#how to write not sad

[messenger-of-babel]

Surprise, I'm back early! Gonna start working on those part 2's (just for y'all) but in the meantime trying to write something new for food and I'm so primed into writing angst I don't know if I can stop now. Every scenario is just painful.

[3hks]

How to Write a Character with THAT *Sad Aura*

Have you ever stumbled upon a character, who, despite radiating wholesome, positive energy, also has a subtle undertone of sadness? It's kind of intriguing, isn't it? If you've ever wanted to write a perhaps more complex character or explore writing emotions, why not check this out?

What am I talking about?

Let's do a quick introduction as to what I mean. I've said this a couple times already, but to the reader, this character feels despondent even though they act nothing like it. This doesn't mean they have to act happy all the time (like my first example); they might act cold, or apathetic, but the point is they don't act visibly sad.

This faint melancholic mood provides a charming, or even nostalgic feel to the audience through ONE character! Isn't that kind of fun?

Eye Expressions

This character will not show sadness on their face--that contradicts the idea of "sad aura". But you know what they say, right? Eyes are the windows to the soul; they do not lie!

When trying to highlight some of this unhappiness, write about their eyes. Talk about how their eyes look oddly dim sometimes when they smile, or how they don't meet their friend's eyes when they laugh. These cues are simple but powerful.

Adverbs

You always have to be mindful of adverbs, but here especially, adverbs (and adjectives) unconsciously influence how your audience views the character.

For example, avoid saying too much of "smiled brightly" or "talked excitedly". If these are the adverbs you purposefully want to use to portray your character, then by all means! However, these adverbs add a happier connotation, which you must be aware of. If you want something more neutral (which I recommend for the most part), consider using lighter adverbs/adjectives, such as "smiled softly", or "offered lightly".

Reasons

A reason is normally needed for almost everything. Here, you want genuine reasons to back up why your character doesn't ask for help, thus forcing them to work through their unhappiness alone.

This could be because they think other people can't solve the problem, they don't want to bother others, they don't think their issue is a big deal, or they simply believe there's no solution.

Physical Hints

And if all this isn't enough, then drop some physical hints! Perhaps your character gets distracted often, tends to hesitate before speaking, deflects concerned comments with jokes, or has a hard time acknowledging reassurances, even when it's unrelated to their personal troubles. These habits suggest the idea your character has more than meets the eye.

Mood Changes

When people are upset, their mood tends to fluctuate. For most of us, we're typically upset for a short period, so we cycle through emotions such as anger, sadness, and even joy during these moments.

However, if your character is consistently sad, not just for a day or two, their mood might shift on different days. Maybe they're really tired one day, hardly speaking. Maybe the next, they are more frustrated, snapping at people or ignoring them. Maybe the day after that, they are overly energetic, bouncing everywhere and talking all the time, providing a bit of whiplash.

Purpose

Similar to having a reason for their reluctance of reaching out, you also want to ensure that they have a purpose for fighting. Why haven't they given up yet? This is especially crucial when considering the real world, where feeling upset leads to a lack of motivation.

So, what keeps them going, then? Do they want to fix their regrets? Do they want to change?

Backstory and Actions

To be honest, I wouldn't consider a backstory an absolute necessity, but I highly suggest creating one. Why? Because you can accurately identify the reason for your character's guilt, regret, and sorrows from the past with an actual backstory.

The events of your character's past always influence their future actions.

For example, if they were a part of a severe car accident in the past, perhaps they only feel comfortable when they are the driver in the future because that means they can control the car.

Conclusion

This character is not especially different from any other character, besides the fact that they are neither obvious nor overly secretive of their genuine feelings.

With that being said, focus on embodying their eye expressions, be careful about which adverbs and adjectives you choose to use--I recommend choosing ones with more neutral connotations for a sense of melancholy, explain why your character keeps their sadness to themselves and why they keep fighting despite it, show mood fluctuations, drop physical hints, such as actions and/or specific personality traits, and make sure to connect their past to their present!

Happy writing~

3hks ^^

[potatokoko]

The sky we could only dream to see

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 97-100)

* Where could she be?

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[daysofnights]

when sirius and james accidentally find out about regulus’ crush on james, sirius makes the mistake of assuming him and james are on the same page and tells him he trusts him to do the right thing (ie., let regulus down easy) james misinterprets this as sirius trusting him to never do anything that could hurt regulus and starts planning the wedding

[urfriendlywriter]

Angsty Prompts

(feel free to use, tag me when yall write!!! mwah xoxo)

"You're okay, look at me--yes, my love, you're okay. I'm here now."

tight hugs, their hands cradling you and your heart close to theirs.

Their heart shattering with every ragged breath u take and every sob that escapes your lips

"Do u know.. it's incredibly brave of you to.." They pause, gently rubbing the tears stains off your cheeks, "Be vulnerable with me? It's my honor, to protect you, and be a safe place for you."

being hospitalized, and waking up to find them curled at the foot of your bed, holding onto ur hand.

Voice breaking as they whisper, their hand tightening around yours, "I-I thought I lost you.."

pressing your lips their forehead, as they break apart in your arms, clinging onto you. eyes full of pain, tears and rare vulnerability that bares open their entire being to you

^ caressing their face, unable to know what to say or do but whispering, "Let me hold you through this all. It's okay to cry, my love.." and they completely shatter.

Them curling up into ur chest, needing comfort, security and strength

"I'm so sorry--" "No, no, no. You did ur best, my soul, i---i am the one sorry."

[cherryapplefish]

I am so sad. I want a world for Caleb where nothing bad happens to him.

I want him to be born to loving parents who are best friends with MC’s parents.

When MC is born he’s in awe and auntie and uncle tell him, “She’s like your sister. You have to protect her like an older brother would.”

They grow up together. Caleb sees her every weekend because their parents are always getting together.

When Caleb’s in the second grade, MC is starting kindergarten and he makes sure to protect her from the older kids who like to tease and tug at her pigtails.

In high school, Caleb gets to check in on her. He walks her to classes, tutors her in the subjects she’s struggling with, and they join the same clubs because they’re so alike it’s almost ridiculous.

And in college they fall in love. Except maybe that’s silly because Caleb’s always loved MC. There’s never been a question of if maybe just how much.

He loves her like she’s his soul. He loves her like she’s the sun. He loves her like he’s the earth, pulled in by her gravity, given life by her light.

He loves her on soft days, when the summer sun beats down on them and yet she’s still pressed into his side reading some book.

He loves her on hard days, when rain beats down against the roof, thunder roaring over the sounds of her sobs. Her tears fall faster than the water drops outside and he presses her face into his neck, whispers, “You’re good enough. I promise you are. You’re perfect.”

He loves her because all he’s ever known is love and all he’s ever seen her as is love.

[stevebabey]

pre-steddie (its rly scratching the itch atm), steve harrington being a sad drunk :(, angst with a happy ending, 1.4k

If you asked him how it transpired, Eddie couldn’t tell you — but somehow, there’s a drunk Steve Harrington on the Munson’s couch.

Physically, he’d hazard a guess Steve walked all the way from whatever party he’d been at. Which is a concern in itself—either Steve wandered through the woods or he wandered quite some way, but that’s a whole other can of worms.

The why of why Steve’s here—why he chose to sought out Eddie in particular—is another mystery altogether.

If Eddie had to guess, he’d say somewhere between the commonality of crashing at each other’s place to keep the nightmares at bay and a night of drinking is how Steve ended up here.

It’s nearing midnight the clock tells him, blinking red from the microwave. Steve’s holding a glass of water that he’s sipped from only once.

And he’s sad.

Considering it, Eddie hadn’t thought Steve would be a sad drunk. Especially if you consider the sheer amount of parties he threw as a teenager.

It just doesn’t quite fit into his ever changing picture of Steve Harrington. Like a puzzle piece the wrong shape that doesn’t fit with the rest. Happy drunk? Horny drunk? Those made better sense than this.

But then again, Eddie stopped trying to make sense of Steve a couple months after the Vecna-episode of their lives.

(It’s sort of something he really likes about Steve, that he can’t ever really pin him down — that he’s always surprising Eddie.)

Either way, the fact remains that Steve is drunk and Steve is sad.

Eddie just doesn’t know about what.

“C’mon,” Eddie nudges the glass in Steve’s hand gently, the second time tonight. “Gotta drink up, Stevie, lest you risk the wrath of tomorrow’s hangover.”

Steve’s slumped sideways on the couch, not too drunk to be out of it, but evidently rather physically beat. He’s leaning his head up against the ratty leather of the couch, his eyes closed.

Eddie sits opposite him, enough distance to keep it friendly, but close enough to catch the glass if Steve suddenly decides he doesn’t feel like holding it anymore.

He wants to sit closer, wants to maybe even hold Steve’s hand. Cup his face and murmur sweet nothings until sad drunk Steve is replaced by someone happier.

Eddie swallows the desire down, away.

By all accounts, there’s nothing Steve’s said or done to give away his sadness. Eddie only knows he’s sad from that slight downturn of his mouth — the slight jut of his lip. The world’s most adorable pout if it wasn’t being caused for bad reasons, Eddie thinks.

He knows what it looks like because it’s what Steve looks like when he wakes from a nightmare. When he’s properly distressed, thrust to the verge of tears. Eddie knows the sight well. (And Steve knows his.)

On the couch beside him, Steve makes a little noise in response to the nudge. His eyes crease open.

He looks tired. It’s not the exhaustion that comes with terror, with having sleep chased from you, but… bone-deep tiredness.

Eddie’s lip part, unsure if it’s to urge Steve to drink some water again or just to ask what’s wrong when—

“No one wants it.” Steve says, in the smallest voice. It’s barely a whisper.

Eddie’s brows draw together. The sadness in Steve’s words travel out, pushing an ache into his chest.

“Wants what?”

Steve is silent. He’s not looking at Eddie — he wasn’t before, but now his gaze is downcast, studying the glass in his hands. His finger traces the rim.

“Wants what, Steve?” Eddie tries again.

This time, Steve sighs and it looks like it takes the wind out of him completely. “My…”

There’s a crack in his voice. Steve clears his throat and closes his eyes again, this time scrunched up as if he’s resisting the emotion that tries to take over.

“My stupid love. Keep… keep tryna give it, but no one wants to take it.” He inhales jaggedly, turning an inch and pressing further into the couch, like he’s hiding. His voice is muffled and wrecked. “No one wants it.”

Something splinters in Eddie’s chest, slivers of agony burying beneath his skin. He’s speechless.

How can Steve think that? How can he believe that?

“I do,” Eddie says, before realising what’s he’s saying.

Steve stiffens on the couch, tentatively digging his face out from hiding. His downturned eyes still have that warbling sadness and Eddie just needs to make it better — even if it means throwing his pathetic crush under the bus.

“Eddie-” Steve says, wary and tired all at once, as if he’s saying don’t do this, don’t lie to me.

“I do. It sounds lovely,” Eddie insists, completely truthful. “If you want someone to give it to, I’ll take it. I want it.”

Steve eyes him. Some of that melancholy in him has turned to apprehension. He sniffles a bit and sighs again.

“Not- not like that.” Steve murmurs, eyes falling back to the glass in his hands. He speaks with a lilt of embarrassment, as though he thinks it’s shameful to care this much. “Not as a friend, Eddie.”

A stone grows in Eddie’s throat. It’ll hurt like hell to swallow it, to speak, but Steve has always been worth it.

“I know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t quite keep all his nerves out of the words and they jam up in his mouth for a moment. “Not like that, Steve.”

He desperately wants to grab his own hair, to fiddle with it, release some tension, but he also doesn’t want to break the quiet softness between them.

The fridge hums in the silence. The clock on the microwave blinks back midnight.

Wishing hour? Maybe in some myths and stories. Eddie clings it anyway.

Steve’s hazel eyes are a little wider now. A little more awake. He’s picked his head up, no longer leaning against the couch cushions.

“You…”

Freak. Fag. Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies every awful way this could roll, entirely too late. He tenses up, shoulders curling in, a minuscule motion.

But Steve doesn’t look disgusted, he looks a little in disbelief.

“You… want it?” He asks, that same quiet whisper.

And that does a number of Eddie’s heart—the enormity of Steve’s disbelief that someone would want his love, that the rest of it—the semantics, the fact that boys can’t kiss boys—doesn’t even matter to him.

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. He nods jerkily, the nerves still there, even with Steve’s easy acceptance. “I do. I’d love to have it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s laid his head back down, his hair scrunched up against the leather, but his eyes are still on Eddie. Not scrutinising, just studying. There’s still that hazy look to them, no doubt the alcohol still in his veins.

“I never… didn’t think…” He’s murmuring more to himself. From the concentration of his gaze, he’s thinking hard. He sniffles again, nose twitching and then frowns, eyes cast to the side, before,

“Okay,” Steve says finally, voice quiet. “If you… if you mean it.”

Then he unfurls his hand, the one that had been tracing the glass, and puts it forward. Between them on the couch.

Eddie eyes it, stomach swooping, pulse thudding, and then does what he does best; throws caution to the wind. Steve might hate him tomorrow but tonight, Eddie won’t hide.

Their fingers slot together easily, two perfect puzzle pieces.

Eddie wonders if him in Steve’s life, him like this with Steve, is one of those things that would work—would make sense. If he wants to make sense with Steve or instead be another surprising thing about him.

(That Steve Harrington might like boys. Might like Eddie.)

Steve is gazing at their joined hands. For the first time since he got to Eddie’s trailer, his lips turn upward, a very small yet happy smile. He gives a very light squeeze with his hand, the lack of strength evidence of his sleepiness. Eddie squeezes back nonetheless.

Then Steve’s eyes are closed and in a few deep breathes, he’s out like a light.

It’s a careful process to extract the glass of water from Steve’s clenched hand, but Eddie manages it. It sits on the edge of the coffee table and when Steve wakes up, mouth dry and in need of water, it will be there.

And so will Eddie.

The burning possibilities of what happens come tomorrow—when Steve’s sober and actually thinking straight (ha)—filter through Eddie’s mind, but he can’t find it in himself.

There’s no regret of he’s done. What he’s said, what’s been revealed.

It’s tomorrow’s problem (or tomorrow’s fantasy come true…?), but til then, Eddie burrows into the couch and readies for a sore neck tomorrow morning.

He should really get up and turn the lamp off, Eddie thinks to himself. Then Steve snuffles in his sleep, uses their intertwined fingers to bring him closer, and he forgets all about it.

[dootznbootz]

Sorry, not sorry but I see this too often and it bothers me :)

Before people get mad: Notice how I put “Me and Penelope fans” there? I know there's others. this ain't about you <3

edit: This is about how people in the fandom prioritize Odysseus and Telemachus (and even Diomedes, who is not in the Odyssey) despite the Odyssey also being HER story as well. I've seen many fics about Odysseus and Telemachus in their youth, and never really seen that for Penelope.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

two ends of the socioeconomic spectrum

Okay this is crazy, because between Ruggie and Kalim’s Relax in Room groovies we got:

Completely different materials for their pajamas (Kalim’s fits him + is silk/other high grade material, while Ruggie’s is slightly baggy/too large for him, has clear wear and tear, and is made of normal ass stuff.)

Completely different methods of getting their makeup out (Kalim is so excessive he can afford to dip one finger into each pot and still has many options; Ruggie has to dig into his pans to get every last bit of product out.)

Completely different bags holding their makeup (Kalim’s bag is made of nice material which is embroidered and secured with a thick rope; Ruggie’s is a more common and plain drawstring bag. Kalim also has brushes ready, whereas Ruggie seems to apply makeup with his hands.)

Completely different selection of makeup (Kalim has many different eyeshadows when no one person needs that many, whereas Ruggie has only samples. Also note that Ruggie goes through every last drop of what he has whereas all of Kalim’s makeup looks virtually untouched or barely used.)

Completely different colors of eyeshadow (Kalim has a whole rainbow and even some glittery variants; Ruggie has what appears to be a plain dark brown matte. The former can afford the variety, whereas the latter just has to make do with whatever he can find.)

Completely different surroundings (Kalim has an entourage of mobs willing to assist him and lend him their makeup, perhaps mirroring how he grew up surrounded by servants willing to help him with the smallest thing; Ruggie is alone in his dorm’s washroom—he had no one to count on for his future, so he had to pick himself up by the bootstraps and figure that out for himself.)

Completely different posing and expressions (Kalim is smiling and looking up; Ruggie is frowning and looking down. One looks hopeful and like he has a bright future, whereas the other doesn’t have that easy upward mobility or guaranteed success. Kalim is even properly seated at a vanity while Ruggie is like squatting uncomfortably in his seat.)

The disparity is even worse when you factor in the fact that Ruggie couldn’t even consistently take showers or bathe🧍‍♂️whereas Kalim takes luxurious baths for as long as he likes and has servants applying skincare and other products on him. Putting these two side-by-side really does make things grim 💦

[spiffyspuffy]

In the SVSSS fandom we don’t talk nearly enough about how in the majority of Bingqiu sex scenes, it’s SQQ who initiates. I think this goes over reader’s heads because he’s an unreliable narrator and whenever he’s describing his sexual encounters, he uses passive language for himself. But if you pay close attention to what’s really happening, he initiates sex 3 out of the 5 times we know about.

[astearisms]

fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started

[bixels]

Posting a sneak-peak of this now because I'm about to be In The Shit school workload-wise, so this'll take me a while to finish.

Doing some character design exploration/expression sheets for Celestia and Luna. Figuring out Celestia's weird ass anatomy while I'm at it.

[iamhereinthebg]

I've been wanting to draw Nene dancing with them since a really long time 🥺

[urfriendlywriter]

20 angsty romance prompts part 2

(feel free to use <33 tag me when yall writeeee)

crying in your lover's arms

^ face buried in their chest, while their heart breaks at your every sob :(

"i wish i loved you less." but it is spat at the other person angrily, immediately being regretted after the words leave their mouth.

watching them cry and not knowing what to do (ouch-)

"why do you love me when you know i can't- shouldn't love you back?"

"you messed me up, you fcked me over and what- how dare i? how dare fckn you!"

"i am sorry. i am so so.. so.. sorry. please.. let me go."

"don't you dare do this to me- No! No, no, no, no- nono, hey, please!!"

"... why can't.. anybody see--that... I'm tired?... " (if written write, this wud traumatize me)

"I'm done waiting for you, [name]."

them literally on their knees, "please, please--just please trust me! Why is it so hard for you to believe me once?"

^ "how many times do i have to get hurt by trusting you!!?"

"i am not sorry that i don't love you. I'm sorry that you don't love yourself."

"i loved you, believe me. i did. then you turned into someone else, someone... scary."

"WHY DO YOU HAVE TO KEEP HURTING ME? why--why am i the one.. always losing everything..?"

"listen to me-" "No, no!" "my dear, i swear, that isn't what i meant." "oh yeah? i don't think so. you were pretty loud and clear back there."

"so.. you're just going to.. give up on me." "that is NOT what i meant-" "you're not willing to fight for me either. i think it's pretty clear, [name]."

hands trembling while holding their pale, bloodied face, "k-keep your eyes open, for fucks sake! PLEASE-please please, talk to me."

"promise me you'll be okay, and that you'll keep living. moving on, even without me." "only if you do the same." (this happened irl yall)

"you saved me then killed me all over again."

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl