suedeonym

Latest Posts by suedeonym

You were the healer—the last light of your party. But now your final ally dies in your arms, and there’s no one left to save. The enemy jeers, calling you useless. You look up, eyes hollow and black. The light is gone. The Void answers. You're no longer a cleric. You're something far worse.

Clothing Style & Vibe Descriptors for Writers

(Because how someone dresses says so much about who they are.)

Polished — Sleek, well-put-together, and clean-cut. Grungy — Worn, layered, dark, and deliberately messy. Bohemian — Flowing, artsy, natural fabrics; lots of patterns. Minimalist — Clean lines, neutral colors, nothing extra. Sporty — Functional, casual, often branded or gym-inspired. Vintage-inspired — Nostalgic, retro cuts, old-school flair. Dark academia — Tweeds, layers, and mysterious literature major vibes. Streetwear — Trendy, oversized, edgy with a splash of attitude. Gothic — Dark colors, lace, leather, often dramatic. Soft girl / boy — Pastels, gentle patterns, dreamy aesthetics. Preppy — Polos, cardigans, and a “top of the class” shine. Business casual — Professional, but relaxed—like they could go from meeting to martini. Careless / wrinkled — Looks like they got dressed in the dark, and kind of did. Eclectic — Mix-and-match chaos, but somehow… it works. Utilitarian — Functional over fashionable, lots of pockets, maybe ex-military.

Imagine this..

You are the healer and support of your traveling party. Unfortunately.. you also seem to be the side character in their story.

Constant danger. Constant use of your mana to shield others and heal them. Your only purpose is to make sure the main characters don't drop dead.

The only one who seems to have your back is the orc barbarian. Also, another character who seems to be on the sidelines as the 'main characters' forge their story. He constantly makes sure to protect you and that your voice is heard as well.

But after, yet another, dangerous battle, the group gets separated. You were shielded from falling debri by the orc barbarian. The dust settles as you both are hurting, tired, and quite done with following the main protagonists this far.

"We should find shelter near water.. then camp for the night." The orc suggested as you both carefully evacuated from the battle sight.

Without the main characters around for the narrative to focus on.. It felt as if your arc was just beginning.

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

turning into a dragon really helps in every situation

missed ur flight? dragon. insecure about how powerless you feel? dragon. want to protect the people you love? dragon. just want to be left alone? dragon. become a dragon. you want a hot dog but the power's out and a cold hot dog grosses you out? turn into a dragon and heat that shit up. want girls to be scared of you? dragon. want girls to be really inexplicably horny for you? strangely also dragon. want girls to scritch behind your horns and call you pretty when you start purring? dragon.

it will help you. become a dragon

hi, a lot of you need a perspective reset

the average human lifespan globally is 70+ years

taking the threshold of adulthood as 18, you are likely to spend at least 52 years as a fully grown adult

at the age of 30 you have lived less than one quarter of your adult life (12/52 years)

'middle age' is typically considered to be between 45-65

it is extremely common to switch careers, start new relationships, emigrate, go to college for the first or second time, or make other life-changing decisions in middle age

it's wild that I even have to spell it out, but older adults (60+) still have social lives and hobbies and interests.

you can still date when you get old. you can still fuck. you can still learn new skills, be fashionable, be competitive. you can still gossip, you can still travel, you can still read. you can still transition. you can still come out.

young doesn't mean peaked. you're inexperienced in your 20s! you're still learning and practicing! you're developing social skills and muscle memory that will last decades!

there are a million things to do in the world, and they don't vanish overnight because an imaginary number gets too big

Dude, if it takes you a month, you're writing fast. Especially if it's supposed to be, or at least resemble, a novel. Take your time. Have fun. Patience is the best way to write a story. AI takes that away, taking with it too the psychedelic nature of true human writing.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

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Something like this would be so colossally helpful. I'm sick and tired of trying to research specific clothing from any given culture and being met with either racist stereotypical costumes worn by yt people or ai generated garbage nonsense, and trying to be hyper specific with searches yields fuck all. Like I generally just cannot trust the legitimacy of most search results at this point. It's extremely frustrating. If there are good resources for this then they're buried deep under all the other bullshit, and idk where to start looking.

Me: Okay guys remember that it’s important in improv to establish your characters at the beginning of the scene.

Students: ok

Student 1: Hello. I am the president of the United States.

Student 2: Hello madame president. I’m William Shakespeare and I’m here to assassinate you.

So for over a month and a half I’ve been told in my Creative writing MA class that my writing is too poetic and abstract to work in the form of a novel and that I need to simplify my meanings and sentences. I did as I was told and lost all interest in writing if I have to write in the same style that every other novelist does. Today I received this note from a classmate and didn’t realise how much I needed to hear it. Don’t change your art just because other people don’t get it. Don’t change your style to fit in with everyone else. It’s your story not theirs.

There's this interesting phenomenon where when you're a child, or some other vulnerable minority dependent on a job for shelter, you are actually under duress almost constantly. You can't say "I don't want to work today," you cannot say "I don't want to do the dishes, actually," you cannot choose not to participate. In a lot of cases, the punishment is explicit. Your parents might yell at you. Your boss might fire you. But in other cases, it's implicit. The mood will sour. You lose leeway. People get mad at you. And that creates a really shitty environment where you're constantly being coerced to do things!

And here's the kicker; you're not allowed to acknowledge that. You cannot acknowledge that you are being coerced, you cannot acknowledge that your free will is not being respected, because that's punished too. Your boss insists that you act excited. Your parents punish you for acting surly. You are forced to fake enthusiastic consent, constantly. It's a fucking nightmare. Your hand is being forced, you do not have the option to say "no," and if you ever, for a second, try to acknowledge that, everyone acts like you're the aggressor.

had a fascinating english class that resulted in the notes header “the forcefeminization of victor frankenstein”

Writing Prompt #3027

"Go on. Chew me out and tell me I'm a failure."

"I was actually planning on saying that I'm proud of you."

I want you to try something for me.

Try looking up for a moment in whatever room or space you’re in right now and just imagine what a creature double your size would actually be like. Perhaps they would have to hunch over just to fit. They certainly wouldn’t get through the door without significant compression.

Imagine what a creature double your width would be like. A creature that size would carry themselves with a sense of scale, a sense of magnitude that would be humbling to observe. It would feel powerful, dangerous perhaps.

Imagine that creature was made entirely of flora, lush waxy leaves and flowers. A face constructed of a wooden mask that would almost be the size of your chest. It would look down on you, it would be impossible not to. Your eye-line would reach their waist, and with your arms outstretched you would maybe reach their petal constructed pectorals.

A creature like that would bring with it a smell. Anyone who has been in a greenhouse knows that a volume of plant matter that dense generates a rich perfume of life itself. Sweet and grassy and floral.

A creature like that would flutter and tremble with every movement, ripples from the sheer weight of it running down with every fabricated breath and subtle adjustment. Imagine each shifting change, how noticeable it would be. How much of your animal brain would be dedicated to those observations, making sure that you were not in danger.

Envision how piercing its gaze would be, focused and attentive on you from those massive eyes so high above you. How it would make your heart race if that huge wooden mask clicked and clattered as it adjusted into a thorny smile.

Consider how it would actually feel to be lifted off the ground by this figure. You wouldn’t become weightless under them. You would be just as strong as you currently are, just as beholden to your own centre of gravity, simply supported by their tremendous arms and careful vines. The strength necessary to make such a manoeuvre effortless would be immensely tangible. Fear inducing perhaps. Or maybe it would be like a profound surrender, to be so easily carried in a way you haven’t felt since you were a child.

Consider all of this. And look back up. Really try to place this creature in your room.

Now imagine that it loves you.

That is what biorhythms are.

That, is what an Affini is.

reblog if you’re okay with people writing fanfics of your fanfics and/or fanfics inspired by your fanfics

“A villain am I? When I demand loyalty from my minions I reward them with protection. My armies know I will provide for their widows. My workers are all well fed. The children will never know grown men chasing them away for being monsters. What has your king provided for your loyalty?”

have you guys done that “what kind of reader are you” quiz and if so what did you get

hey when you make posts, i just want you to know, thou/thee/thy/thine/ye are like he/you(object)/your/yours/you(subject) okay? "thou art wearing shoes," "i will wear shoes for thee," okay?

you say thine if the next word starts with a vowel and thy if the next word starts with a consonant and they both mean "your" so "thine own shoes," "thy shoes," okay?

and ye means you and refers to the subject of a sentence, "ye members of the brotherhood of shoes," okay? you need this information to create better knight yaoi. i'm personally more interested in nun yuri but we are a community

So i had an idea where a [insert smart character here] after time is unable to tell truth and lies apart. Imagine; Before the smartest person in the group And after, character that questions everything, unsure of what is with or against them. just a random idea, please consider it

considered. loved at first sight. GODDD i hope i did this justice I think its such a brilliant idea

also thanks for letting me use this prompt to procasinate on studying <2

Leader hurdles through the base, everything blurring around him. He stumbles into the infirmary, almost running through Medic.

Medic's exhausted eyes meet his.

"Where are they?" Leader can barely say the words, breathless, slipping out between the gaps in his teeth.

Medic adjusts the lapels of their jacket, the movement automatic—a nervous habit. "You know, they're still confused." Their voice drops an octave and Leader can hear the sympathy, "Maybe you shouldn't go in."

Leader ignores it. His heart threatens to rip a raw-edged hole right through his chest, right then and there. "You didn't restrain them, right?"

"I should," says Medic, quietly. "They're..." they hesitate, gaze probing Leader's panicked expression. Then they sigh, "Listen, whatever you two used to have? It's gone. They're damaged."

"Yeah, but you can fix it. They're brilliant, they'll recover." It's a desperate grab at relief. At hope.

Medic just gestures towards the room. "I don't think I can fix what they did up there."

Hands trembling, Leader turns abruptly and lets the door swing open.

The windowless room is filled with warm light. A mug of something warm sits on the desk.

And Hero, in a t-shirt and shorts, paces the room. New, raw-rimmed stitches cross their bare arms. Medic fixed everything physical.

Leader can't help it. He stares. There's a long, drawn-out second where he recalls the confident Hero of before. With curling red hair and bright eyes, freckled and grinning.

Then there's this scattered, empty person in the room with him.

They’re pacing.

No—counting. Footsteps matching breathing.

“Two-three-four,” they whisper. “Two-three-four. If I keep counting, it doesn’t stop; if I stop, it’ll come back, and they’ll—”

“Hey,” he says, gentle, swallowing down stinging tears. Do you remember me?

Leader's voice tears Hero out of their mind.

They flinch so violently-- scrambling-- grey eyes vacant-- they hit the wall.

“Don’t do that,” they gasp. “Don’t—”

“I'm not doing anything,” he rushes to reassure them, too fast, too helpless. Oh god. "It's just me"

Their hands go to their ears. “They said that too.”

A beat of silence stretches, thick and aching.

Leader doesn’t breathe.

Hero sinks to a crouch in the corner, rocking just slightly, fingers digging into their scalp. Dry strands of hair fall over their hands as they dig. Still counting, still whispering numbers. Like if they keep going, they can hold the world together.

“Don’t believe them,” they mumble. “It’s a test. It’s always a test.”

Oh god.

What have they done to you?

In a last ditch attempt to save your people, you offer your life to an ancient god of war and blood. Unfortunately, your translation of the ancient text was a bit off. You're married now.

Black!Fem!Venom!Reader

Y/N laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't get to sleep, so instead of doomscrolling for the nth time this week, she did what any bored 24 year old would do with a flashlight and comics on the brain. She decided to go solo and investigate the abandoned factory just outside of town.

She peeked over the railing just inside, shining the light at the bottom. She frowned. The ground was not close enough to jump. She pointed the light around, locating dilapidated stairs that led down into inky blackness. At the end of the stairs, Y/n fell, narrowly avoiding tetanus as she grabbed the unstable metal, yelping.

Somehow, in her flailing, she'd kicked the flashlight back into her hand after dropping it. After the shock of not being dead subsided, she pointed the light down. There, the ground looked up at her, almost mocking her with its proximity. She dropped to her feet, the tired stairs creaking, a mere jump away from escape.

Down a hallway glowed something green. Like a horror movie protagonist, she walked toward it. But she did so quietly, keeping the light trained on the darkness ahead. The glowing goo below lit up her walkway, letting her eyes see in the darkness. She turned off her flashlight, having watched too many plots where the flashlight died right when it was needed.

She went down the hallway, the green goo now behind her. A hole let the faint light of the moon in, bathing everything in a twilight blue.

In the corner of her eye, she saw movement, but kept moving, slowly pivoting around the room, flashlight at the ready.

A (black?) goop plopped onto the ground and made its way towards her. The moment she realized it was moving, she bolted, saving her screaming energy for running.

She jumped up to the stairs faster than she would've thought possible. Whipping around a corner, she slipped and dropped the flashlight. She reached for it, but had no time to dwell on the loss as the black goop was right behind her. She bolted up the stairs, hardly keeping her footing on the old stairs, willing them to get her to the top faster than the goop.

She dove through the hole in the wall she'd come in through, barely sparing a glance at the hole to see that the goop had stopped at the concrete.

She gulped in air, watching the goop, before heading home. Y/n would need to get another flashlight. Oh wait, her dad had bought her one when the blackout had happened, giving her a spare. And worst case, she kept her phone charged. She glanced back through the brush, but saw no unusual movement.

When she got back to her apartment, its dark, quiet atmosphere was comforting. She took a shower and noticed a scratch right under her boob. She cleaned it as thoroughly as she could in the shower. Once out, she got some rubbing alcohol, gritted her teeth, and stuck the cotton ball on the wound. Pain threw stars in her vision and she could swear she saw Orion. After about five seconds (which felt like an eternity) she soaked her cloth with warm water and patted the cut before drying and bandaging it.

She put on her pajamas and went to bed.

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

A restaurant named You're Not Supposed To Be Here, where the whole point is that the vibes are unnerving. The lighting is weird, the whole place has a faint scent that's not a bad smell, but it's certainly not food smell and you can't quite identify what the hell it is. The music is weirdly janky and you can't quite tell what's wrong with it, the vocals aren't exactly garbled but sung in a language you swear you've never heard anywhere and couldn't name if you tried. Only hiring staff who have anxiety and they're 100% permitted to show how much your presence here stresses them out.

Orc girlfriend who wants to be soft for you. She has spent her whole life fighting. Her body is ravaged by scars and burns. Her hands and fear are basically just callouses. Her hair is routinely chopped off or her head completely shaved because that’s one less thing to worry about during battle.

However, nothing feels better than when she grows it out and you brush it out. When you put a face mask on her and giggle as you convince her to let you pamper her with a spa day. The first time she even has her nails painted is when you beg her, and there’s something about the way that you smile when you do it, so careful to get it perfect, that makes her heart swell.

The sex is amazing, of course, but she just feels her heart swell every time she looks at you. She’s a warrior, a fighter, a killer, but when she looks at you, all she wants is to be a wife.

Adults: Following rules is good, not following rules is bad

Little me: Okay :] *follows a rule*

Adults: Oh my god look at this loser. He doesn't know that this rule is Secretly Okay To Not Follow. Dumbass. Let's all laugh at him

So I just saw a post by a random personal blog that said “don’t follow me if we never even had a conversation before” and?????? Not to be rude but literally what the fuck??????????

I’ve had people (non-pornbots) try to strike conversation out of nowhere in my DMs recently, and now I’m wondering if they were doing that because they wanted to follow me and thought they needed to interact first. I feel compelled to say, just in case, that it’s totally okay to follow this blog (or my side blog, for that matter) even if we’ve never talked before.

Also, I’m legit confused. Is this how follow culture works right now? It was worded like it’s common sense but is that really a thing?

"Yeah, and it's super cute and silly until the spunky little sidekick dies because they think they're grown up enough to handle the job I've spent the last 20 years struggling with. Not. Happening."

Writing Prompt #2923

"Come on! Everyone needs a spunky little sidekick!"

"Yeah, and it's super cute and silly until the spunky little sidekick dies because they think they're grown up enough to handle the job I've spent the last 20 years doing. Not. Happening."

"Strong? Nothing strong is meant to be forever. You need time to rest, restore that energy, and resume. Don't let my appearance stop you from resting."

Writing Prompt #2938

"I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be strong." She buried her face in her hands, hoping to hide the tears on her face.

"You are strong. You're okay to keep going. Take all the time you need."

"You can't believe that you will actually make a difference. You're just one person."

"And a snowflake is just one. And a pebble is just one. But a pebble thrown leads to a rock, a stone, a boulder. A snowflake can easily be the difference between a snow mound and an avalanche. Y'see, it's not about one. One is often too little. It's about one more. One more rock, one more snowflake, one more drop, one more person.

Writing Prompt #2948

"You don't believe you can actually make a difference. You're one person."

"The funny thing is that when just one person starts to act, you find a whole lot more than one person who feels the same way. Maybe I don't get anything done myself. Maybe I'm wasting my time. But I'm willing to try."