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Gus, 2007

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Beauty and the Beast (1991) • Walt Disney

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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.”

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Romantic Gestures for Characters 

❥ The “I Know You” Gesture

Your character remembers something tiny. Maybe their partner always peels oranges but hates the stringy bits. So they do it for them, meticulously. No grand speech. Just peeled oranges on a napkin, handed over like, I got you. It’s not flowers. It’s better.

❥  The “You Matter More Than My Ego” Move

Apologies. Vulnerable, awkward, ugly ones. Not performative, not flowers-as-a-bandage. Just a raw, honest “I screwed up. And you didn’t deserve that.” That’s romance with guts.

❥ The “I Made This With My Clumsy, Lovesick Hands” Attempt

It’s not a five-star meal. It might be an overcooked mess. But they tried. They Googled recipes, burnt a pan, and still showed up with a crooked smile and a smoke-scented apology. Intimacy lives in the effort, not the execution.

❥  The “I’m Thinking of You Even When You’re Not Around” Habit

A voice memo left in the middle of the day. A text that says, “I saw this book and thought of you.” A saved pastry because “you love those stupid lemon ones.” It’s in the thought, the noticing. The I-carry-you-with-me-even-here of it.

❥  The “You’re Safe With Me” Moment

Middle of a panic attack. They don’t run, they don’t fix. They sit. Hold a hand. Count breaths. They become a lighthouse in the fog. That’s not just romance, it’s sanctuary.

❥ The “Make You Laugh When You Want to Cry” Trick

Silly voices. Bad dad jokes. A spontaneous dance in the kitchen just to make them smile. Love doesn’t always whisper—it cackles, snorts, belly-laughs until you can’t remember what the fight was about.

❥ The “I See the You Nobody Else Gets to See” Love

Noticing the nervous tic they try to hide. The quiet resilience. The softness behind the sarcasm. Your character sees it all and chooses to love them there. Not despite their mess, but because of it.

❥  The “I’ll Go to the Boring Thing Because You Care” Sacrifice

They hate art galleries. Or jazz. Or your character’s weird book club full of PhD students. But they show up. They try. They listen and maybe even ask a thoughtful question. Not because they suddenly love postmodern fiction, but because they love you.

❥ The “Let Me Take Care of You, Just This Once” Flip

Especially powerful when it comes from your fiercely independent character. When they finally let someone in. Accept help. Rest their head on a lap and let themselves be held. Or be the one doing the holding for someone who never asks.

❥  The “I Want to Remember This” Gesture

No, not just a scrapbook. Maybe it's saving movie stubs, or voice recording a partner’s laugh because it's perfect and might not last. Maybe it's writing a poem they'll never read. Romance often lives in what we keep sacred, quietly.

❥ Bonus — The Non-Obvious Public Gesture

Holding hands in public when your character usually doesn’t. Or kissing their partner’s temple in front of their disapproving parents. Or calling them “baby” when it makes their partner smile like a fool. Public affection isn’t about performance, it’s about pride. Claiming someone. Softly, fiercely.

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Ways to show a Character is Hiding a Secret They’re Desperate to Protect

Secrets are juicy. But the best ones aren’t just plot bombs—they’re personal, shameful, dangerous because they mean something...

They flinch when a specific topic comes up. Just a little. Not enough for anyone to call it out, but enough to tell you they’re holding something back.

They avoid eye contact when someone asks a question they almost can’t dodge.

They rehearse conversations in their head, just in case “it” comes up. Always planning a version of the truth that’ll hold water without leaking too much.

They hate silence, not because they’re bored, but because it gives people time to think.

They keep a part of their past oddly vague. “Oh yeah, I lived in Boston for a bit,” they say, casually skipping over the why like it’s not loaded with dynamite.

They’re overly controlling of one specific detail. Always driving. Always cleaning. Always checking someone’s phone is face-down. Not because they’re picky—because if that one thread unravels, it all falls apart.

They sometimes seem exhausted by the lie they’re living. The weight of holding it together shows in subtle ways: headaches, bad sleep, irritability. Their body is cracking before the truth ever does.

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10 Quiet Ways Your Character Is Breaking Their Own Heart (And Pretending It's Fine)

These are the betrayals that aren’t loud. They don’t come with fireworks or screaming matches. These are the small, slow deaths. The ones that your character lets happen... while smiling politely.

» They say yes when they desperately want to say no. Every. Damn. Time. They show up when they're exhausted. They agree to things they hate. They make themselves smaller, softer, easier, because "good people" don’t make waves, right? (Spoiler: they're drowning.)

» They keep chasing people who only love them halfway. It's not even subtle anymore. They know these people leave them on "read," show up late, make them feel like an afterthought. But they cling anyway, spinning every scrap of affection into a story about hope. (It’s not hope. It’s hunger.)

» They refuse to believe good things are meant for them. They’ll hype everyone else up. They’ll believe in everyone else's dreams. But when something finally good lands in their lap? They’ll panic. Push it away. Tell themselves it was a fluke. (Because being disappointed feels safer than being lucky.)

» They’re waiting for closure that will never come. An apology. An explanation. A miracle where someone says, "You were right, and I was wrong, and I’m so sorry." They wait years. Decades. Lifetimes. But deep down, they know: some people never come back. Some stories just end without punctuation.

» They’re hoarding all their "almosts" like treasures. The job they almost got. The love that almost worked. The version of themselves they almost became. They replay those maybes like a greatest hits album. (Meanwhile, real life is slipping by while they mourn possibilities.)

» They’re performing a version of success they secretly hate. Look at the Instagram. Look at the LinkedIn updates. Look at the shiny exterior. It looks like winning. But every trophy they collect feels heavier, not lighter. Every promotion tastes a little more like ash. (Turns out, chasing someone else's dream is still losing.)

» They forgive people who aren’t sorry. Not because they’re enlightened. Not because they’ve healed. But because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t hurt than to sit with the fact that it did—and that the person responsible doesn't care. (Some wounds scar better when you stop pretending they were accidents.)

» They punish themselves for still being soft. The world told them, again and again, that soft things get broken. And they believed it. So every time they feel too much? Every time they cry or hope or trust? They tell themselves they’re weak. Stupid. Embarrassing. (They're not. They're just still alive.)

» They downplay their own magic. They call their talents "lucky breaks." Their beauty "average." Their intelligence "no big deal." They shrug off compliments like they're dangerous. Because deep down, they've been taught that being remarkable makes you a target.

» They cling to the idea that if they just work harder, they'll finally be enough. They believe in meritocracy like it’s a religion. That if they hustle hard enough, self-sacrifice deep enough, burn themselves to ash perfectly enough, someone, somewhere, will finally say, "You're worthy now." (They were always worthy. The system is just broken.)

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10 Lies Your Character Believes About Themselves (And They’d Die Before Admitting It)

These aren't the fun, Disney Channel lies like “I'm just a regular girl” while literally being a secret pop star. These are the ugly ones. The ones that get in your character’s blood and start rewriting their whole life without them noticing.

» “If people really knew me, they'd leave.” Not "might." Would. No question. So they smile bigger. They edit harder. They keep conversations surface-level. All while carrying this bone-deep certainty that love is conditional... and they are dangerously close to failing the test.

» “I have to earn every good thing.” Rest? Happiness? A day without guilt? They treat those things like prizes at the end of a brutal obstacle course. No one told them they could just have good things. No strings. No blood price. (So they keep bleeding anyway.)

» “I'm too much.” Too loud. Too intense. Too sensitive. Too complicated. They know it. They've been told. So now they pull themselves in, hold their breath, bite back everything real until they barely take up space at all. (And ironically, they still think they’re being "too much.")

» “I'm not enough.” Neat little trick, right? They’re both "too much" and "not enough" at the same time. Magic. They're convinced everyone else got the secret manual for how to be lovable and they somehow missed it.

» “If I'm strong enough, nothing can hurt me.” They call it resilience. Other people call it stubbornness. Reality calls it self-destruction. They've mistaken numbness for healing and independence for invulnerability. But hurt still gets in. It just hits harder when it’s been bottled up for years.

» “I’m responsible for everyone's happiness.” Caretaker. Peacemaker. Therapist friend. Emotional sponge. They’ve appointed themselves as everyone's safety net, believing that if they don’t hold everything together, everything will fall apart. (Newsflash: it's not their circus, and it never was.)

» “I don't need anyone.” Need is a dirty word. It’s weak. It’s dangerous. So they white-knuckle their way through life, collecting scars and pretending it’s freedom. But late at night? In the dark? They’d sell their soul for someone to just... stay.

» “I'm the villain in someone else's story and they might be right.” They know they've hurt people. Made bad calls. Left damage. And no matter how much good they do now, some part of them whispers, You don’t get to come back from that.

» “My best days are behind me.” Whether they peaked in high school, lost their shot at something important, or just carry a chronic ache of nostalgia, they believe it’s too late. That nothing good can be built from where they are now. (Which, ironically, makes them waste even more time.)

» “This is as good as it gets.” They settle. For bad love. Boring jobs. Half-dead dreams. They tell themselves it's "realistic." "Mature." "Practical." But underneath? It's fear. It's heartbreak. It's the quiet belief that hope is something they can’t afford anymore.

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Quiet friday evening in the library

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Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

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ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ, ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ

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𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔟𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔢

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ig credit: bellasbookishworld

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