eccentricbookworm99

[eccentricbookworm99]

The muse is such a fickle bitch.

It took 2 weeks to write chapter 3.

It took 2 days to write chapter 4.

I don’t know, man…my brain works on its own weird timeline and I’m not in control of the schedule AT ALL.

[eccentricbookworm99]

Shout out to all the ridiculously talented Sukugo artists out there. Seriously, you inspire me with your beautiful work. 🖤🖤🖤

[eccentricbookworm99]

After one false start and one rewrite later, chapter 3 of “In the Winter” is finally finished.

To celebrate, here is an image from the film “An Andalusian Dog” by Salvador Dali, the infamous razor-cutting-into-an-eyeball scene. It makes an appearance in chapter 3 (There is also a whole Dali exhibit, that I mostly recount from memory rather than imagination).

You may perhaps be wondering (or not), ‘Okay great, Bookworm! But when are you going to actually post any of this on AO3?’ The answer: Friday, July 4th. Expect the first chapter then my dearest darkest.

[eccentricbookworm99]

Artist Sukuna in the fic I’m writing: I’m going to do a version of this painting.

Author: Uh, that’s not the piece I have in my outline—

Sukuna: —don’t care! I’m doing this one!

Author: *sighs* Okay…we’re…gonna do this one.

*and this folks is how chapter 3 of In the Winter is going…

[eccentricbookworm99]

I need to be able to do with words the thing that is happening visually in this picture…if that makes sense. 🖤💀

[eccentricbookworm99]

I just wanna lick the blood off that cheek bone…#perfectlynormal

Heian era sukugo

[eccentricbookworm99]

Before dipping your toes into pt. 2 please, for the love of Bacchus, go read beauty and sin—It’s a goddam work of art dripping with symbolism and sensuality! 🥰 I’m obseeeessssssed!

It's here! Part 2 of my Satosukusugu Series - Greed, Pride and Gluttony (aka beauty and sin-verse)!

Available on ao3!

[eccentricbookworm99]

So…I just finished writing chapter 2 of “In the Winter.” 🍾🎉👏🏻 This chapter contains my favorite of the 4 fragments, fragment II. I’m still working that creepy unsettling du Maurier vibe. I may give Hitchcock’s version of “Rebecca” a rewatch.

Oh, and here is some Van Gogh that is referenced in this chapter, Corridor in the Asylum 1889:

[eccentricbookworm99]

I’ve gone from reading a bunch of books featuring unhinged female characters to reading a bunch of books featuring gay love triangles that end in murder…happy pride month I guess?

[eccentricbookworm99]

Ahhhhhhhh! I just finished chapter 1 of In The Winter, my sequel to The Nightmare and the Honored One. I hope to start posting on AO3 by July 4, once I have a few more chapters stashed away.

It’s a bit more difficult, folding the already written scenes into the narrative and creating connective tissue. I’m no editor. I’m terrible at that stuff really.

But! I hope people will want to read a gothic tale of ghostly possession set on a wind swept heath, of the star-crossed and blood-stained Sukugo variety!

And art…can’t forget the art! From chapter 1, here is the The Harrowing of Hell by Bosch:

[eccentricbookworm99]

You ever just want to dump all your current WIPs and write a historical lighthouse AU that maybe you and 2 other people would wanna read?

So…just me…?

[eccentricbookworm99]

It’s Sunday morning and I’m working on the sequel to The Nightmare and the Honored One.

Here is a piece of art from chapter 1, some lovely Van Gogh to brighten your day:

[eccentricbookworm99]

I’ll never get tired of looking at this…*sniff*…it’s just so goddam beautiful. 😍🥰😍

The Killing Moon

Art Inspired from fic - 'The Nightmare and The Honored One' by EccentricBookworm on AO3

[eccentricbookworm99]

There is a metal spiral staircase in the place I’m staying in for my holiday.

I think I must incorporate it into my sequel fic.

Something grotesque or lewdly sexual is going to happen there…;)

[eccentricbookworm99]

In The Winter

(Sequel to The Nightmare and the Honored One)

Fragment IV

Torches in the distance. A multitude of lights, flickering like fireflies.

But no fireflies exist here. For it is winter.

Dead things, dead leaves, crunch softly underfoot. He is a red eyed beast prowling the dark. Moving silently, swiftly, his ears prick up, harkening at a sound.

Somewhere in the night there is a volley of screams. A banshee’s wail, cutting through the wintery air like a knife.

Tensing, he readies the blade in his hand.

Metal flashing. Eyes flashing.

Eyes that belong to a demon. To a ghostly reaper who waits, concealed by the dark.

He rushes from the trees, limbs propelled forward by the sound of yet another unholy scream. There is pain in that sound. A pain that his own heart echoes. It beats—a fierce, wild thing—as he races forth.

As he attacks…

As he slithers from the shadows and cuts the first unsuspecting guard’s throat. There is a wrenching sound, a strangled gurgle. It merges with the symphony of pain that is already playing, casually covering his crimes.

He lunges forth, a tiger springing. He brings down another.

The night is alive with a cacophony of death.

It’s all around him. A pained, horrifying dirge dogs his steps. Even as that distant voice grows fainter, ever fainter, coming from somewhere below.

Down in the dungeon. Where shouts rise up, along with the flicker of fire. The light draws emerging shadows on the wall in soot.

His arm trembles as he realizes his own futility, his tragic error. Even as he thinks still—

Wait for me, Eurydice…

Wait for me…

Then, finally:

Don’t take him from me again…

***

He opens his eyes in the dark. To wetness sliding across his skin.

Sukuna’s pulse hammers in his ears, roars through his veins. His heart is heavy with some unknown emotion, propelled by a foreign feeling:

Regret.

Don’t take him from me…

The echoes of screams fade from his mind, from his dream. And he realizes…

…this is not the first time he has dreamt of this particular scene. This excruciating, agonizing moment.

Gold light flickering like fireflies. Shimmering beneath a crescent moon…

Loss. His heart beats, pounds, with unbearable loss. A grief too near. Too present.

Even though it’s from long ago. Centuries past.

“Would you care to take some tea?”

Through bleary eyes Sukuna registers a figure kneeling nearby. Watching him. Waiting. Eyes like violets, reflecting sadness.

Uraume.

Sukuna sits up on the old leather settee. He sees the tray on the low table: the ceramic pot, the delicate china cup. Matching containers of honey and milk crowd its surface, his preferences noted and thoughtfully provided for.

It’s unnerving, how Satoru’s assistant waits on him like this. Always anticipating his every want and need. How they dote on him, their eyes filled with unearned admiration and devotion.

How they practically ignore Satoru’s existence whenever Sukuna is in residence.

Still, his unease does not stop him from partaking in the offered refreshments. Beside the pot there is a covered plate, emanating a sweet scent, which Sukuna uncovers. Freshly made scones, dripping with honey, shine like satin on a small platter.

“Those were just baked, I took them from the oven mere minutes ago.” Sukuna tenses at their eager tone.

Eager to please. Eager to be acknowledged.

But he does not acknowledge them.

He simply tucks into his food and drink like a king. Like it is expected for him to be waited upon.

Because that’s how he likes it. And It’s also how they like it. His and Uraume’s will perfectly align on this point. After all…

…Sukuna is given free reign in Satoru’s house. And not just the house itself, but complete dominion—

Over the art studio.

Over his servant.

Over Satoru himself.

Begone, young one…

Sukuna stills, hand hovering over the tray. For he remembers the cold, calculating look in that Other Satoru’s eyes. His curt dismissal. His blunt proclamation that Sukuna was lacking.

No…Sukuna does not have dominion over that one, no matter what he thinks. For that one is a spider, a scorpion, offering poisonous barbs and sharp stings in equal measure.

You tempt my ire…

Sukuna fidgets. He chews his food with renewed vigor, gnashing his teeth. All while Uraume watches silently from the corner. He thinks obsessively of the Other Satoru, of his growing need to impose his will on him. His fingers tremble slightly over his cup, betraying his desire, but also his reservations.

It is a dangerous game he is playing.

It is also one he fears losing. Falling prey to a more devious and treacherous opponent.

Still, his mouth curls with a budding cruelty in one corner. It is not in his nature to turn away a challenge, to flee from threats. No, those things—

—make his heart pound like a war drum. It lights the fire in his veins and the violence in his eyes. And always, always, there is this pulsing, hungering lust for life, for all things perfect and poisonous and beautiful—

—and Sukuna bites hard into a scone, tongue swirling honey against the roof of his mouth. Decadent, sweet. Just like—

—You do not know the taste of blood—

—that other one, the one Sukuna can’t stop thinking about. It’s like a fever under his skin, a malady, a compulsion without a cure. He fears he has already been poisoned by him, by intrusive thoughts of him, with no antidote, no relief in sight. Captivation, beguilement, burrows into him. Bewitching, nesting, festering, taking hold. He is a tremulous insect already in his grip, his web. And it will not do.

It will not do.

*End Fragment

Note: This has obviously become an obsession. No choice but to maybe lock in and start outlining a full story for this. My other WIPs aren’t sparking joy…because my head keeps getting turned by this one. 🖤

Link to the original:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55723399/chapters/141454255

[eccentricbookworm99]

There was a post on the AO3 subreddit today that recalled a specific memory for me:

I once wrote a story in longhand on some fancy cream stationery and mailed it across the globe as part of an art trade. Which seems like a very Jane Austen thing to do.

This was years ago, of course.

It may have even been for the avatar that’s still on my very first account. Not sure. And that was the one and only copy of that story. I put it in a mail bin and now it’s gone.

[eccentricbookworm99]

I’m glad I’m about to leave town. I need a break. My creativity is suffering and my attention span is all over the place. I’m bouncing around between 3 WIPs and making progress on exactly none of them.

So…I’ll either come back home refreshed or I’ll possibly come back with a 4th WIP. lol. Let’s spin the wheel and see which it comes up on.