Sunneh

@sunnehface.bsky.social

566 Followers 550 Following

Author of "The Wayward Witch Chronicles" #autistic #asexual #PNW Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Sunneh Royal Road: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/92321 Twitch: twitch.tv/sunnehface

A grey cat sitting in a bathtub. Her eyes are wide, almost crazed.
Lore (spoiler alert!) Less of a straight "lore reveal", and more of a "mindless rambling about lore I'm trying to develop" moment today! I've been trying to pin down a good name for the main pantheon of gods in Vitaelia. Naming, I should mention, is my least favorite part of writing. Characters, places, concepts - UGH. As much as I love wordsmithing, I put a lot of pressure on teasing out just the right moniker for things, and I'm practically never fully satisfied with what I find! Give me any name in the story, and prepare for a ten-minute rant on what isn't perfect about it. Right now, I've been cheaping out on the pantheon. We have eight primary gods, a mother/father/children-style arrangement. They're worshipped individually and together at what I'm currently calling "Manygods" churches, but I probably don't need to give a full lecture on why that name feels too shallow. Right now, I'm playing around with some concepts based on compass points. Each of the eight primary deities would be assigned a direction (north/south/west/east, then nw/ne/sw/se). Temples dedicated to the pantheon as a whole would have eight arched entrances and altars. From this, I'm deriving a possible name of "the Arches", where these deities would be considered arch-gods (tee hee wordplay) to distinguish themselves from the other minor deities of the world. I also like this approach considering the structural use of arches, both as gates and as supports, which feels appropriate for the role these deities play on Vitaelia. What do yall think? Is there a better way to dress up the pantheon name?
A sleeping black kitten with a patchy round belly
A strange looking black kitten, cradled lovingly against a chest
A clear oval resin pendant. A small grouping of purple flowers is surrounded by sparkling teal stones and the pendant is rimmed in square crystals.
A pile of four kittens, all staring up at the camera. One, though, has a different expression from the rest....
A blue-eyed, light-furred longhair kitten peers from behind a plastic divider.
A word count reading "148097 words".
A winged woman flying over a snowy, forested landscape. Her wings are dappled like a snowy owl's, and her deep indigo cloak flutters in the wind. She's wearing a pouch at her belt, and from it, a small froglike person is peering out, smiling widely with one hand gripping the woman's belt for safety.
Two ends of a striped scarf. One end, the yarn is a bit fuzzy and worn in; the other, the yarn has crisp colors and solid lines.
A drop spindle on a white blanket with blue paisley. The spindle has a small amount of a berryish yarn spun, and a loose fiber end showing a blend of crimped fibers.
A crocheted cape with plaid white, rainbow, and violet patches. It has a violet fringe and buttons shaped like daisies at the collar.
A grey cat lounging on rich red fabric, extending her paw to the camera. Her half-lidded eyes seem condescending.
An incredibly ugly and lumpy spiral of pink yarn. It is super inconsistent in both diameter and twist, and looks like it's about to fall apart in places.
A closeup of a cat's face, glaring smugly downwards, captioned "MOTHER", "I CRAVE THE TURKEY, MOTHER"
A grey cat that has somehow perched herself on the vertical front of a counter, back feet on the barest protrusion of a drawer, from hooked on the counter edge.
A cat staring out, mostly hidden, from a pull-out cubby on a board game shelf. Her eyes are wide, as though she sees through the veil of reality and into the truth of the very universe itself.
A grey kitten with a red stripe down her nose, tucked inside a blue fuzzy robe.
Two brown-and-white kittens, one with a pink nose, one with a brown smudgey nose. They are cuddled up together and looking at the photographer with concern.
A laptop with seven stickers. Top left: A frog sitting on a mushroom, holding a mug and staring ahead blankly. Top caption: "IT IS WHAT IT IS"; bottom caption: "and it is pretty terrible". Top mid-right: A pastel-colored unicorn, Amalthea, from The Last Unicorn. Top left: A feather quill with a quote from Hamilton the Musical: "Why do you WRITE like you're running out of TIME?" Mid center-left: A sun obscured by watercolor clouds. A mountain on the low horizon rests over a forest sprouting to either side of a shield and crossed swords. Overhead, a dragon flies over a quote from Lord of the Rings: "HOME IS behind, THE WORLD ahead." Bottom-right: Lineart of a headphone-wearing cat peering deadpan from behind a laptop. Caption: "shhh. i'm writing." Bottom center: A repeating console-style message from Minecraft: You may not rest now, there are monsters nearby. Bottom right: A holographic stained-glass style image of King from Owl House, with a crown above him and golden keyhole behind.
A moth-winged humanoid with feathery antenna and a furry ruff around their neck. They have an alligator-like smile and sleepy eyes. Their hair is in two high round buns, with loops twisting behind on either side. They wear a skirt-like piece of apparel that looks like a broken piece of chrysalis.
A winged woman in flight over a snowy/forested landscape, looking on seriously as she pulls her hood up. She wears a cloak, goggles, and has a pouch at her side. Sticking out of the pouch, a small blue frogfolk smiles widely as he examines the world below, gripping onto the woman's belt for extra support.
A winged woman in flight, with a blue frogfolk riding along in a side bag. The woman looks serious; the frogfolk looks excited as he looks at the world below.
A Heroforge model of a dark-haired, golden-skinned woman. She wears vibrant clothing of red, golds, and teals, and holds a wooden staff. A starburst-shaped gem rests on a chain tight against her neck. Her face is heavily freckled, with winged eyeliner and dark-painted lips.
A line drawing of a winged woman in flight. She wears a cloak clasped and buckled on the front, and goggles over her eyes. She has a serious expression and is pulling up the hood of her cloak with one hand.
A chapter teaser. The excerpt reads: “Oh, of course. Now you’re against splitting up!” Honjo spat. Da’al drew back as the Glamori jabbed his finger at him. “Where was that bit of wisdom back when I needed your help convincing Norui not to fly off on her own? What, when it’s to get a warning back to the Order, we take any risk to help— but when it’s our own friend in danger, suddenly we have to play it safe?!” The heat of Honjo’s accusation wilted him. Through a mouth suddenly dry, Da’al muttered, “The situations arenae the same.” “Just shut up. You don’t get a vote on this one.”
A lineart drawing of a winged woman in flight. She wears googles and a heavy cloak. She looks serious. Behind her is a forested landscape with mountains on the horizon.
A waist-up digital painting of a winged woman lying prone on her side on a cracked stone surface. Her white wings are dappled grey/brown, and she holds one over her body as if defensively. Her golden eyes peer distrustfully behind short, wavy lilac hair.
(alt text continued) Pale, terribly skinny, even for a Mani. She had a tumble of tangled waves falling to her shoulders. A dress stained with unnervingly dark blotches. Clutching a small white creature in both arms. Most arresting was the feathery halo framing the body on either side: A set of white-and-gray dappled wings. They lay ragged with lack of care, marred by stains old and fresh, steeped by shadow and amber through the crystal facets.
In the place of the withdrawn nothing, something grand and glittering rested: A gemstone, larger than the figure on stage itself, of deep amber tone and scintillating facets. Vera bit her lip to stifle a gasp. West had a moment of bewilderment himself. He hadn’t thought that the rumor of the gemstone could be true. For once, he’d actually managed to be more cynical than reality. But his memory circuits were firing now, full-speed and frantic. It was the way the light moved that revealed it for certain. The illumination caught what seemed like a blurred shadow among the amber facets, and crystallized it into a sensical form captured within. He’d seen something like this before, something very important-- Wasn’t it something like this that had— That was so many years ago, but— (alt text continued in thread)
A digital drawing of a winged woman lying prone on the ground, one wing covering her body protectively. Shading has been added.
“That’s jes’ a bit o’ it. See, they figured out that it’s supposed to make ye the ideal form o’ whoever kisses ye, right? In theory, if it were enchanted proper, it’d be a matchmaker’s dream. But,” and here he grimaced, “it only works if the person doin’ the kissin’ is true infatuated, honest to the Gods feelin’ at least a wee smidge o’ proper love. An’ then what the hat does, is feed off that—” “Sorry, it feeds off what?” “Feeds off o’ that feelin’, whatever spark is to do with fallin’ in love. It gobbles that up. But then since it’s done so, that feelin’ gets et up. An’ that leaves a would-be admirer with a lot o’ confusion, facin’ someone who looks like they oughta be e’rything they ever wanted but that their feelings go suddenly dead for. An’ from there, comes the bargainin’, the tryin’ to push through it, the gettin’ angry like there’s somethin’ what I did wrong… it doesnae go so well, all in all.” “Oh. That’s… terrible, Pip. I’m sorry.”
“Ach! I dinnae need to remember that, thank ye lass!” West made a face of disgust, earning a laugh from his companion. “But aye, it’s somethin’ like that. An’ ye remember back then, after it didnae work with Honjo, his sister gave it a try— and then it worked like a charm, and instead o’ the lil Gnomish body I’d had back then, I had a Glamori ‘un instead.” “That’s right! And Honjo’s sister was so confused after, she could barely look at you.” “Aye, well, there’s a reason fer that. I got some magickers to look into the enchantment and try and figure together how it works. Like I always knew, the damned thing is cursed. That's why I cannae take it off, aye? But since havin’ the other shape is useful, feckin useful, I dinnae mind it. But if it’s cursed, what’s the drawback?” Norui pursed her lips. “I mean, the shape change is awkward, I suppose.” (continued in thread!)
"“Did you ever… you know, was there ever a Mrs. Pip?” West choked, crumbs dropping out of his mouth. “Ah, well! That was righ’ out o’ the blue, that was!” he said, sheepishly wiping the tabletop clear. “I’ve just… you’ve had this whole life I haven’t been there for,” Norui said, gentle with apology. “I was curious. Sorry.” “Nae lass, nothin’ to be sorry fer! I’m happy to tell ye aught ye wanna know!” Recovering, West took small bites of the cake. “There’s been a couple o’ dalliances o’er the years— one or two I thought were pretty fine, truth to tell. But,” he indicated his hat, “things always get a bit, erm, awkward.” “Awkward how?” “Well, ye know how this hat o’ mine lets me pop off into another form, aye? Do I e'er tell ye how it picks that shape?” Norui suppressed a smile. “It happens when someone kisses you, right? Only some of the time though, because when Honjo tried—” (alt text continued in thread!)
A winged woman lying prone on her side, protecting herself with one wing. She has lilac hair, golden eyes, and a muted blue dress trimmed in yellow. Her expression seems lost, perhaps scared.
Nib sat on the largest of the boulders rimming the small pond in the corner of his uncle’s front yard. A hum rumbled through his throat, but he was too preoccupied to be aware of the tune, studying the water with deep concentration. It was like he could read his own thoughts in the ripples, drawn out of his head—always either too busy or too dull, it felt like—and clear enough on the water’s surface for him to pick apart. It wasn’t like him to fret over his missteps. And today was far from the first time he’d been screamed out of a house. If anything, Sunny wasn’t half as loud as his own mother’s screeches, that last day at the family lodge when she’d finally kicked him out for good. Still. Nuralli were always loud; that was to be expected. It didn’t quite match the same menace of whatever those twisting shadows the witch had summoned around her when she’d ordered him out. He didn’t know what they were for, but he wasn’t dumb enough to find out.
"Skipfish, there’s a lot o’ books in here— never thought o’ me Unca as much o’ a reader, truth to tell!” Nib pulled a large tome off a nearby shelf, staggering under its weight. “Wait!” Norui barked, eyes widening. “I’m sure me Unca willnae mind,” Nib said as he lowered the book onto the ground, studying the misshapen face on its cover with a wrinkled frown. “It’s not that,” Norui said. Kneeling beside him, she put a hand on the cover, keeping him from opening it while she conducted her own examination. When she saw no hint of enchantment on it, she let out her breath and lifted her hand. “S-some of these books have spells to protect them. This one d-doesn’t, though.” “Oh! Guess I oughta be more careful, eh?” Nib chuckled and tapped the face on the cover. “Nae a friendly lookin’ bugger, issit?” “Well, I think most of these b-books are professional,” Norui said, glancing back at the journal on the table. Better shelve it, and hope Nib didn’t realize what she’d been after. She rose, collected it, and returned it to the shelf. “Och— even uglier on th’ inside,” Nib narrated, cracking the cover and inspecting the drawing of a random page. ""The handwritin’s pure shiet though, cannae read a word."
Pencil drawing of a winged woman lying on the ground, one wing positioned in front of her defensively, gazing at the camera with trepidation.
Digital lineart drawing of a winged woman lying on the ground, one wing positioned in front of her defensively, gazing at the camera with trepidation.
Frustrated, Norui flipped through the remaining documents, flinging them at her feet as she found nothing of use. One of the crates, then— the lid was nailed on. She lifted the whole thing and smashed it into the wall, shrinking back at the terrible racket and flying chips with a gasp. That hadn’t been well-considered, admittedly, but inside— Nothing. Old hunks of rock. Some manner of statuary, Norui recognized belatedly. Probably something valuable, packed away for safekeeping. No matter. There were things with value here— there might very well be some tools, some bit of magic, something useful, if Norui dug deep enough. Trying to encourage herself to rise above a growing sense of desolation, she tried the next crate. Much the same, ruined now. Did she really think there’d be something that would free her? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. The mantra was like a dull panic throbbing in her head— it didn’t matter. Either something would be there, or it wouldn’t. Norui lost nothing by the search. But she had to do it, had to exhaust every possibility— had to fight— Norui smashed the next crate right where it sat on the ground. The statue of a centaur inside lost an arm. This was insufficient. She slammed it into the wall, twice, and then heaved it clear across the room, smashing into a cloth-covered frame. She heard glass break. A sob. Norui gritted her teeth, hating the sound of it. This was no time to get flustered, or overwhelmed. She could break down later. Now, she had to fight for whatever freedom was possible, before she lost the chance forever.
Stat screen for 3 star Biwa Hayahide from Unamusume
Roman glanced at the real Sunny apprehensively. “What’s…?” “One of… its illusions,” she murmured, shrinking back. More shapes followed the magicked Mani at a brisk pace, these others even more ill-defined than the first. The voices were clear enough, though. “So you know the way across?” “It’s simple— you saw the symbol back in the stage room, didn’t you? The tiles on the floor are patterned just the same. Just walk where I do, you’ll be fine.” No stutter, no flinching, no apologies— it was strange to hear the confidence in the illusion’s voice. Behind him, Sunny closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see what was coming next. The scene unfurled in jagged flashes. The illusions picked their way across the floor. The floor began to fall through. The vision of Sunny, with a flurry of wings, managed to snatch back one of her companions from the brink, too late for another. Of five that entered the room, only three made it to the end where the flesh-and-blood party now stood. The illusion was remarkably realistic in depicting the bloody red blobs of the two that hadn’t made it across, ripped to shreds over a series of blades concealed beneath the tiles. Fading ever quieter, broken shock of the apparition— “The pattern changed, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it could change—” The illusion passed.
A scan of a rough pencil sketch, showing a winged woman prone on the ground, her expression sad or fearful, half-covering herself with a wing.
The band set its strings into motion again, building up a long trill of anticipation, as the crowd shifted toward the great staircase at the entrance. When the note broke into a soft sigh of pipes, doormen drew open the double-doors, and a figure stepped up to them with a clip of heels on stone. Applause ushered the woman through the doors. Roxie recalled the name easily: Penelope. The eldest daughter of the Oliver family. During their interview, Penelope’s makeup had been smudged by tears, but she’d been too proud to let even one whimper disrupt her recounting her discovery of the fire. Tonight, Penelope’s makeup hadn’t a smudge out of place. In defiance of the pink-cheeked “flawlessly natural” fashion, her eyes were rimmed in sharp strokes of gold and black, like an ancient goddess descending the heavens to war. Her dark hair was pinned back from her face with twinkling topaz, like sparks. And over her voluptuous frame: Snyder’s dress. The bright embers of the bodice, the ghostly ash overlaying it, the dark smoke of its skirt and sleeves; at once vibrant and mournful, just as the smile of the woman who wore it. Penelope descended the steps slowly, letting each step play the swing of the cloth to its fullest. She was a study in poise. The intentionality dripping from her every motion screamed: I’m here to be seen. I’m here so you remember. Every stitch, a story….
“Well, this is how Norui is, you see,” Zilla said, peering off toward the small rocky peak. From it, Nib heard the furious screech of a creature disturbed on the cliffs below where Norui scouted. “She does not like to fight. It can be frustrating to work with, but also good at times. Even when a fight that must be taken is in front of her, she will avoid it as long as she can.” There was movement at the peak now. Above the peak. As Nib watched, a shape gleaming in sunlight-orange lifted from the rocks, drawing up into the air. “Zilla. That’s got wings.” “Yes, yes,” the archer answered dismissively, smiling up at the Aerie high above. Nib couldn’t make out Norui’s face from their distance, but he could see her beat her wings to soar away from the rising creature, turning her face toward them in what he imagined to be shock. Zilla waved cheerfully at Norui and flashed her a big thumbs-up. “Ye knew it would,” Nib said, torn between horror and fascination. “Of course I knew. It’s not as though the Redlings didn’t know what sort of creature hunted them, yes? Now, as I was saying, Norui. She will avoid a fight for as long as she can, but the moment that there is no choice, she reprioritizes. She knows only a little destructive magic, but the spells she has mastered are versatile. What Norui is,” and Zilla smiled as the flying lizard swept up at Norui, “is very, very, devastatingly clever. You’ll see.”
Pip trotted ahead, letting Norui walk behind him. Her eyes were bright, and she seemed to struggle to keep her giggles contained. “Ah, sorry fer the whole– I’m nae much fer the yellin’ and all that. Nae the sort o’ peaceful welcome I wanted fer ye.” “I thought you were going to throw him out for sure,” Norui said. “Why didn’t you?” “Honestly?” Pip smiled wryly, tossing the reins up over the hitching rail by the road. “I’ve been tryin’ this whole trip to get a laugh out of ye. But Nib got one jes’ as soon as ye met him, and I’ll curse his name fer it as long as I live.” Freeing the lead rope from the saddle, he tossed the lead over the rail as well, then stretched up to wrap them both properly onto the rail. ""The lad’s nae right in the head and it’s doubtful there’s any cure fer his soddin’ lazy rump, but mebbe he can do a bit o’ good fer once in his lousy life.” Norui, flustered, said nothing.
Pip sputtered back to his senses, a bit at a time. An iron taste bittered his tongue, and dried blood stuck on his lips. His swollen right eye sparked painfully as he cracked it open. Everything was dark as pitch— no, that wasn’t quite right. Vapid moonlight came in thin stripes on one side, filtering in through wooden slats. He was in a trunk or a crate, the cheap sort used to move cargo about. A small creature like him—one of the froglike Nuralli who stood barely thigh-high to most humans—had plenty of legroom, at least. He stirred. His body protested, muscles stiff and aching from the beating he’d taken getting here. He found his arms shackled before him, and where his sleeves were rolled up, dark purple bruises stood out on the bright blue skin. He rocked himself up to his knees, head swimming like the last swish of grog in a bottle. Pain and pressure thrummed through his skull. Breathing through a surge of nausea, he pushed at the roof of the crate with his back, but found no give. Woozily, he sat back on his haunches and tried to reassemble the scattered memories of what had happened.
"""Oh, yer jokin' me."" The door to the guest room was wide open, and it was the worst mess Pip had seen yet. The comforter was missing from the bed, so somebody had replaced it with a curtain— the wooden rod it had hung from was split in two on the ground. The footboard was broken from the bed altogether. A smell of unclean linen and dried filth emanated from the room. And, to top it off, the window was wide open, and Pip could hear the buzzing wings of so many flies continuing the party long after the guests had left. ""NIB. GET IN HERE."" Nuralli might be small creatures, but their voices could carry. Norui flinched back, and Pip spared her an apologetic shrug, then puffed out his chest again. ""NOW, NIB!"" The young Nuralli appeared from the front door. He didn't look half as concerned as he ought to. ""What's it now, Unca Pip?"" Pip jabbed a thumb back at the room. ""Explain."" ""What? I'll get to cleanin' it!” "
A pair of headphones with its cable chewed in two.
A friendly-seeming fellow in medieval-style armor. Smiling congenially, he carries a sword and shield. He wears leather armor with an iron chestplate.
We've Gotta Kill Steve - a fantasy comedy novella. Steve is the kind of good-natured guy everybody needs in their party, if only to keep everyone from killing each other over the last portion of stew over camp. Friendly; quick to laugh; maybe a little dumb, but that all lends to his charm. But when their fortunes turn, suddenly, Steve becomes a threat (if unwittingly) to not just the party, but humanity as a whole. Whether he means it or not, Steve has to die - and it's kinder if a friend does it, right? (He's so nice, he'd definitely want THEM to get the reward for doing it, not some stranger!) But it's easier said than done, being the one to kill your party's Steve.... Hart & Sol - a fantasy drama & queer romance. No king becomes great alone. In the world of Coronithia, every heir to the throne undertakes a quest to receive a divine boon when they come of age, and Prince Sol's day has finally arrived. He is sent on a hunt in a strange woods, not knowing what his quarry is or what he is to do with it. Finally, he meets a strange creature - a selkie-inspired creature of the stars, at times in the form of a Great Hart, at others in the shape of a giant, whose eyes for Sol are frightened, fierce, and fragile in turns. Sol grapples with an ancient question: Is it better for a ruler to be feared, or loved? Or even- is it better for a man, entranced by an otherworldly being, to...? XXX DO NOT OPEN! XXX - a modern fantasy retelling of the story of Pandora. Lenore's life has been one bad turn after the next, but she's torching the ruins and walking away - deleted all her socials and moved cross-country to a place where no one knows her. Spending her days job-hunting, Lenore is grappling with the challenge of starting a life from scratch when a strange package arrives at her roomshare. It's got her name on it but no return address, but even stranger is its label: "DO NOT OPEN". When curiosity gets the best of her, unemployment is least of Lenore's problems....
(continued!) Away from the adrenaline of the night, after spending several hours relaxing on the cart, fatigue had trickled under his skin. Trying to scrub the red mess of blood (mostly his own, regrettably) out of his torn clothes suddenly seemed like a monumental effort. “But ye know lass… mebbe jes’ one more wee lil’ spell where naeone can see wouldnae hurt?” he suggested, pinching the cloth of his vest hopefully. For a moment, West swore, the faintest sparkle of mirth lit in her eyes. Snorting faintly, Norui summoned up her magic again, directing it over the Investigator’s soiled skin and clothes. Where it touched, it left a mint-like tingle, and West shivered gladly under the warming summer sun.
" “Lass, better that ye dinnae use magic where someone might see ye.” The witch glanced at him, brows knitting. “Why not?” She did not, West noted warily, feel enough concern to stop her spell. “Well, things’re a wee bit different now from how they used to be. Ye said back there that folks had been takin’ it strangely when they saw ye doin’ yer magic, didnae ye?” She nodded. “Well, not to bog ye down with details when yer dog tired, but there’s laws around who can be practicin’ magic now, and where. Once ye’ve gotten some proper rest, we’ll have a good talk ‘bout it. Fer jes’ now though, let's keep the magic to a minimum, aye?” “... S-sure.” Her weary agreement came late— she’d finished her cleaning charm already. West hesitated, glancing in the direction of the creek. (continued in thread)
(continued) Snyder’s eyes kindled as he smiled. If she didn’t know better, she thought being caught thrilled him. “You’re half right,” he said, smoothly moving a hand over hers and lowering the accusing finger. The warmth of his touch, even through their gloves, set her heart racing again. “I found the time to make some alterations. I acquired this fabric on my trip, and thought it might do your complexion justice.” His hand twitched over hers, lifting it near his lips as if to kiss it. He must have thought better of it, though, and smiled fondly over their joined hands instead.