#author issues

[lazylazysblog]

[SUONIREI] MINE

TW: Cannibalism, blood

If you're not okay with this kind of story, please skip. I always wanted to write suonirei in this kind of story, so... I apologize.

It had been two days. Two days since Nirei’s body had gone cold. Two days since the light that filled Suo's world had flickered out forever.

The funeral preparations moved forward, cold and unrelenting like the ticking of a clock. The others tried to console Suo, patting his back, offering words that felt hollow and insubstantial. They didn’t understand. How could they? They hadn't seen the way Nirei’s laughter lit up the darkest of nights. They hadn’t felt the way his presence was like the warmth of spring after a bitter winter. Suo had lost not just a lover but a piece of himself, a piece he wasn’t ready to let go of.

And today was the day. Nirei's body would be cremated, reduced to nothing more than ash and memory. The thought sent a cold blade slicing through Suo’s chest. He couldn't bear it. He couldn’t let them destroy the only tangible remnant of the person who had given his life meaning.

He sat alone in the small room that had once been theirs, his mind was full of agony. His hands trembled as he clenched the edge of the table, his breath coming in shallow, erratic bursts. No. I can’t let them take him. I won’t.

The decision crystallized in his mind as clear as ice. Suo’s gaze flicked to the leather eyepatch he had discarded on the dresser. He didn’t need both eyes to see the truth—if Nirei couldn’t stay with him in life, then he would remain with him in another way. Forever.

Hours later, Suo’s apartment was silent except for the soft hum of a fan. The space was suffused with a sickly sweet scent—not entirely floral, but close. Nirei lay on the dining table, surrounded by beds of white lilies, chrysanthemums, and roses. Their purity framed the still figure like a saint in repose. His blond hair was still messy, framing his boyish face, now pallid and waxy. His dark brown eyes were mercifully shut, as though he were only sleeping.

Suo’s hands shook as he traced a finger along Nirei’s jawline. His face was cold, but still beautiful. Majestic, even. Tears blurred Suo’s vision, but he forced himself to smile. Nirei hated seeing him cry.

“You look perfect,” Suo whispered. He brought a hand to his own face, wiping away the dampne“ss. “You’ll always be perfect.”

The butcher knife gleamed under the dim light, the metal catching Suo’s reflection. His hands shook as he set the plate, the utensils, the wine glass. This was madness—he knew that. But love had never been rational.

Suo knelt beside Nirei, resting his head on the lifeless chest that would no longer rise and fall with breath. He inhaled deeply, trying to capture the faintest trace of Nirei's scent. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, tears spilling over his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Nire-kun.”

He picked up the butcher knife.

The first cut was the hardest. Suo’s hand hesitated, hovering above the pale flesh, unable to press down. He’s already gone, he told himself. You’re not hurting him. He closed his eye, summoning every ounce of willpower, and brought the blade down.

The blade slid into Nirei’s arm, just beneath the shoulder, splitting the pale skin. Crimson welled up, sluggish and thick, staining the flowers beneath him. Suo’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his composure cracked. He dropped the knife, collapsing to his knees beside the table.

“Nire-kun...” he sobbed, gripping Nirei’s lifeless hand. “Why did you have to go? You promised we’d stay together, no matter what.” His voice broke, and he buried his face against Nirei’s cold fingers.

The room was silent except for his muffled cries. Minutes passed—maybe hours. When Suo finally lifted his head, his tears had dried, leaving salt trails on his cheeks. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He had to do this. For Nirei.

The next cut was surer. Suo worked methodically, though his tears never stopped falling. He carved away the flesh with precision. Each slice felt like both a desecration and a devotion. He began with Nirei’s arms, taking only small pieces at first. The skin was pale and smooth, unmarred except for faint scars, a result of Nirei's dedication to protecting his loved ones.

When he was done, Suo lit a candle and sat at the table, his trembling fingers gripping the fork and knife. He stared at the plate before him, his stomach churning with nausea and dread. But beneath it all, there was something else—an all-consuming need to keep Nirei with him.

He took the first bite.

The taste was indescribable—a mixture of salt from his tears and the metallic tang of flesh. Suo gagged, his body rejecting the act even as his mind screamed for him to continue. He forced the food down, his throat burning, his chest heaving with suppressed sobs.

Each bite was a battle, each swallow a betrayal of the man he had loved more than life itself. But Suo pressed on, his tears falling uncontrollably, his muttered apologies filling the silent room. He imagined Nirei smiling at him, forgiving him, telling him that it was okay.

He continued. Bite after bite, piece after piece. He worked his way across Nirei’s body, carving away flesh, muscles, and sinews. He cooked some of the portions, searing them in a hot pan, while others he consumed raw, savoring the raw intimacy of it.

The room grew heavier with the scent of iron and charred meat. Blood soaked into the flowers, turning the white petals a deep, macabre crimson. The once-beautiful tableau had become a grotesque parody of a feast, but Suo didn’t care. Each bite brought him closer to Nirei, binding them together.

The hours bled together as Suo continued his macabre feast. He didn’t stop until there was nothing left, until the plate was empty, until Nirei was a part of him in the most literal sense.

When it was over, Suo collapsed onto the table, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "You’re with me now," he choked out. "You’ll always be with me."

The days that followed were a haze. Suo carried on as though nothing had happened, his outward demeanor as calm and composed as ever. But inside, he was shattered.

Sometimes, he swore he could hear Nirei’s voice, soft and cheerful, like it had been in life. Other times, he felt a warmth in his chest, as though Nirei were still there, still holding him, still loving him.

And maybe he was.

Because Suo had done the unthinkable, and though the world might call him mad, Suo didn’t care.

Nirei was his. Forever.

[alexihollis]

so an interesting phenomenon has occurred. in which i have literally never written so many individual unconnected stories for one fandom so i have never had the opportunity for this to occur. but i am realizing that im just? assigning characters traits that they? really dont have any real basis to have? and they are getting baked into my understanding of these characters in a way that i never intended them to??? my headcanons are chewing my frontal lobe.

like i noticed that i have swan read a lot. and somewhere in my brain it became canon that swan reads. but damn i have made this girl READ and considering that i also made her have a somewhat traumatic relationship with school and learning and adult control over childrens education in one of the fics im just??? whyyyy did i do that i made myself sad?? like. my girl loves to read because she couldnt before and now she can learn All The Things but i did that to MYSELF?? i made MYSELF sad?? off of HEADCANONS?

and early on i randomly was like "oh i need someone to have medical knowledge...cochise its you" and now i have a whole headcanon backstory that ive barely written but is concrete in my head where cochise was a nurse in the vietnam war. and that her brother got drafted and this was her way of trying to protect him so she went as a nurse. and then experienced the Horrors including her brother dying so when she came back to the states she couldnt bear going home so she found cleon instead and- whyyyy did i do that? i didnt need to do that? SHE LITERALLY COULD HAVE JUST LEARNED ANY OTHER FUCKING WAY?

like the fics arent meant to be connected, they only sort of are, but some of these just keep leaking through and its causing me heart problems 😭

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Me, finally settled after dog walking, working out, doing laundry, making and eating dinner: "Ooh, lovely. Glass of wine and time to write!"

Also me, but chaotic: "IMMA LEARN HOW TO MAKE GIFS EVEN THOUGH I AM ABYSMAL AT ALL THIS SHIT."

Why am I like this?

[selenekallanwriter]

[ellowynthenotking]

I never know how much to share about my stories, cause like, I don't want to spoil it but I also want to info dump at length

[madeofmosaic]

the very hard choice of passing math class and writing a poem😔😔

[geekthefreakout]

I imagine the greatest fic scenes in my head. I've just moved myself to tears with one. But I know if I write it down it won't come out the same way, so I guess it's going to stay in my head.

Such is the story of 90% of the fics I come up with. Sigh.

[ectterna]

when you stutter but can’t write stutters..

[kellartisan]

THE HOLLOWED ONES.

Case file 001: Mr. Sherlock Holmes, pt. 3

John arrived at the address. He looked over the building with a small smirk. Seems like that Sherlock bloke had good taste. In just a few seconds, Sherlock also arrived by cab. John went over to shake his hand, smiling. "Mr. Holmes." "Oh please, we'll be past formalities soon, just Sherlock is fine." John can't help but notice a flicker of excitement and slight.. Nervousness? In Sherlock's eyes as if he didn't want to mess it up but his brain brushed it off.

Sherlock knocked on the door by the knocker before being greeted by a nice and gentle elderly woman who seemed happy to see the taller man. "Sherlock!.." She exclaimed, hugging him before pulling away. She turned to John, surprised. "Who is this, Sherlock? A mate?" She smiled. Sherlock shook his head. "Flatmate. Dr. John Watson, Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson." John shook the old lady this time. "Pleasure, Mrs. Hudson." "Oh, pleasure indeed, doctor! I'm happy Sherlock found you, he needs a doctor himself and a mate." John was about to question what she meant by Sherlock needing a doctor before Sherlock cut them off out of embarrassment probably.

"Let's look at the flat, shall we?"

The three of them entered the flat. The smell was quite distinct. One of an unknown chemical and the other was of cookies which John immediately assumed came from Mrs. Hudson's flat in 221A. Mrs. Hudson showed the men their flat. "This flat has two bedrooms but I assume you both won't be needing them." The landlady commented that made John raise a brow. "U-uhm, sorry. Why.. Wouldn't we not want two bedrooms?" She laughed and made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, no need to hide it, my dear. Mrs. Turner has got married ones." She then walked away before John could ask why she thought him and Sherlock were an item.

Sherlock didn't seem to correct her though. John immediately took notice of the piles of paper in the sitting room, a skull and an.. Experiment..? Sherlock smirked. "So, what do you think, doctor?" John hummed. It wasn't too bad despite the mess. The fireplace made it more homey. "It's.. Actually fine.. Except the.. Small mess." Just as John remarked, Sherlock stiffened and quickly began to clean the paper as if flustered. "Ah, yes.. Don't mind it. I moved in early as you see.. Couldn't wait." John just raised an eyebrow, not knowing whether to be amused or confused. He then noticed a skull on the fireplace. "A skull..?" Sherlock stood up and pat it. "Ah, yes.. Uhm- a friend." John can't help but chuckle softly. "You talk to a skull?" Sherlock just shrugged, not wanting to converse about his strange habit of chatting up a skull. However, to John, he immediately knew that Sherlock would keep him from being bored..

---------

It had been a few days since John moved in. He didn't know whether to regret it or not. Sherlock was.. An interesting being. Seemingly can stay silent for days in a slightly uncomfortable position, not eating or drinking for long periods that would make any doctor like himself worry and playing the violin at ungodly hours. By the 4th week, John has had enough. He packed his suitcases and already planned to talk to Mrs. Hudson about crossing his name off the property.

That same morning, the two men were eating breakfast (A miracle that Sherlock was even eating half of it). Sherlock suddenly spoke. "When are you moving out?" John stiffened, surprised. "Ah, how did you know that, genius?" Sherlock sighed and put his utensils down and stapled his hands together under his chin. As if.. He was praying. John never saw Sherlock as a religious one so he knew he wasn't praying to the big bloke upstairs. "Well, simple really. Your bedsheets are sent to the wash more earlier than usual, you're sweating more from the hard work of packing..not to mention your tone of slight aggression earlier.." John can't help but be stunned. It finally dawned on John about how he never asked Sherlock how he found out about his military background.

"Hey.. How do you do that?" John asked with narrow eyes and skepticism. Sherlock looked up from his plate. "Pardon?" "The-.. H-how did you know about.. My military background. Did you find out from somewhere? Googled me?" John was unsure whether or not he sounded desperate. He probably did but his options were that his flatmate was a beautiful handsome mind reader or a creep stalking him since John joined the military. Sherlock scoffed. "No, I could tell by your tan line below your sleeves that day. Your hair cut, your posture, all screamed military. All obvious observations." John stared at him like a deer in headlights as if Sherlock was crazy but again, the certain appeal stayed. He suddenly remembered Sherlock's website. The Science of Deduction. "Ah.. Deduction, isn't it?" Sherlock merely nodded. "So.. When are you moving?" John thought long and hard. He knew he should leave but his heart and words spoke the opposite. "I'm not moving."

~Written by K.P

Author's note: I am sorry for the lack of updates in his fanfic. This section of the fanfic kinda bores me so I'm gonna pump the next chapter faster just bc I want this case file to end.

TAGS: @helloliriels

[jooeeydee]

Does anyone else sometimes get sad and insecure about mulitple chapter stories they write and post on ff.net oder AO3 and receive 50, 100, 200, + kudos but only one maybe two to five people from those comment regularly and with that let you know if someone is even still reading and enjoying your story.

I do primarily write for myself and I would still write if no one gave me any feedback but it would just be nice sometimes if people shared how they felt about the chapters I post.

Did they like it? Did they hate it? Did I catch them by surprise? What did or didn't they like?

This way it just leaves me in limbo and I have no clue if people even still read it or if I'm writing it for myself and could just as well not go trough the trouble of posting it.

I don't know I'm usually fine with it but every once in a while I get sad that after hours upon hours of writing, researching, editing,... people can't even take the time to write a short comment, just to let me know people are still reading it. Is it too much to ask for after you spent the time it took for you to read it to stay another minute or two to give me a sign? There really isn't any other way for me to know.

I guess I'm just in a weird mood and it's a weird day.

It would just be nice to know if anyone even still cares about the story.

[yukiwhitetm]

I did so well with writing yesterday and a couple days before that. I was so proud of myself for finally, finally getting back to writing after stagnating in my sorrow for so long. I even got my laptop out to write again today. I thought I was on a roll! Except now, I just feel sad. I... I can't help but think of how proud my late friends would be of me for continuing to write... and I find myself filled with grief and anguish. I miss them.

I'll never be able to ring them and tell them how my writing is going ever again.

[kriz-smthn]

[thatdeltathing]

There's a spelling error in there, it's supposed to say "lift me up." But I'm too lazy to change it. Anyway this one is about my mother.

[studentinspace]

I've just realized that the majority of the things I've posted on here about my Novel characters is Porthos and Nexus who are not even a cannon ship in their own universe 👀

[ellowynthenotking]

It's time for me to try traditionally publishing

Life is going to heck in a hand basket, so I'm going to see if I can try what I've always wanted to do and make a living off writing.

I've got quite a few projects that are in various stages of done.

And, thanks to the events outside of my control, I feel just insane enough to try to finish and publish them!

Here's the plan so far

Goals:

Make a list of agents

Make a list of agencies

Make a list of publishers

Go through my projects and identify books/projects/anything workable really

Identity project genres and come up with connections

Write good blurbs for each project

Write letters to send to agents/agencies/publishers

Send 100 letters

Receive 100 rejections or one full approval

Rough Timeline

Gather all lists components before September 14th

Have all blurbs, lists, and letters written before the end of September

Send 100 letters by December 30th

If no approvals are received by Dec 30th, make a new plan

My ultimate goal though is just to get through the situation I've landed in. This is all hopes and dreams, sure, but we'll see how it turns out.

Here's hoping.

[madeofmosaic]

me: aight, I'll finally write something tonight! *opens up empty word file* *gets scared because its EMPTY* .... okay maybe not