little-infj-cafe

Latest Posts by little-infj-cafe

Enemies to lovers Prompts #1

↠ Rival Bakers Who Can’t Stand Each Other…

She thinks his croissants are too buttery. He thinks her cupcakes are overrated. They’ve spent years side-eyeing each other from across the town bakery scene, but now? They’re stuck in the same high-stakes baking competition. Forced to share tips, kitchen space, and maybe a few late-night practice sessions, they realize that hate tastes a lot like love, just with extra frosting.

↠ The Nerd vs. The Popular Kid, but Feelings Get in the Way…

She’s the star of the debate team. He’s the guy who doesn’t even bring a backpack to school. They’ve never exchanged a sentence that wasn’t filled with sarcasm, until they’re paired for the biggest project of the semester. Deadlines, arguments, and way too many late-night study sessions later, the real problem isn’t the assignment. It’s the way they suddenly can’t stop looking at each other.

↠ Small-Town War Over a Garden (And Also Their Hearts)…

She wants a peaceful community garden where kids can learn about nature. He wants a shiny new business development that totally doesn’t need another Starbucks. They start as enemies, throwing around legal jargon and passive-aggressive town hall speeches, but somehow, between planting flowers and fighting over zoning laws, their arguments start to feel a little too much like foreplay.

↠ Fairy vs. Guardian... a Magical Disaster (That Ends in Love)…

She’s a reckless little menace with wings. He’s a brooding, by-the-book guardian of the enchanted forest. They get stuck together on one mission and immediately hate everything about each other, until late-night stakeouts and accidental life-saving moments make them rethink everything. Turns out, magic isn’t the most powerful force in the forest. They are.

↠ Two Rival Animal Shelter Volunteers Who’d Rather Strangle Each Other than Fall in Love.

She thinks dogs belong on cozy blankets. He thinks they belong outside, running free. Every time they cross paths at the animal shelter, someone ends up yelling. But when a batch of abandoned puppies needs their help, they’re suddenly stuck working together. Between midnight feedings and arguing over the best chew toys, their rivalry starts feeling a little too much like flirting.

10 Writing Things That Have Saved My Creative Soul (and Sanity)

↳ If your character’s arc isn’t making you slightly emotional or existential, it’s probably not finished. If they start and end the story the same person, that’s not a character arc—it’s a flatline. Make them squirm, learn, lose, grow. Bonus points if they make you question your own moral compass in the process.

↳ Worldbuilding is not a license to drown your reader in lore like it’s Game of Thrones on steroids. If you have to write a wiki page to understand your own plot, fine...but that doesn’t mean your reader has to read it. Give us breadcrumbs, not a 12-course feast on page one.

↳ If the theme of your story can’t be summed up in one slightly aggressive sticky note, you’re probably overcomplicating it. (“This book is about choosing yourself even when no one else does”—boom, theme. Now go make your characters suffer for it.)

↳ You will hate your manuscript somewhere between 30k and 50k words. That’s your cue to keep going, not quit. It’s like the literary version of hitting mile 18 in a marathon. Everything hurts, but that means you're doing it right.

↳ That “genius idea” you had at 2 a.m.? Save it. Write it down. But don’t drop everything for it. New ideas are seductive chaos demons. Your current project deserves monogamy… at least until the second draft.

↳ A character’s greatest fear is a shortcut to their heart. Forget favorite color or coffee order...what keeps them up at night? What would destroy them if it came true?

↳ If you don’t know how to end your story, figure out what question it’s been asking the whole time. Once you know the question, the ending becomes the answer. Maybe not a happy answer, but a satisfying one.

↳ No one’s going to write your weird little story the way you will. That’s your superpower. So go ahead and write the morally gray necromancer love triangle in space. Your people are out there. And they’re hungry for it.

↳ You are allowed to be a slow writer. You are allowed to be a fast writer. You are not allowed to be a cruel writer—to yourself. The world will criticize your art for free. Don’t do their job for them inside your own head.

↳ Some stories just aren’t meant to be novels. And that’s okay. Maybe it's a short story. A play. A fever dream disguised as a poem. The shape doesn’t matter. The story does. Let it tell you what it wants to be.

Character Movements #1

╰ Sighing

Not just “he sighed.” That’s lazy. Give us the why behind the air. Is it the kind of sigh that deflates their whole chest, like they’ve been holding the world on their lungs? Or one sharp exhale through the nose, all frustration and fed-up energy? Maybe it’s quiet—barely audible. Maybe they don’t even realize they’re doing it. But the room shifts a little when they do. Sighs can mean “I give up,” or “finally,” or “not this sh*t again.” Just depends on what’s dragging at their ribs.

╰ Shivering

This isn’t just about cold. A character can shiver in a warm room if they’re scared enough. Maybe their skin prickles before it starts, like tiny goosebumps racing up their arms. Maybe it hits in a full-body tremble, their breath catching like something primal in them just screamed “danger.” Or maybe it’s subtle, like a soft internal quake they’re trying not to show. It’s the kind of movement that betrays the truth they won’t say out loud.

╰ Trembling Hands

Shaking hands are so intimate. They’re not dramatic—they’re revealing. It’s the way their fingers fumble to light a cigarette. The way they have to tuck their hands under their thighs so no one sees. Maybe they keep reaching for the glass but can’t quite get a grip. Or maybe they do grip and the tremor runs through the whole glass like a warning. It’s not about the shake. It’s about the fact they wish they weren’t shaking at all.

╰ Clenching Fists

This one? Its tension incarnate. And it doesn’t always mean someone’s about to punch something. Sometimes they ball their fists just to keep from crying. Or because they’re trying so hard not to say something they’ll regret. Look for the subtleties: white knuckles, nails digging into palms, fists flexing open and closed like they’re trying to wring out emotion. It’s control. Rage. Determination. Or the act of stuffing all that inside a cage of fingers.

╰ Biting Nails

It’s more than “they’re nervous.” It’s compulsion. Habit. A survival tic. They might not even realize they’re doing it—just fingers to mouth, chewing down without looking, like their body’s trying to chew through the waiting. Maybe their nails are ragged. Maybe they flinch when they bite too deep. Maybe it’s the sound, the soft click of teeth and nail in a dead-silent room. It’s vulnerability dressed up as fidgeting.

╰ Tapping Fingers

This is the soundtrack of a restless mind. Is the rhythm sharp? Fast? Jittery? Are they tapping with one finger like a countdown—or all five, like a rainstorm on the table? They might not even notice. But other people do. Someone asks them to stop, and they bristle. Or they stop mid-tap when someone says the wrong thing, and that silence? That silence is loud. Tapping fingers are rarely idle. They’re keeping time with the character’s thoughts.

╰ Pacing

Pacing isn’t just walking back and forth—it’s the body trying to outrun a thought. They stand. They sit. They stand again. They move because stillness feels like being buried alive. Maybe their footsteps are soft, barefoot across carpet. Or hard-soled and echoing through a hallway like a threat. Maybe they walk a perfect loop, over and over. Maybe it’s erratic, jerking toward the door, away, toward again. Their mind is spinning, and their body’s just trying to keep up.

╰ Slumping Shoulders

This isn’t just a posture change—it’s the moment the weight wins. Shoulders that sag say “I lost.” Or “I’m done.” Or “Please don’t ask me to care anymore.” Maybe they slump in a chair and stare at the floor. Maybe they’re standing, but something in them folds anyway. Their spine’s still straight, but their shoulders fall like scaffolding giving way.

╰ Tilting Head

Simple movement—loaded meaning. They tilt their head when someone says something that doesn’t quite click. Or when they’re trying to listen harder, like angling their body will help them hear the truth under the words. Maybe the tilt is sharp and skeptical, like “You sure about that?” Or soft and curious, like “I’m trying to understand.” Or just a little too slow, too drawn out—like a predator sizing up prey. It’s instinctual. And it always means they’re paying attention.

╰ Rubbing Temples

This one screams I’m trying to hold it together. It might be frustration. Migraine. Bone-deep exhaustion. They press fingers to their temples like they’re physically trying to squash the problem before it leaks further into their head. Maybe their fingers circle gently, trying to soothe themselves. Maybe it’s two fingers, firm pressure, eyes closed, jaw clenched. It’s the gesture of someone whose brain won’t shut up—and whose body knows it.

me when the plot won't plot like it should

Well obviously I can’t have chronic fatigue, that’s a real problem for real disabled people that’s diagnosed by doctors probably. Clearly I just have some sort of perpetual exhaustion issue, that is also almost certainly my fault somehow

themes commonly found in international friendships

- ‘u dont have (insert food/music/restaurant here) over there??’ - ‘wait what time is it. shouldnt u be asleep’ - alternatively: timezoned/clockblocked again - ‘do u need a hug. have a virtual hug’ - weird slang terms - ‘i will fight everyone thats mean to u. i will fight them rn’ - vague embarrassment regarding ur accent - ‘dont maKE ME COME OVER THERE’ - ‘oh yeah i have a friend who lives in (insert country here) and apparently’ - no real hugs :(( - suffering - fahrenheit vs celsius - the measuring of things in feet fucks one of u up, probably

I had a really weird experience with my teacher the other day.

Now for context, he's not my teacher. I had him for calculus last year after I switched from AB to on-level and got a near 100 in the class. I signed up for a teacher assistant position with him, thinking I'd be helping teach calculus. Nope. I ended up being a TA for Algebra 1 instead.

He's a very... interesting person, to say the least, and I've heard really mixed things about him over the year. I don't know where he stands on any issue I care about very much. I haven't had the courage to ask him about AI. I don't think he particularly cares for politics that much—not that I particularly care what he thinks—and has given very mixed responses on things. He seems to like Elon Musk, as he said that we're "Very fortunate to be in a time with him in it" or something of the sort because of what he did with electric cars.

But one thing I am absolutely certain of is that he doesn't like psychology and said at one point in front of the class of freshmen that I want to pursue a career in "stupid science." Now, mind you, there are at least two other kids in that class who want to go into psychology for a career. Which is awesome. I love that people have a passion for studying the mind.

He said that therapists (in a different instance) are hurting people more than helping people, and if I want to be a therapist, then I should just open a workout therapy place and call it a day. Because, according to him, workout is just as affective against Depression as antidepressants it's for mild depression, mild depression you ignorant fuck not major depressive disorder-- -_-

Anyway, I noticed that the kids in my class are making some rather inappropriate jokes about schizophrenia and being gay (which isn't a mental disorder, but I heard some distasteful comments that I couldn't let go unnoticed) before the break, and I had a long time to think on it, so when I came back, I asked Mr. Algebra teacher if I could talk to the class about how what they were saying wasn't okay.

He said that I have two minutes at the end of class, which isn't nearly enough time for me to talk about everything, but whatever. What struck me as odd and probably a Red Flag was how he kept trying to refute it and say that I shouldn't talk about it too seriously because they're just being immature. I made the argument that, yes, it's immature but it's also perpetuating stigmas that we don't want going around that can seriously hurt people and that what they were saying wasn't okay regardless. He said that people back in middle school said worse things like the r-word (which was also said here, but I didn't mention it), and I said sure but this is still bad as well. He said that I WAS RIGHT TO DO THIS AND SHOULD DO THIS 99 percent of the time, and internally I was just like why are you arguing with me and trying to backtrack this accomplishes nothing. He told me that I shouldn't expect for the issue to be resolved completely. I said I didn't expect it to.

I go up there and deliver my very awesome speech that he interrupted to make me get to my point faster, I guess. After I finished, he pulled me to the side and asked me what went well and what didn't. Which just felt... weird? I said that I think it went really well overall and that I didn't think anything was wrong. He said that he wished I didn't group the conversation about the gay stuff with the conversation about the schizophrenia and ocd stuff. To me, it felt like a very clear connection but oh well. He reiterated that I shouldn't expect to see much change. I said okay.

It's been almost a month.

GUESS WHO HASN'T HEARD A SINGLE COMMENT ABOUT SCHIZOPHRENIA, GAY INSULTS, OR ANYTHING REGARDING CALLING ANOTHER CLASSMATE OCD?

ME.

Take that, Mr. Algebra teacher.

It's the little wins that help me make it through the day, but honestly, this one is just completely boosting my self-esteem and confidence about being in the psychology field in the future.

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

10 Secrets Your Character Is Desperately Hiding (and Probably Will Until They Die or Get Drunk Enough to Confess)

╰ They moonlight as an absolutely awful stand-up comedian.

They don’t just tell bad jokes, they commit to them. We’re talking full costume, dollar-store wigs, a fake name like “Chuckles McSuffer,” and punchlines that make people groan so hard their souls briefly exit their bodies. And....they love it. The stage is the only place they feel weirdly free… which is why no one in their real life can ever know. Ever.

╰ They can dance like their life depends on it, but they never do it in public.

We’re talking footwork that would make a music video jealous. Rhythm in their bones. But they’ve decided the world isn’t ready. Or maybe they’re not. So they only dance alone in the kitchen at 2 a.m. Or in the middle of a supermarket aisle when they think no one’s looking. And when they do get caught? “Nope. That wasn’t me. That was… a spasm. Mind your business.”

╰ They’re secretly freakishly good at imitating animals.

Birds. Dogs. Goats. Snakes. They’ve got the sounds, the gestures, the whole weird little zoo living inside them. It’s the kind of skill you don’t admit to having because it’s impossible to explain how it started or why you’re so good at it. They only let it out when alone… or, let’s be real, when they’re trying to impress someone and immediately regret it.

╰ They are the office prankster. And no one suspects a thing.

Every missing stapler, glitter bomb, whoopee cushion, and mysteriously replaced family photo? That’s them. The mild-mannered barista/accountant/space pilot you’d never suspect. They’ve got an entire prank calendar hidden in their sock drawer and a spreadsheet of targets and outcomes. But they also have boundaries. No emotional damage. Just chaos.

╰ They have a full-on karaoke alter ego.

Different name. Different voice. Whole new personality. They sneak off to karaoke bars in the next town over wearing sunglasses indoors and croon power ballads like their soul is trapped in a 2005 romcom montage. Their go-to number is “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Their real friends have no idea. And if they ever found out? This character would simply evaporate.

╰ They collect the weirdest sh*t you’ve ever seen.

Not stamps. Not coins. Try: novelty rubber ducks. Ugly fridge magnets. Cursed porcelain dolls. Empty chip bags from every country they’ve visited. Their closet is one shelf away from being a museum of “What Even Is This.” No one knows. No one must know. It brings them joy. It’s their version of peace. And yeah, it’s a little creepy. But it’s theirs.

╰ They cannot cook to save their life. Like, not even toast.

They once set a salad on fire. The microwave fears them. Every “simple recipe” turns into a crime scene. But instead of admitting it, they just… lie. Constantly. “Oh yeah, I made that!” (They did not. Their neighbor did. And their neighbor swore never to speak of it again.) They’ve mastered the art of deflection, distraction, and showing up with “store-bought but plated nicely.”

╰ They live their life by a bunch of completely nonsensical superstitions.

Never wear green on Wednesdays. If a pigeon looks at you sideways, cancel your plans. Salt must be thrown over the right shoulder or the demons will know. They’ve got a ritual for everything, from writing emails to picking socks. But no one knows they believe this stuff, because they make it look casual. Strategic coincidence. That’s the game.

╰ They throw underground dance parties in their basement. Alone. In costume.

Disco ball? Check. Fog machine? Obviously. Elaborate themed playlists? You bet. Their Tuesday nights are sacred: just them, their playlist called “Sad but Funky,” and a new costume every week. No one suspects. Not the roommates. Not the neighbors. If anyone ever found out, they’d lie and say it was for a friend’s child’s birthday. Every week. Sure.

╰ Their hobbies are… specific. And objectively hilarious.

Like, not “I read books and do yoga” hobbies. More like: competitive pillow fighting. Binge-watching bug documentaries and taking notes. Collecting socks with political slogans. Writing erotica starring finger puppets (don’t ask). They act normal, mostly. But their browser history is a carnival. And their heart? Pure chaos.

Ways I Show a Character is In Love But Doesn't Know It Yet...

This one’s for the emotional masochists writing the slowest of burns, where your readers are screaming “just kiss already!” by chapter twenty... I Love and Hate you... ♥

They compare everyone else to the person… and everyone else comes up short. Even when they’re not consciously doing it. No one’s laugh is as warm. No one’s eyes crinkle that way.

They remember the weirdest little things about them. Birthdays? Whatever. But that time they snorted laughing at a dumb joke? Locked and loaded.

They feel weirdly guilty when flirting with someone else. Like they’re cheating… except they’re not even dating. Or are they? Or—ugh, feelings are the worst.

They notice every damn detail when the other person isn’t around. "They’d like this song." "This smells like their shampoo." "I wonder what they'd say about this weird squirrel."

They use weird, overly specific compliments. Not “You look good,” but “That color makes your eyes look like a storm in a novel I’d cry over.”

They get weirdly intense about that person being hurt or in danger. Like, irrationally intense. "He’s just a friend," they say while planning to murder anyone who makes them cry.

They feel safer around them than anyone else, and it freaks them out. Like: “I’m always on guard. Except with you. That’s... suspicious.”

10 Soul-Level Secrets Your Character Is Carrying (And Hiding Like Their Life Depends on It)

These are the kind of secrets, that keep your character up at night. The kind that twist their decisions, poison their relationships, and build a wall between who they are and who they pretend to be.

» They think they ruined someone’s life, and no one knows.

It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t obvious. But maybe they said the wrong thing. Maybe they didn’t show up when it mattered. Maybe they walked away and something irreversible happened. No one connects the dots. But they do. Every day.

They smile like everything’s fine. They help people. But underneath? They’re trying to atone for something they never confessed.

» They don’t believe they’re capable of being truly loved.

They might flirt. They might date. They might even say “I love you” like it’s nothing. But they don’t believe it when it’s said back. They think people are just being kind. Or delusional. Or lying. It doesn’t matter how good they are—it never feels like enough. So they self-sabotage. Quietly. Strategically. Like clockwork.

» They’re living a life that’s not theirs.

Maybe they took someone’s spot, figuratively or literally. Maybe they’re fulfilling someone else’s dream, wearing someone else’s name, carrying someone else’s story. They were supposed to say no. Walk away. Be honest. But now it’s too late. Too deep. Too tangled. So they pretend this version of their life is real. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

» They’ve buried a part of their identity because it was safer.

Their queerness. Their culture. Their belief system. Their softness. Their rage. At some point, they decided—this part of me makes people leave. So they buried it. Cut it off. And now they move through life like a shadow of who they were supposed to be. They blend. They perform. But deep down, something sacred is starving.

» They still love the person they say they hate.

They’ll deny it. They’ll joke. They’ll talk sh*t with a smile. But the truth? They never really let go. And they never will. It’s in the way their voice shakes. The way they remember the smallest detail. The way they get weirdly quiet when that person’s name comes up. Love laced with bitterness is still love. That’s what makes it so hard.

» They’ve hurt someone on purpose—and never apologized.

It was calculated. Or maybe impulsive. But they knew what they were doing. And they did it anyway. Now they pretend it didn’t matter. They laugh it off. “We all make mistakes,” right? But in the quiet moments, it haunts them. They remember the look in that person’s eyes. They remember the moment they chose cruelty. And they hate themselves for it.

» They think they’re a bad person deep down.

They might be kind. Loyal. Brave. But they’re convinced it’s a performance. A mask. That underneath all the good, they’re something rotten. Unforgivable. Wrong. So they wait. For the slip-up. For the fallout. For someone to finally say it out loud: “I knew you were never really good.”

» They’re still shaped by something they pretend didn’t happen.

That thing? The trauma? The grief? The shame? They’ve never talked about it. Maybe they’ve blocked it out. Maybe they minimize it. But it’s everywhere—in the way they react to conflict, touch, silence, love. They don’t think it matters anymore. But it does. It always has.

» They dream of leaving. But never will.

Every day, they imagine packing a bag. Burning it all down. Starting over. But they stay. Because of guilt. Obligation. Fear. They smile while doing the right thing. But in the back of their mind, they’re screaming. They’ve built a prison out of choices that looked noble on paper.

» They’ve built a whole personality around keeping people from seeing who they really are.

The loud one. The chill one. The one who always makes the plans or always fixes the mess or always has a snarky comeback. It’s not fake. But it’s not all there is. They’ve decided that the real them? The soft, scared, selfish, angry, insecure them? Can’t be loved. So they keep the performance airtight. But some part of them still hopes someone will see through it anyway.

I want really really badly to do the whole, corkboard covered in red string and pictures but i have Nothing To Do It For. this is a problem that i could solve by Making Shit Up but also the corkboard is in my room where people go and being percieved is scary as shit.

I second this. I will be infinitely wounded if you put both my fics and my writing into chat gpt. my question is why would someone even do this? Like, why would you do this? It takes away from the art. It takes away from the raw emotion, the nights I spent crying over this fic, the silly conversations I've had ranting to people planning this, the late nights planning and plotting--all gone to waste because you decided you couldn't wait a week or so for the next part or chapter to come out.

This is the worst timeline. (x)

pls do

for some reason ive had to viciously fight the overwhelming urge to add “dawg” to my every day vocabulary for like, the entire past month. No one i know says it. where did it come from? why is it here?? how do i get it to stop??? no but seriously i think ive heard it like, twice my entire life how did it get into my brain and why wont it leave.

there is a cat in my lap. i know the cat (lives in this house. is my dad’s cat) but i do not at all remember when the cat got in my lap. just fucking. appeared apparently. i looked down and cat was there.

"i don't comment on ao3 because i don't wanna be annoying or weird" skill issue + you greatly underestimate the power dynamic here, writing multi paragraph comments is like feeding a bunch of deeply insane and possibly starved ducks at the park and watch them go completely mad over having received a piece of bread

*points to the college i got into* is it really that surprising tho

for some reason ive had to viciously fight the overwhelming urge to add “dawg” to my every day vocabulary for like, the entire past month. No one i know says it. where did it come from? why is it here?? how do i get it to stop??? no but seriously i think ive heard it like, twice my entire life how did it get into my brain and why wont it leave.

hiiiii

i should be banned from posting after 10pm. bad things happen in the evening when i am given free reign of the tumblr. Doing psychological warfare on my mutuals enjoy the mess that is. Me.

we absolutely should. it would be very platonically romantic. speaking of which, I'm driving @chaiandpages absolutely insane with the platonic writing I'm doing because I'm a romance writer and now I'm writing a 100 percent platonic relationship but they're pretending they're dating to get this dude to fuck off and its perhaps the best romantic banter I've ever written???? anyway hi

i should be banned from posting after 10pm. bad things happen in the evening when i am given free reign of the tumblr. Doing psychological warfare on my mutuals enjoy the mess that is. Me.

sorry my fault

for some reason ive had to viciously fight the overwhelming urge to add “dawg” to my every day vocabulary for like, the entire past month. No one i know says it. where did it come from? why is it here?? how do i get it to stop??? no but seriously i think ive heard it like, twice my entire life how did it get into my brain and why wont it leave.

the entire time i am having right now

oh yeah you did this at my bday party at some point

flabberghasted

I really want to just. crunch so hard on a carrot right now. favourite way to eat carrot is to eat the outer part first and leave only the core of the carrot and then carve it into a rectangle thingy by shaving the sides with my teeth and then accidentally break it in half and stare at it for a second and eat it so good very crunch yummy carrot i Will become rabbit.

see but what if we like your psychological warefare

i should be banned from posting after 10pm. bad things happen in the evening when i am given free reign of the tumblr. Doing psychological warfare on my mutuals enjoy the mess that is. Me.

sometimes intimacy is a field standing between you and the person you want most.

What the hell even is intimacy anymore? It feels like that word is everywhere. ‘The intimacy of this, the intimacy of that’. It’s a little funny, how I seem to complain of that wording in spite of the opener of this post. But truth be told— I’m not complaining. Not about the core value and notion of the sentiment. Sure, I think people could be more original with titles— but that’s just a nitpick. I’m glad people are realising there’s an intimacy in almost everything. An intimacy in life’s small pleasures, an intimacy in perhaps a breakup or a falling out. Intimacy is a word that triggers the human psyche— brings intrigue and sometimes, I think, for a lot of us— it can bring a sense of anxiety. And with that being said— if your idea and sense of intimacy is not much beyond something like physical relations, well— then maybe you won’t understand the nuance of what I and a lot of other people are saying and coming to realise. Intimacy, in my eyes, goes so much beyond the physical. To be intimate— to look into the eyes of someone, to laugh, to cry, to be perceived. It’s all sickly intimate. Oh, as I type this in my late afternoon, I’m coming to realise how much I am hating that word. Simply because it has bern dulled down to nothing. Nothing everything has to be euphemistic, my possibly close-minded reader. Not everything in life is chalked up to a human hunger, lust.

For me? There’s nothing more intimate than distance. Between me and this hypothetical person, stands a field. And what is in that field? Well, it’s whatever I want it to be. Maybe it’s empty and sun bleached, maybe it’s lovely and green with a small pond and that long grass that snakes seem to love to hide in. Maybe it’s full of flowers— yellow ones. Because I know that they’re her favourite colour. What stands between this person is something only myself and they know. It’s between us— between two souls whom shall not utter a single word to eachother, for one reason or another. However, actions always weighed more than words. A glance to me may feel more intimate than a kiss— a kiss can only portray one or two things. But a glance? A glance is a glance into the soul of the other person. A glance can mean a million things? Is it the look of love? Lust? (Seeing how my generation seems to care about not much else)— or maybe it’s one or anger? Unspoken words that stay unspoken like a sin? Maybe you’ll look at me and I’ll have to wonder why it is you looked at me that way. What it is about me that caused the twitch of your left eye. I doubt I’ll ever know. But it’s intimate. I’d be exploring and guessing the inner workings of a brain that is not mine— my calloused fingers (probably calloused from doing this a million times over, mind you) shall run their course along the curves and crevices of one’s brain, perhaps one’s soul, should I want to look that deep. Maybe I’ll run my index and middle fingers along the valve of your heart. My curiosities metaphysical body will touch your unknown soul— isn’t that intimacy? For those who chalk intimacy up to physicalities, think of it metaphorically. There is an intimacy in everything. So much so that the word holds so little weight. But because it’s so humane— so every-day— that’s why it’s so important. That’s why it’s important to appreciate it. Breathing air is normal, but losing oxygen will kill you. Appreciate things. Appreciate the intimacy of life.

We write because the night sky is too quiet for all the things we want to say. So we spill galaxies onto pages and call it storytelling.

There's an undeniable sexual tension between Bromine and Mercury, the only two elements in natural liquid phase

writing a multi-chapter fic is posting a chapter that is 1,000 word long and another that is 10,000 word long. there's no in between

A Free E-book on Writing Characters That Feel Real

A year ago, I sat down to write this book. At first, it was just an idea, a fleeting thought that whispered, Hey, maybe you should do this. But if I’m being honest? The only reason it actually exists today is you.

You, who kept showing up. You, who kept asking questions, sharing your struggles, and pushing me to keep going when I wanted to throw my laptop out the window. You made me believe this book was worth writing. So here it is. And it’s completely free on Amazon, because I want you to have it.

Now, This isn’t your typical “Here’s how to write a character” manual that tells you to slap on a few traits and call it a day. No, we’re diving deep into the messy, complicated, and downright chaotic process of creating characters who feel real, the kind who make readers laugh, cry, and scream into the void when they suffer.

What you’ll find inside:

🔥 Backstory – Ever met someone whose past didn’t shape them? Me neither. What happened to your character before page one? What traumas, triumphs, or late-night existential crises made them who they are?

"So you mean I have to give my character trauma?" Yes. Or at least something that matters. Nobody wants to read about someone who just woke up one day and decided to be interesting.

🔥 Motivation & Goals – What do they want? More importantly, why? What’s driving them forward or holding them back?

"So, can I just say my character wants to save the world?" No. You need to know what’s underneath that. Do they want to save the world because they failed to save someone before? Because they crave approval? Because they feel powerless and this is their way of taking control? Go deeper.

🔥 Relationships – Nobody exists in a vacuum. Who do they love? Who do they hate? Who’s their worst enemy, and who’s the person they’d take a bullet for?

"But what if my character is a loner?" Cool, but even loners have people they avoid, people they secretly miss, and people who haunt them. Nobody is truly alone.

🔥 Character Arc – People change. Or they don’t and that says something too. How does your character evolve (or refuse to) over the course of your story?

"Can my character stay the same?" Sure, if you want to show the cost of not changing. But readers love growth, whether it’s for better or worse.

🔥 Personality, Voice & Expression – Strengths, flaws, quirks, habits, the little things that make them Human.

"Can I just give them a scar and call it depth?" No. A scar is cool, but why does it matter to them? Do they trace it when they’re nervous? Does it make them self-conscious? Does it remind them of a promise, a failure, a night they wish they could forget? The details mean nothing unless they mean everything.

This isn’t some dry, theoretical textbook. This is a no-BS, straight-to-the-heart guide to crafting characters that breathe, bleed, and break hearts—characters that matter.

📖 Get your free copy on Kindle now! (Here On Amazon!)

And seriously—thank you. This book wouldn’t exist without you. 💖✨