Ways I Show A Character Is Deeply Lonely (Even If They’re Surrounded By People)

Habits That Reveal Deep Character

(A.K.A. the quiet stuff that says everything without screaming it)

❥ The “I Always Sit Facing the Exit” Quirk They don’t talk about their childhood much, but they always know where the exits are. Every restaurant. Every train. Trauma has muscle memory. Your job is to notice what it’s saying without needing a monologue about it.

❥ The “I Can’t Sleep Until I Hear You Lock the Door” Habit It's not controlling. It's care shaped like paranoia. They say “Goodnight” like it’s casual, but they’re counting the clicks of the lock like a lullaby. Let that show more than “I love you.”

❥ The “I Keep Everything You’ve Ever Given Me” Thing Not just gifts. Receipts with your doodles. The crumpled note you wrote when you were mad. Every bit of you that felt real. It’s borderline hoarder behavior, but also? It’s devotion.

❥ The “I Cook When I’m Sad” Pattern Their world’s falling apart, but suddenly everyone has banana bread. It’s not about food—it’s about control, about creating something warm when everything else is cold. And they won’t say it out loud, but they're asking, “Will you stay?”

❥ The “I Practice Conversations in the Mirror” Secret Before big moments, hard talks, or just answering the phone. They're rehearsing being okay. They're trying to be the version of themselves people expect. That’s not weakness—it’s survival wrapped in performance art.

❥ The “I Fix Other People’s Problems to Ignore My Own” Reflex Everyone calls them “strong,” but no one notices how fast they redirect. “How are you doing though?” they ask, one heartbeat after breaking down. Let your reader see how exhaustion wears a smile.

❥ The “I Never Miss A Birthday” Rule Even for people who forgot theirs. Even for exes. It’s not about being remembered—it’s about being someone who remembers. That’s character.

❥ The “I Clean When I Feel Powerless” Mechanism That sparkling sink? Not about hygiene. That’s grief control. That’s despair in a Clorox wipe. Let it speak volumes in the silence of a spotless room.

❥ The “I Pretend I Don’t Need Help” Lie They say, “I’m fine” like it’s a full stop. But their hands shake when they think no one’s looking. Let your other characters notice. Let someone care, even when they don’t ask for it.

❥ The “I Watch People When They’re Not Watching Me” Curiosity Not in a creepy way. In a poet’s way. In a “who are you when no one’s clapping” way. They love the in-between moments: laughter in elevators, fidgeting before speeches. That's who they are—observers, not performers.

The parallels!

yall need to get on par with my genius

A website for Digimon TCG Fans! digimon-tcg.com !

Quoted from this tweet for easier reading here:

East @/East_ML

I've always wanted there to be a website that #DigimonTCG fans could read news, interesting articles, event info, and deck profiles, and more.

I'm also a believer of be the change you want to see in the world, so please check out digimon-tcg.com

My blog was a litmus test for this, and so now I hope to build this up over the coming year. But I can't do it alone. I'm also accepting guest author's as well.

If you'd like to write an article, or event report, deck profile etc., reach out to me at EastML.biz@gmail.com

The site is not fully done yet unfortunately, so this announcement is a little premature, but I'm really excited to share it with everyone, and see what it can become!

Note: I am not involved in this project, I just want to spread the word!

You don’t need to say “She was losing.” 

Show me the way her breath stutters, the way her vision blurs at the edges, how her arms feel like lead but she still lifts them anyway. Show me the taste of blood on her tongue, the sharp sting when she wipes it away.  

A fight isn’t just fists and kicks, it’s instinct. It’s mistakes. It’s the split second where she moves left instead of right, and pain explodes across her ribs. It’s the way she grits her teeth, forces herself to stay standing, even when her legs threaten to buckle. 

People don’t announce their next move. They don’t think in long sentences. It’s breathless. It’s now. It’s move or lose. Make your readers feel every hit, every heartbeat, every desperate second she fights to stay on her feet.

~Survivor doodles~

Geralt is coming to DbD (at least in cosmetic form) and I’m honestly more excited for that than Fnaf lol (no offence fnaf). Now I have more medieval/ medieval adjacent men to subject to the real horrors: technology.

The most beautiful victory...

Awesome

i need him

When Should You Describe a Character’s Appearance? (And When You Really, Really Shouldn’t)

It’s one of the first instincts writers have: describe your character. What they look like, what they wear, how they move. But the truth is — readers don’t need to know everything. And more importantly, they don’t want to know everything. At least, not all at once. Not without reason.

Let’s talk about when to describe a character’s appearance, how to do it meaningfully, and why less often says more.

1. Ask: Who Is Seeing Them? And Why Now?

The best descriptions are filtered through a perspective. Who’s noticing this character, and what do they see first? What do they expect to see, and what surprises them?

She looked like someone who owned every book you were supposed to have read in school. Glasses slipping down her nose. Sharp navy coat, sensible shoes, and an air of knowing too much too soon.

Now we’re not just learning what she looks like — we’re learning how she comes across. That tells us more than eye color ever could.

2. Use Appearance to Suggest Character, Not List Facts

Avoid long physical checklists. Instead, choose a few details that do double work — they imply personality, history, class, mood, or context.

Ineffective: She had long, wavy brown hair, green eyes, a small nose, and full lips. She wore jeans and a white shirt.

Better: Her hair was tied back like she hadn’t had time to think about it. Jeans cuffed, a shirt buttoned wrong. Tired, maybe. Or just disinterested.

You don’t need to know her exact features — you feel who she is in that moment.

3. Know When It’s Not the Moment

Introducing a character in the middle of action? Emotion? Conflict? Don’t stop the story for a physical description. It kills momentum.

Instead, thread it through where it matters.

He was pacing. Long-legged, sharp-shouldered — he didn’t seem built for waiting. His jaw kept twitching like he was chewing on the words he wasn’t allowed to say.

We learn about his build and his mood and his internal tension — all in motion.

4. Use Clothing and Gesture as Extension of Self

What someone chooses to wear, or how they move in it, says more than just what’s on their body.

Her sleeves were too long, and she kept tucking her hands inside them. When she spoke, she looked at the floor. Not shy, exactly — more like someone used to being half-disbelieved.

This is visual storytelling with emotional weight.

5. Finally: Describe When It Matters to the Story, Not Just the Reader

Are they hiding something? Trying to impress? Standing out in a crowd? Use appearance when it helps shape plot, stakes, or power dynamics.

He wore black to the funeral. Everyone else in grey. And somehow, he still looked like the loudest voice in the room.

That detail matters — it changes how we see him, and how others react to him.

TL;DR:

Don’t info-dump descriptions.

Filter visuals through a point of view.

Prioritize impression over inventory.

Describe only what tells us more than just what they look like — describe what shows who they are.

Because no one remembers a checklist.

But everyone remembers the girl who looked like she’d walked out of a forgotten poem.

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.

White shirt rip