine, if you didn’t like it why’d you drink it so fucking fast? I’ll get you something else then. What do you want? They have some sours here that are really…” Already, she’s heading for the bar, shoving past him like he’s not even there, and he snatches her wrist, jerks her back to him. “No, enough with this charade. You will answer me now. What did you do?” She doesn’t reply at once, leaving his voice to echo in his ears. As much desperation there as anger. As much raw fear as boiling rage.  “What haven’t I done?”

[dirty-bosmer]

Wip Wednesday

Tagged over the past few weeks by: @sulphuricgrin @cresu @silly-little-diary @chiqita @ladytanithia @labskeever @heavy-metal-dick @elavoria @unironicallytes @theoneandonlysemla @skyrim-forever @pocket-vvardvark @stormbeyondreality @hannah-heartstrings

Thanks frens <3 Tagging you back for this week :))

Taking a peak and what's going on in my Lucien Lachance/Sheo!Nim crack fic:

On the surface, in the taverns, Bravil remains untainted by her presence, her sickness smearing into every other indeterminate shade of filth. The town hides her rot like it hides its own corruption, which is to say not at all because when the whole world is an open wound, when the infection is everywhere, there’s no source to carve away, only the comfort of wasting.  And in Bravil, there's no shame in being ugly. There’s no innocence to unsettle her, no beauty to trespass upon. In Bravil, she’s no one's hero, no god, just a woman left to languish as she pleases, bleeding through the bloated wood as sure as mildew spreads with the summer rains. And when she stumbles into the night— skooma-drunk, forgetting her own name— the warm wind whisks away what fragile sense of herself remains. Fully drunk under halved moons, Nim shimmers in the starlight like a ghost and dreams of a future so clean and clear it seems empty. In the Night Mother’s crypt, the bones of her family crumble to dust, then to nothing, and even if she could bury them, she knows they’d sprout no new life, because love, no matter how pure, is not a seed, bears no promise. Inside her, love sews nothing but grief.    Death is life, the hymn that lulls her to sleep. What hope is there for a god who only knows how to tear apart, creating more loss where she’d meant to make meaning? But she can’t blame herself completely for not knowing any better, not really. Death is life— And it was Mephala who had given her the knife, who taught her that when all you know how to do is cut, even the most beautiful things will bleed.