unbothered character dialogue + prompts ⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
@celestialwrites for more!!
♡ “breathing air that you contaminate deeply unsettles me.”
♡ constantly putting their feet on their superior’s desk/table.
♡ “please remind me why you are relevant.”
♡ always commenting at the worst moment possible.
♡ “life was far more peaceful when i thought you were dead.”
♡ when someone is yelling at them, the character pulls out a book and just starts reading.
♡ “i gave my last fuck two decades ago, you’re going to need a time machine to find it.”
♡ sees a dead body and just sighs, turns around and goes to the breakfast diner across the street.
♡ “if he opens his mouth again i’m calling the cops for a noise disturbance.”
♡ has one hobby that they get really prickly about if people interrupt or make fun of it.
♡ “when did you finally decide to be helpful?”
♡ sees another character having a panic attack and asks them to quiet down so they can finish their crossword puzzle.
♡ “maybe if you were as tall as your ego you would have seen it.”
♡ other characters having to remind them to either pretend to care or not speak at all during important meetings/situations.
♡ “i could bring the heavens crashing down, remember that the next time you interrupt my coffee break.”
♡ being the key part of the team’s plan but will continuously sleep in.
REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS!!<3
In the past fifty years, fantasy’s greatest sin might be its creation of a bland, invariant, faux-Medieval European backdrop. The problem isn’t that every fantasy novel is set in the same place: pick a given book, and it probably deviates somehow. The problem is that the texture of this place gets everywhere.
What’s texture, specifically? Exactly what Elliot says: material culture. Social space. The textiles people use, the jobs they perform, the crops they harvest, the seasons they expect, even the way they construct their names. Fantasy writing doesn’t usually care much about these details, because it doesn’t usually care much about the little people – laborers, full-time mothers, sharecroppers, so on. (The last two books of Earthsea represent LeGuin’s remarkable attack on this tendency in her own writing.) So the fantasy writer defaults – fills in the tough details with the easiest available solution, and moves back to the world-saving, vengeance-seeking, intrigue-knotting narrative. Availability heuristics kick in, and we get another world of feudal serfs hunting deer and eating grains, of Western name constructions and Western social assumptions. (Husband and wife is not the universal historical norm for family structure, for instance.)
Defaulting is the root of a great many evils. Defaulting happens when we don’t think too much about something we write – a character description, a gender dynamic, a textile on display, the weave of the rug. Absent much thought, automaticity, the brain’s subsconscious autopilot, invokes the easiest available prototype – in the case of a gender dynamic, dad will read the paper, and mom will cut the protagonist’s hair. Or, in the case of worldbuilding, we default to the bland fantasy backdrop we know, and thereby reinforce it. It’s not done out of malice, but it’s still done.
The only way to fight this is by thinking about the little stuff. So: I was quite wrong. You do need to worldbuild pretty hard. Worldbuild against the grain, and worldbuild to challenge. Think about the little stuff. You don’t need to position every rain shadow and align every tectonic plate before you start your short story. But you do need to build a base of historical information that disrupts and overturns your implicit assumptions about how societies ‘ordinarily’ work, what they ‘ordinarily’ eat, who they ‘ordinarily’ sleep with. Remember that your slice of life experience is deeply atypical and selective, filtered through a particular culture with particular norms. If you stick to your easy automatic tendencies, you’ll produce sexist, racist writing – because our culture still has sexist, racist tendencies, tendencies we internalize, tendencies we can now even measure and quantify in a laboratory. And you’ll produce narrow writing, writing that generalizes a particular historical moment, its flavors and tongues, to a fantasy world that should be much broader and more varied. Don’t assume that the world you see around you, its structures and systems, is inevitable.
We... need worldbuilding by Seth Dickinson
fandomite-brained “progressive” and “queer positive” intellectuals will tell you with a straight face that certain pieces of fictional art like rap songs or comedic jokes or fifty shades of grey can socially sanction or enshrine rape culture, but their 25 chapter gay noncon omegaverse ao3 fanfiction that is publicly available on the world wide web is somehow ontologically different. They think they can hide their contradictions from me, lol. they are so cute hehe you’re so bad at obscuring your affinities behind flimsy platitudes you little freak (steps on them with my steel toed boot).
In one of my recent posts, I talked about losses as a core principle in driving a plot forward.
It's recommended in almost all guides. But here's the thing: someone doesn't have to actually die to create that emotional rollercoaster.
Here are 20 different losses your protagonist can face without losing someone to the cold hands of death:
1. Loss of a dream job opportunity
2. End of a long-term relationship or marriage
3. Betrayal by a close friend or family member
4. Financial ruin or bankruptcy
5. Loss of a beloved pet (The pet could go missing.)
6. Rejection from a prestigious program or institution
7. Injury or illness leading to the loss of physical abilities
8. Destruction of a childhood home
9. Loss of custody of a child
10. Failure to achieve a lifelong dream or goal
11. Being falsely accused of a crime
12. Natural disaster destroying personal belongings and home
13. Loss of a valuable family heirloom
14. Experiencing discrimination or injustice
15. Being forced to move away from a beloved community
16. Losing a significant competition or contest
17. Loss of memory or cognitive abilities
18. Falling out with a mentor or role model
19. Closure of a cherished local business
20. Loss of one's reputation due to scandal or rumor
Thank you for all of your support. If you love my blog, consider gifting me a rose. Val's here, and I hope your characters are ready to paint the town red.
This one's for the scenes with multiple characters, and you're not sure how to keep everyone involved.
Writing group scenes is chaos. Someone’s talking, someone’s interrupting, someone’s zoning out thinking about breadsticks. And if you’re not careful, half your cast fades into the background like NPCs in a video game. I used to struggle with this so much—my characters would just exist in the scene without actually affecting it. But here’s what I've learned and have started implementing:
Not their literal job—like, not everyone needs to be solving a crime or casting spells. I mean: Why are they in this moment? What’s their role in the conversation?
My favourite examples are:
The Driver: Moves the convo forward. They have an agenda, they’re pushing the action.
The Instigator: Pokes the bear. Asks the messy questions. Stirring the pot like a chef on a mission.
The Voice of Reason: "Guys, maybe we don’t commit arson today?"
The Distracted One: Completely in their own world. Tuning out, doodling on a napkin, thinking about their ex.
The Observer: Not saying much, but noticing everything. (Quiet characters still have presence!)
The Wild Card: Who knows what they’ll do? Certainly not them. Probably about to make things worse.
If a character has no function, they’ll disappear. Give them something—even if it’s just a side comment, a reaction, or stealing fries off someone’s plate. Keep them interesting, and your readers will stay interested too.
Questions Your Character Is Too Afraid to Ask
(But desperately needs the answer to) Because these are the thoughts they won’t say out loud, but they shape everything they do.
If I stopped trying, would anyone notice?
Do they actually like me, or do I just make their life easier?
Am I hard to love?
What would they say about me if I left the room?
Would they stay if they saw the real me?
What if I’m only good at pretending to be good?
Was it actually love, or just obligation?
What happens if I fail again? What’s left of me then?
How long until they get tired of me?
What if I deserve the things I’m afraid of?
Am I healing or just hiding better?
Why do I feel more myself when I’m alone?
Do I want to be forgiven or just forget?
What if I never become the person they believe I am?
Am I still angry, or just numb?
Why can’t I let go of them, even after everything?
If they hurt me, and I stayed, did I hurt myself more?
Am I building a future, or just distracting myself from the past?
Is this what I want, or just what I’ve been told to want?
What if I was never meant to survive this, but I did anyway? Now what?
Unhealed Wounds Your Character Pretends Are Just “Personality Traits”
These are the things your character claims are just “how they are” but really, they’re bleeding all over everyone and calling it a vibe.
╰ They say they're "independent." Translation: They don’t trust anyone to stay. They learned early that needing people = disappointment. So now they call it “being self-sufficient” like it’s some shiny badge of honor. (Mostly to cover up how lonely they are.)
╰ They say they're "laid-back." Translation: They stopped believing their wants mattered. They'll eat anywhere. Do anything. Agree with everyone. Not because they're chill, but because the fight got beaten out of them a long time ago.
╰ They say they're "a perfectionist." Translation: They believe mistakes make them unlovable. Every typo. Every bad hair day. Every misstep feels like proof that they’re worthless. So they polish and polish and polish... until there’s nothing real left.
╰ They say they're "private." Translation: They’re terrified of being judged—or worse, pitied. Walls on walls on walls. They joke about being “mysterious” while desperately hoping no one gets close enough to see the mess behind the curtain.
╰ They say they're "ambitious." Translation: They think achieving enough will finally make the emptiness go away. If they can just get the promotion, the award, the validation—then maybe they’ll finally outrun the feeling that they’re fundamentally broken. (It never works.)
╰ They say they're "good at moving on." Translation: They’re world-class at repression. They’ll cut people out. Bury heartbreak. Pretend it never happened. And then wonder why they wake up at 3 a.m. feeling like they're suffocating.
╰ They say they're "logical." Translation: They’re terrified of their own feelings. Emotions? Messy. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. So they intellectualize everything to avoid feeling anything real. They call it rationality. (It's fear.)
╰ They say they're "loyal to a fault." Translation: They mistake abandonment for loyalty. They stay too long. Forgive too much. Invest in people who treat them like an afterthought, because they think walking away makes them "just as bad."
╰ They say they're "resilient." Translation: They don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden. They wear every bruise like a trophy. They survive things they should never have had to survive. And they call it strength. (But really? It's exhaustion wearing a cape.)
Reactions to… getting betrayed
Reactions to… getting kissed
Reactions to… the other being jealous
Reactions to… seeing someone again after a long time
Reactions to… being stuck somewhere
Reactions to… a love confession
Reactions to... being punched
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A “Mary Sue” is that charact. Perfect; bends the story to their will, faces no meaningful struggles, and often feels too idealized to be relatable. The thing I like most is when an author makes a character, a situation, a scene, realistic. I like heavy realism in my books. I know we read to escape reality, but there's a way to do that.
1. Give Them Flaws Not the checklist kind. Not "clumsy" or "bad at math" unless that genuinely bleeds into who they are and how they move through the world. I mean the kind of flaws that crack open relationships. That drive certain choices. That make you want to shake them. Flaws should cost them something. Otherwise, they’re decoration.
2. Let Them Fail Failure is the most human thing. It brings shame, doubt, growth, all the stuff that makes a character feel alive. Let them try, and stumble. Let them mess up something important. Let them hurt people and not know how to fix it. Failure opens narrative doors that perfection just slams shut.
3. Don’t Make Everyone Love Them If every side character is just there to admire your MC, you’re not writing a story—you’re writing propaganda. Let people mistrust them. Let some hate them. Not everyone sees the same version of a person. Maybe someone sees behind their act, maybe someone’s immune to their charm. That gives perspective.
4. Make Their Skills Believable A skill with no backstory is just plot armor. If they're good at something, show why. Time. Training. Failure. Maybe they’re not even the best—just someone who works harder than they should have to. That’s infinitely more compelling than someone who just is talented for no reason.
5. Avoid Overloading Them With Traits They don’t need to be smart, funny, hot, tragic, a prodigy, a rebel, and an empath who bakes when sad. Choose what matters. Strip it down to the few traits that define them, the ones they carry into every scene. Complexity is about layers, not a pile of labels.
6. Give Them Internal Conflict We all contradict ourselves. That’s the beauty of it. Your character should wrestle with decisions. Regret them. Say one thing and feel another. Inner conflict is what separates a walking trope from a person we believe in.
7. Let the Plot Push Back The world shouldn’t bend for your character. The plot should push them, break them, make them bleed for the win. Their goals should cost something. The story isn’t just their playground—it’s the pressure cooker where they get tested. If they’re never cornered, what’s the point?
8. Ensure They Don’t Eclipse the Entire Cast Other characters are not props. Give them wants, voices, limits. They don’t exist to spotlight the protagonist—they exist to breathe life into the story. And your MC is more interesting when they’re surrounded by people who push them, contradict them, challenge them.
9. Avoid Unrealistic Morality Nobody’s always right. And honestly, it’s annoying when they are. Let them justify things that aren’t justifiable. Let them fail to see another perspective. Let them believe they’re in the right—until they’re not. Give them a compass that doesn’t always point true north.
10. Make Them Struggle to Earn Trust Trust is a slow build. People remember hurt. They hesitate. Let your MC do the work—prove themselves, fail, rebuild. Trust earned over time is more satisfying than instant loyalty that comes out of nowhere.
I hate perfect characters. Especially when it’s pretend perfection. Like what do you mean he has abs when he has no time to workout? Like what do you mean she is so put together all the time? In this economy?
let's write something raw, something realistic.
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